Part 35 (1/2)
”That's my business,” he replied. He thrust his burning-gla.s.s into her hand. ”Here; go and build a fire, if you can find any dry stuff.”
”You're not going to-- You'll bury him!”
”Yes. Whatever he may have been, he's dead now, poor devil!”
”I can't go,” she half whispered, ”not until--until I've learned-- Do you--can you tell me just what is paranoia?”
Blake studied a little, and tapped the top of his head.
”Near as I can say, it's softening of the brain.--up there.”
”Do you think that--” she hesitated--”that he had it?”
Again Blake paused to consider.
”Well, I'm no alienist. I thought him a softy from the first. But that was all in line with what he was playing on us--British dude.
Fooled me, and I'd been chumming with Jimmy Scarbridge,--and Jimmy was the straight goods, fresh imported--monocle even--when I first ran up against him. No; this--this Hawkins, if that's his name, had brains all right. Still, he may have been cracked. When folks go dotty, they sometimes get extra 'cute. The best I can think of him is that losing his savings may have made him slip a cog, and then the scare over the way we landed here and his spells of fever probably hurried up the softening.”
”Then you believe his story?”
”Yes, I do. But if you'll go, please.”
”One thing more--I must know now! Do you remember the day when you set up the signal, and you--you quarrelled with him?”
Blake reddened, and dropped his gaze. ”Did he go and tell you that? The sneak!”
”If you please, let us say nothing more about him. But would you care to tell me what you meant--what you said then?”
Blake's flush deepened; but he raised his head, and faced her squarely as he answered: ”No; I'm not going to repeat any dead man's talk; and as for what I said, this isn't the time or place to say anything in that line--now that we're alone. Understand?”
”I'm afraid I do not, Mr. Blake. Please explain.”
”Don't ask me, Miss Jenny. I can't tell you now. You'll have to wait till we get aboard s.h.i.+p. We'll catch a steamer before long. 'T isn't every one of them that goes ash.o.r.e in these blows.”
”Why did you build that door? Did you suspect--” She glanced down at the huddled figure between them.
Blake frowned and hesitated; then burst out almost angrily: ”Well, you know now he was a sneak; so it's not blabbing to tell that much--I knew he was before; and it's never safe to trust a sneak.”
”Thank you!” she said, and she turned away quickly that she might not again look at the prostrate figure.
CHAPTER XXI
WRECKAGE AND SALVAGE
All the wood in the cleft was sodden from the fierce downpour that had accompanied the cyclone; all the cleft bottom other than the bare ledges was a bed of mud; everything without the tree-cave had been either blown away or heaped with broken boughs and mud-spattered rubbish. But the girl had far too much to think about to feel any concern over the mere damage and destruction of things. It was rather a relief to find something that called for work.
Not being able to find dry fuel, she gathered a quant.i.ty of the least sodden of the twigs and branches, and spread them out on a ledge in the clear suns.h.i.+ne. While her firewood was drying, she sc.r.a.ped away the mud and litter heaped upon her rude hearth. She then began a search for lost articles. When she dug out the pottery ware, she found her favorite stew-pot and one of the platters in fragments. The drying-frames for the meat had been blown away, and so had the antelope and hyena skins.