“Dreaming nothing!” cried Phil, brushing his face. “Something as big as a horse ran over my cheek.”
“Lie down then and cover up your head. It’ll be all right.”
Phil was not so easily satisfied. He struck a match and looked about him.
“See that!” he whispered. As Jim jumped up in response, several shadowy forms scurried off in various directions. The match burned to Phil’s fingers and spluttered out, as Phil swore and sucked his injured digits.
“Deevils!” whispered Jim eerily.
“Rats!” exclaimed Phil, striking another match and groping for the lamp.
“Better than bugs!” said Jim philosophically.
“Oh, you wait!” retorted Phil. “The bugs haven’t found out yet that we’re here. You’ll make acquaintance with them later.”
Jim shivered.
“Man,––I detest bugs, though! I wouldn’t wonder if you are right too; the place had a musty smell; besides, 267 that wily duck of a civilized chink would be living here if there wasn’t something wrong.” He shivered again. “They give me the grue. I can feel the darned little brutes already.”