'm going to take a nap. Wake me
if anything turns up, will you?" And making a pillow of one of the
rugs, he was soon snoring.

"It will be a mercy if he never wakes," said Chutney in a husky voice.
"Not much danger of that, however. We have food enough to last us a
couple of weeks yet, and unless we take your suggestion, colonel, and
toss it into the lake, we are good for that length of time, I suppose."

"Yes," rejoined the colonel, "unless we get sucked into a whirlpool or
the serpents attack the raft in force."

After that nothing was said for an hour or more. Their fate stared them
in the face with all its awful realism.

But even under these circumstances they grew drowsy, and dropped off one
by one among the rugs, except Guy, who declared his intention to stay
awake and be on the lookout for any danger that might threaten.

His was a solemn and lonely vigil. He envied his companions their power
to sleep, as the canoe drifted on through the gloom. The torch burned
slowly out, and he replaced it with a fresh one. His loaded rifle lay
within reach, but nothing happened to arouse his fear.

Sad and bitter were the reflections that surged into his mind. As the
events of his life rose up before him with wonderful clearness time
passed unheeded, and at last his brain grew weary, and rolling over on
the rugs he fell instantly into a deep slumber.

Strangely enough he was the first to awake. He had slept a long while,
he saw at a glance, for the torch was burnt almost to a cinder. The rest
were still sleeping.

"We must have been drifting for at least twelve hours," he said half
aloud. "We should be across the lake by this time."

He picked up a fresh torch and lit it from the expiring flame of the
other. As he stuck it in the crevice the glare suddenly revealed a wall
of rock a few yards distant, and in a very short time the raft struck
the shore with a harsh rattle that proved the impulse of the current
beyond a doubt.

The concussion failed to rouse the sleepers, and Guy was hesitating
whether he ought to do so or not when a faint sound came indistinctly to
his ear.

At first he could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses. He
fancied it must be a delusion, a buzzing in his ears. The strangest part
of it was that the sound actually resembled running water.

He listened a while longer, and then quietly woke the Greek, who sat up,
rubbing his eyes.

"Canaris," he whispered, "do you hear anything?"