“All these Jamaica colored folks are,” Cliff added. “They can’t understand why we want to find old relics.”
“But why does he look up at the sun?” Nicky persisted. “See! He’s doing it now.”
The boy gave a glance toward the sun, about two hours high, and then resumed his intent stare toward the trench. Nicky leaned on his spade handle and glowered back.
“Do you suppose he expects us to be sun-struck?” Cliff suggested. “Only it isn’t hot enough yet, and we’re not working hard.”
“I don’t know,” Tom declared, “but I wish I did. He seems to be fidgeting and nervous.”
“I’m going to find out!” exclaimed Nicky. Of the trio of chums he was the most excitable and impulsive. As he dropped his spade and strode toward the fence, its occupant tumbled off; scrambling to his feet he ran out of sight around the side of an old, ramshackle cabin in a corner of the enclosure.
“That’s a funny one,” Cliff observed when Nicky returned.
They discussed the strange actions of the colored boy for a moment but since there was no explanation they went back to work.
Nicky Lane was on a holiday with his two bosom companions. The Amadale Military Academy, which they all attended, had been closed because there was an epidemic of “flu” in the suburb of a mid-Western city in which the school was located.
Most of the students had gone to their homes. Cliff Gray lived with his Aunt Lucy in the very suburb most affected by the epidemic; Tom and Nicky were boarding there also. Cliff’s father, whom the boys had helped to rescue from detention among some Incas of Peru, in an old hidden Inca city among the Andes, was, at this time, exploring and studying in the island of Jamaica, among the West Indies. He was a great scholar and a student of old civilizations and was writing some chapters of a book on the Carib Indians, the original inhabitants of the islands when Columbus discovered them.