Maget stepped forward, to try and comfort Juan; the peon struck out at him, and whirled around. But a few yards away was the bank of the stream, and Juan crashed into a black palm set with spines, caromed off it, and fell face downward into the water. The glass tube was smashed and the pieces fell into the stream.
"God, he must be blind," groaned Maget. "Poor guy, I've got to save him."
"The hell with him," growled Durkin. He grasped his partner's arm and stared curiously down at the dying peon.
"Let go, I'll pull him out," said Maget, trying to wrench away from Durkin.
"He's done for. Why worry about a peon?" said Durkin. "Look at those fish!"
The muddy waters of the stream had parted, and dead fish were rising about the body of Juan. But not about the dying man so much as close to the spot where the broken tube had fallen. White bellies up, the fish died as though by magic.
"Let's—let's get the hell back to Manoas, Bill," said Maget in a sickly voice. "This—this is too much for me."
nameless fear, which had been with Maget ever since the beginning of the venture, was growing more insistent.