“Here! Cut it!” said the curator, embarrassed, as he disengaged himself, and there were tears in his eyes. “God Him great big-fellah, Sadok! Him live in sky. Him hold the world in his hand, so, Sadok,” holding out his cupped hand. “Him make you-fellah save my life, plenty much; make me-fellah save your life! Me tell you ’bout Him, some day, Sadok,” he said, affectionately, laying his hand on the Dyak’s shoulder. “Gad! and I don’t know any greater pleasure than that will be, either!” he exclaimed, under his breath. “A man’s God is what I will show him! Come on, fellows!” he broke off, hastily. “We got to shove along; it would be death to be caught in these open swales.”
The party marched on down toward the old site of Cassowary Camp, and were soon at the familiar grounds where so many adventures had befallen them and so many happy days spent in collecting. The mountain loomed up invitingly behind it, and the curator led the way up the slopes.
Dwight felt himself stumbling unaccountably. His eyesight appeared to be wavering, and the bushes that he grasped at to aid in climbing seemed to elude his grasp.
“Mr. Baldwin, quick! I’m fainting!” he gasped, weakly, and he pitched forward on his face, his arms still reaching uphill.
They all stopped.
“The reaction has come,” said the curator. “He’ll be better soon. I think we can risk an hour’s stop and get some rest and something to eat.”
His eye roved the mountain side, and finally rested on a rocky ledge with bowlders and thickets of thorny bushes on its brink.
“Carry him up there,” he ordered. “We’ll dig in there and lay low for a bit.”
They brought him up, and the curator applied restoratives, while Nicky and Sadok busied themselves in rolling bowlders and making the place as impregnable as possible. Then Nicky got out his alcohol kit, with a joke or two about its being the only camp fire worth a whoop, and started cooking a soup for all, composed of dried pemmican and soup powder.
The site commanded the swales below for miles. To the left lay the pebbly bars of the creek, with the old trail of the Outanatas entering the jungle like a green tunnel. With ammunition, they could hold this place for a long time, at least until flanking parties had ascended the mountain back of them, but their supply was now reduced to only a few cartridges.