It was a disconsolate Stew who trudged along the native trail toward their camp. “Lot we gained by that!” he grumbled. “Just a look at a grand feed! They were putting slices of pork between cakes when we left. Besides, we lost our monkey!”
“We know more about the natives now,” said Jack.
“Lot more. They say grace and eat nurses!” Stew mocked.
“We couldn’t prove that. Perhaps the nurse gave them her dog tag.”
“Fine chance!” Stew lapsed into silence.
Jack was not thinking of the natives now, but of Ted, Kentucky, and all the other fellows on the Black Bee. “If they attack Mindanao before we get back to the ship, I’ll never recover,” he thought.
“Hush!” Stew stopped to listen.
Faint and far away they caught a long-drawn wail like a bow drawn slowly over the C string of a violin.
“The Howler is coming back to roost,” said Stew.
“Sounds that way,” Jack agreed.