Soon enough they had to be. The leader came over to them and in a very polite way, for him, made a suggestion.
“We afraid,” he said. “Bad mountain cat close by.” They had heard the cry of a jaguar or panther, or some other huge cat. “You have guns, you save. We not got. We be died!”
“One of us sits up and watches all night,” declared Bill, meaningly. “Don’t be afraid. We not let you be hurt!”
The man walked away doubtfully, and that night neither Tom nor Bill took much rest; however, nothing more happened.
The next morning they were surprised to discover that the Indians seemed very much more pleasant, and the leader brought the whites a special and tasteful piece of the roast pig which he had saved for them. “That’s the way to treat them,” Bill said. “Let them know we are on guard!”
They went on, and were wading along in a small torrent of water, the only way through a deep abyss, when suddenly Tom clutched Bill’s arm.
“Bill,” he gasped, “I feel queer and sick!”
“So do I?” replied Bill. “But I tried not to let you know.”
“Do you know what?” gasped Tom, as a great, sweeping spasm of pain flooded over him and he saw, as through a haze, Bill’s face whitening, even as Bill staggered.
“Yes,” gulped Bill, “we’ve been——”