“All right. Good night, and thank you.” He found his hand caught for a second in a firm clasp. The next instant she was gone; swallowed up by the night.
“That’s a queer girl; but a real one,” he told himself as he toiled up the trail. “Wonder why she beat out those signals on the drum if she didn’t want those natives to meet? Who is she? Where’s her home? Will we meet again?” He hoped so. Yet in this strange old world one never could tell.
The night was well spent. His eyes were heavy with sleep. At this elevation there were no flying pests. The trail was still long. It would be there in the morning.
Selecting a gently sloping bank beneath a tropical oak, he gathered moss from low hanging branches to form a pillow. He then threw himself upon the earth, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
CHAPTER IX
THE JEWELED MONKEY
Johnny Thompson did not in the least mind being lost. Truth was he got much joy from it. The sky was so blue, the morning air, as he left the abandoned native home, so crisp and balmy, he felt like singing a song.
True, he disliked worrying his friends, but the island of Haiti is not the world. He would find his way back in time. He had breakfasted well on cold guinea meat, parched corn and bananas. His bow and quiver of arrows were slung across his back. The trail was before him.
“With wild fruit and game I could live a half year through,” he told himself.
For some time he made his way through rough uplands, where trees and brush obstructed his travel and only wild trails helped him on his way.
At last, however, he came upon an ancient man-made trail that led over a ridge and down upon the other side.