and make him a pillow, and cover him up with the other, poor fellow, so
as he may get better and go and tell 'em we're here."

"Don't talk like that, Jem!" cried Don.

"Why not? Soon as he gets better he'll try and do us all the harm he
can."

"Poor fellow! I'm afraid he's dead," whispered Don.

"Then he won't want no more cutlashes and pistols," said Jem, coolly
appropriating the arms; "these here will be useful to us."

"But they are the king's property, Jem."

"Ah! Well, I dessay if the king knew how bad we wanted 'em, he'd lend
'em to us. He shall have 'em again when we've done with them."

As he spoke Jem helped himself to the ammunition, and then stood looking
on as Don dragged Ramsden's head round, so that the wind blew in his
face.

"How I should like to jump on him!" growled Jem. "I hate him like
poison, and I would if I'd got on a pair o' boots. Shouldn't hurt him a
bit like this."

"Don't talk nonsense, Jem. Mr Jones might hear us. Let's hail; he
can't be very far off."

"I say, Mas' Don, did our ugly swim last night send you half mad?"

"Mad? No!"

"Then, p'r'aps it's because you had no sleep. Here's a chap comes
hunting of us down with a cutlash, ready to do anything; and now he's
floored and we're all right, you want to make a pet on him. Why, it's
my belief that if you met a tiger with the toothache you'd want to take
out his tusk."

"Very likely, Jem," said Don, laughing.

"Ah, and as soon as you'd done it, `thankye, my lad,' says the tiger,
`that tooth's been so bad that I haven't made a comf'table meal for
days, so here goes.'"

"And then he'd eat me, Jem."

"That's so, my lad."

"Ah, well, this isn't a tiger, Jem."

"Why, he's wuss than a tiger, Mas' Don; because he do know better, and
tigers don't."

"Ramsden, ahoy!" came from below them in the ravine.

"Oh, crumpets!" exclaimed Jem. "Now we're done for. All that long swim
for nothing."

"Back into the cave," whispered Don. "Perhaps they have not seen us."

He gave Jem a thrust, they backed in a few yards, and then stood
watching and listening.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

CLOSE SHAVING.

"Think he's insensible, or only shamming?" said Jem.

"Insensible--quite! I'm afraid he's dead."

"I arn't," muttered Jem. "You might cut him up like a heel; legs and
arms and body, and every bit of him would try and do you a mischief."

"I'm afraid, though, that he knew we were in here, and that as soon as
he co