sheath with a creepy rasp and crash.

Natalie Sheldon sensed the strain that had come upon her escorts, and
she felt less at ease in her journey. Never once had she faltered or
complained, though she was sadly hampered by her totally unsuitable
garments for such a walk. In the gloomy forest the heat was stifling;
the trackless jungle was full of creeping life; at every step the feet
tripped over fallen logs or crunched with shivery suggestion into rotten
shells of storm-torn tree limbs. Bright eyes gleamed at them through the
thickets, to vanish swiftly; monkeys in the foliage overhead chattered
and howled, swinging from tree to tree in alarm, and glaring down upon
the intruders with faces convulsed with rage.

The girl shuddered violently when a thick, gorged snake squirmed from
under her feet and scrawled like a monstrous slug into a bush. She
simply must talk, or drop, she thought, so attempted Jerry Rolfe again.

"Mr. Rolfe, I don't understand why you are upset at what I said
concerning Mr. Vandersee," she ventured.

"Huh," grunted Rolfe. "Naval man, you said, didn't you?"

"Why, yes. But how can that make you so fierce and grumpy?"

Old Bill Blunt grinned happily at her tone. He too had felt the
oppressiveness of a speechless march. Sufficient for the moment being
sufficient for him, the old salt had long since put aside all thoughts
of Vandersee and the Holland Navy, content to have all the trouble in
one parcel when it should come. He wanted to chatter, and cared nothing
what about.

"Be we grumpy, Missy?" he chuckled. "Then bust me binnacle if we ain't
swabs! Asks yer pardon, then--"

"Shut your trap!" growled Rolfe surlily. He muttered, for Natalie's ear
alone: "S'pose you heard that Cap'n Barry and Mr. Little was euchred by
a naval party, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course. But that cannot be in any way connected with Mr.
Vandersee. He's on leave, you know, for private business. He cannot
possibly be conducting official business now; and it's quite ridiculous
to think of him as being responsible for Captain Barry's misfortune.
Why--oh, Mr. Rolfe," she burst out, laughing a trifle unsteadily, "it's
too silly. Mr. Vandersee is about the one man here that speaks well of
your party."

"That's easy," retorted Rolfe, unconvinced. "Private business, o' course
he's on. Speaks well of us? Why not? Ain't he a slick, smart fellow? Why
wouldn't he speak well of us! He's got the skipper and Mr. Little
buffaloed by s