Part 17 (1/2)

Bones!--who had ever dreamed of such a mess of bones?--big bones and little bones and skulls; old bones, dry and almost buried; mouldy bones; bones still half-covered with bits of flesh and gristle--the remnants of the leopard family's last meal.

At last all were sc.r.a.ped out and flung in a heap, three or four yards away from the entrance. Miss Leslie looked at the result of her labor with a satisfied glance, followed by a sigh of relief. Between the heat and her unwonted exercise, she was greatly fatigued. She stepped around to a shadier spot to rest.

With a start, she remembered the fire.

When she reached it there were only a few dying embers left. She gathered dead leaves and shreds of fibrous inner bark, and knelt beside the dull coals to blow them into life. She could not bear the thought of having to confess her carelessness to Blake.

The hot ashes flew up in her face and powdered her hair with their gray dust; yet she persisted, blowing steadily until a shred of bark caught the sparks and flared up in a tiny flame. A little more, and she had a strong fire blazing against the tree trunk.

She rested a short time, relaxing both mentally and physically in the satisfying consciousness that Blake never should know how near she had come to failing in her trust.

Soon she became aware of a keen feeling of thirst and hunger. She rose, piled a fresh supply of sticks on the fire, and hastened back through the cleft towards the spring. Around the baobab she came upon Winthrope, working in the shade of the great tree. The three leopard skins had been stretched upon bamboo frames, and he was resignedly sc.r.a.ping at their inner surfaces with a smooth-edged stone. Miss Leslie did not look too closely at the operation.

”Where is--he?” she asked.

Winthrope motioned down the cleft.

”I hope he hasn't gone far. I'm half famished. Aren't you?”

”Really, Miss Genevieve, it is odd, you know. Not an hour since, the very thought of food--”

”And now you're as hungry as I am. Oh, I do wish he had not gone off just at the wrong time!”

”He went to take a dip in the sea. You know, he got so messed up over the nastiest part of the work, which I positively refused to do--”

”What's that beyond the bamboos?--There's something alive!”

”Pray, don't be alarmed. It is--er--it's all right, Miss Genevieve, I a.s.sure you.”

”But what is it? Such queer noises, and I see something alive!”

”Only the vultures, if you must know. Nothing else, I a.s.sure you.”

”Oh!”

”It is all out of sight from the spring. You are not to go around the bamboos until the--that is, not to-day.”

”Did Mr. Blake say that?”

”Why, yes--to be sure. He also said to tell you that the cutlets were on the top shelf.”

”You mean --?”

”His way of ordering you to cook our dinner. Really, Miss Genevieve, I should be pleased to take your place, but I have been told to keep to this. It is hard to take orders from a low fellow,--very hard for a gentleman, you know.”

Miss Leslie gazed at her shapely hands. Three days since she could not have conceived of their being so rough and scratched and dirty. Yet her disgust at their condition was not entirely unqualified.

”At least I have something to show for them,” she murmured.

”I beg pardon,” said Winthrope.