CHAPTER XVII.
WE ARE HOODWINKED BY THE CHINESE, WHO ROBS US OF OUR ALL.
I felt very drowsy, as if suddenly awakened from a deep sleep. The story of the murder of Jayeng Rono was still ringing in my ears; the cunning leer of the Chinese was present to my mind’s eye; but where was I?—afloat or ashore?—or—and I shuddered at the thought—once more in that terrible nest-cavern?—or could I be really awake? No—it must be nightmare. If so, a turn over upon my side—for I was lying upon my back—would be sufficient. Well, I did turn—ay, over and over again—and that proved I was not asleep in the sampan; but it proved another disagreeable fact—namely, that I was stark naked, and rolling upon a dry, sandy earth. Then the thought flashed through my brain that I had been hocused—as it is termed in New York police-courts—by the Chinese rogue; that the mangosteen of which we had partaken with so much relish must have been steeped in some narcotic plant. But my brother—where was he? On that head, however, I was soon set at ease; for, coming to, I suppose, almost at the same moment as myself, he cried out:
“Claud, old fellow!”
“Ay, ay, Martin.”
“Thank heaven, you are here somewhere,” he replied; “but where the deuce are we? It is very dark—I can’t see. Is it to-day, to-morrow, or yesterday?”
“To-day, I think; but I don’t know.”
“Then which end—night or morning?”
“That I don’t know; but I should say morning.”
“Ah! I have it,” he added, quickly; “we have been half-poisoned by that rascally Chinese. Hang the thief! he has come in for a pretty thing, our boat, rifles, and game.”
“Then he hasn’t stripped you of your clothes, Martin?”