Part 14 (1/2)
”h.e.l.lo,” said Blake, ”the lower part of this will do for a bowl, Miss Jenny. When you've eaten the cream, put it in your pocket. Say, Win, have you got the bottle and keys and--”
”All safe--everything.”
”Are you sure, Mr. Winthrope?” asked Miss Leslie. ”Men's pockets seem so open. Twice I've had to pick up Mr. Blake's locket.”
”Locket?” echoed Blake.
”The ivory locket. Women may be curious, Mr. Blake, but I a.s.sure you, I did not look inside, though--”
”Let me--give it here--quick!” gasped Blake.
Startled by his tone and look, Miss Leslie caught an oval object from the side pocket of the coat, and thrust it into Blake's outstretched hand. For a moment he stared at it, unable to believe his eyes; then he leaped up, with a yell that sent the droves of zebras and antelope flying into the tall gra.s.s.
”Oh! oh!” screamed Miss Leslie. ”Is it a snake? Are you bitten?”
”Bitten?--Yes, by John Barleycorn! Must have been fuzzy drunk to put it in my coat. Always carry it in my fob pocket. What a blasted infernal idiot I've been! Kick me, Win,--kick me hard!”
”I say, Blake, what is it? I don't quite take you. If you would only--”
”Fire!--_fire!_ Can't you see? We've got all h.e.l.l beat! Look here.”
He snapped open the slide of the supposed locket, and before either of his companions could realize what he would be about, was focussing the lens of a surveyor's magnifying-gla.s.s upon the back of Winthrope's hand. The Englishman jerked the hand away--
”_Ow!_ That burns!”
Blake shook the gla.s.s in their bewildered faces.
”Look there!” he shouted, ”there's fire; there's water; there's birds' eggs and beefsteaks! Here's where we trek on the back trail.
We'll smoke out that leopard in short order!”
”You don't mean to say, Blake--”
”No; I mean to do! Don't worry. You can hide with Miss Jenny on the point, while I engineer the deal. Fall in.”
The day was still fresh when they found themselves back at the foot of the cliff. Here arose a heated debate between the men. Winthrope, stung by Blake's jeering words, insisted upon sharing the attack, though with no great enthusiasm. Much to Blake's surprise, Miss Leslie came to the support of the Englishman.
”But, Mr. Blake,” she argued, ”you say it will be perfectly safe for us here. If so, it will be safe for myself alone.”
”I can play this game without him.”
”No doubt. Yet if, as you say, you expect to keep off the leopard with a torch, would it not be well to have Mr. Winthrope at hand with other torches, should yours burn out?”
”Yes; if I thought he'd be at hand after the first scare.”
Winthrope started off, almost on a run. At that moment he might have faced the leopard single-handed. Blake chuckled as he swung away after his victim. Within ten paces, however, he paused to call back over his shoulder: ”Get around the point, Miss Jenny, and if you want something to do, try braiding the cocoanut fibre.”
Miss Leslie made no response; but she stood for some time gazing after the two men. There was so much that was characteristic even in this rear view. For all his anger and his haste, the Englishman bore himself with an air of well-bred nicety. His trim, erect figure needed only a fresh suit to be irreproachable. On the other hand, a careless observer, at first glance, might have mistaken Blake, with his flannel s.h.i.+rt and shouldered club, for a hulking navvy. But there was nothing of the navvy in his swinging stride or in the resolute poise of his head as he came up with Winthrope.
Though the girl was not given to reflection, the contrast between the two could not but impress her. How well her countryman--coa.r.s.e, uncultured, but full of brute strength and courage--fitted in with these primitive surroundings. Whereas Winthrope . . . . and herself . . . .