Part 21 (1/2)
CHAPTER XIII
THE MARK OF THE BEAST
Morning found Winthrope more irritable and peevish than ever. Though he had not been called on watch by Blake until long after midnight, he had soon fallen asleep at his post and permitted the fire to die out.
Shortly before dawn, Blake was roused by a pack of jackals, snarling and quarrelling over the half-dried seafowl. To charge upon the thieves and put them to flight with a few blows of his club took but a moment.
Yet daylight showed more than half the drying frames empty.
Blake was staring glumly at them, with his broad back to Winthrope, when Miss Leslie appeared. The sudden cessation of Winthrope's complaints brought his companion around on the instant. The girl stood before him, clad from neck to foot in her leopard-skin dress.
”Well, I'll be--dashed!” he exclaimed, and he stood staring at her open-mouthed.
”I fear it will be warm. Do you think it becoming?” she asked, flus.h.i.+ng, and turning as though to show the fit of the costume.
”Do I?” he echoed. ”Miss Jenny, you're a peach!”
”Thank you,” she said. ”And here is the skirt. I have ripped it open.
You see, it will make a fine flag.”
”If it's put up. Seems a pity, though, to do that, when we're getting on so fine. What do you say to leaving it down, and starting a little colony of our own?”
Miss Leslie raised the skirt in her outstretched hands. Behind it her face became white as the cloth.
”Well?” demanded Blake soberly, though his eyes were twinkling.
”You forget the fever,” she retorted mockingly, and Blake failed to catch the quaver beneath the light remark.
”Say, you've got me there!” he admitted. ”Just pa.s.s over your flag, and sc.r.a.pe up some grub. I'll be breaking out a big bamboo. There are plenty of holes and loose stones on the cliff. We'll have the signal up before noon.”
Miss Leslie murmured her thanks, and immediately set about the preparation of breakfast.
When Blake had the bamboo ready, with one edge of the broad piece of white duck lashed to it with catgut as high up as the tapering staff would bear, he called upon Winthrope to accompany him.
”You can go, too, Miss Jenny,” he added. ”You haven't been on the cliff yet, and you ought to celebrate the occasion.”
”No, thank you,” replied the girl. ”I'm still unprepared to climb precipices, even though my costume is that of a savage.”
”Savage? Great Scott! that leopard dress would win out against any set of Russian furs a-going, and I've heard they're considered all kinds of dog. Come on. I can swing you into the branches, and it's easy from there up.”
”You will excuse me, please.”
”Yes, you can go alone,” interposed Winthrope. ”I am indisposed this morning, and, what is more, I have had enough of your dictation.”
”You have, have you?” growled Blake, his patience suddenly come to an end. ”Well, let me tell you, Miss Leslie is a lady, and if she don't want to go, that settles it. But as for you, you'll go, if I have to kick you every step.”
Winthrope cringed back, and broke into a childish whine. ”Don't--don't do it, Blake--Oh, I say, Miss Genevieve, how can you stand by and see him abuse me like this?”
Blake was grinning as he turned to Miss Leslie. Her face was flushed and downcast with humiliation for her friend. It seemed incredible that a man of his breeding should betray such weakness. A quick change came over Blake's face.
”Look here,” he muttered, ”I guess I'm enough of a sport to know something about fair play. Win's coming down with the fever, and's no more to blame for doing the baby act than he'll be when he gets the delirium, and gabbles.”