“By morning I believe my ankle will be in such shape that I could go back for the string of cocoanuts which we dropped on the beach.”
“I’ll go myself, to-day, else we’ll have no supper. Now we’re getting down to bedrock. If those nuts haven’t been washed away by the tide, we’re fixed for to-night; and for two meals, such as they are. But what next? Even the rain pools will be dried up by another day or so.”
“Are not sea-birds good to eat?” inquired Miss Leslie.
“Some.”
“Then, if only we could climb the cliff–might there not be another place?”
“No; I’ve looked at both sides. What’s more, that spotted tomcat has got a monopoly on our water supply. The river may be fresh at low tide; but we’ve got nothing to boil water in, and such bayou stuff is just concentrated malaria.”
“Then we must find water elsewhere,” responded Miss Leslie. “Might we not succeed if we went on to the other ridge?”
“That’s the ticket! You’ve got a headpiece, Miss Jenny! It’s too late to start now. But first thing to-morrow I’ll take a run down that way, while you two lay around camp and see if you can twist some sort of fish-line out of cocoanut fibre. By braiding your hair, Miss Jenny, you can spare us your hair-pins for hooks.”
“But, Mr. Blake, I’m afraid–I’d rather you’d take us with you. With that dreadful creature so near–”
“Well, I don’t know. Let’s see your feet?”