"Whew! My arm aches clear up to the shoulder!" Walter exclaimed. "What were those nasty-looking fish, anyway?"
"Morays, a kind of salt water eel," said his chum, gravely. "I don't want to frighten you, dear old chum, but those things are poisonous, almost as poisonous as a snake."
Walter received the startling information coolly. "I suspected they were poisonous as soon as my arm began to ache," he said, quietly. "Will I lose my hand do you think?"
"I guess not," lied Charley, cheerfully. He could not bear to tell him that he was likely to lose his life as well as his hand.
Calling the captain to follow, the lad rowed the two skiffs to the launch, made them fast, and helped his chum aboard. As soon as the captain fastened on, he started the engine and headed the launch back for the dock. He was thankful that they had not come far from home, for, short as the distance was, before they reached the little pier, Walter's arm had swollen to twice its natural size and he had fallen into a kind of listless stupor. The captain and Charley helped him tenderly out of the launch and supported him up to the cabin where they laid him out on his couch.
Charley looked about in helpless despair. "If I only had some of that aguardiente, now, there would be a good chance to save him," he said, bitterly. "I don't think there was time for much of that poison to get into his circulation before I got the cord around his wrist and shut it off. Well, it isn't much use, but we will make a fight for it. Chris, heat up some water, quick, and make a big pot of coffee, as strong as you can make it."
The little negro flew to do his bidding and, in a few minutes, Charley had the wounded hand plunged in a bucket of scalding hot water and was forcing cup after cup of strong, steaming coffee down his chum's throat.