iver.

"What's that! One of the howling monkeys?" I said to uncle.

"No," he said softly, and I saw him reach out his hand slowly for his
gun. "Watch my patient."

I turned my eyes to where the man lay, and saw that he had raised his
head, and was gazing keenly in the direction whence the cry had come.

The next minute the howl was repeated, and it had hardly died out when
it arose again, but this time from our prisoner, who placed his hands to
his lips and sent forth a mournful cry.

Then it was answered from the other side, and the Carib turned excitedly
to us, talking rapidly, but without our being able to comprehend a word.

One thing, though, was evident--the poor fellow was highly excited, and
he smiled and chattered at us, before repeating the cry, which was again
answered, and then a kind of duet was kept up, with the distance and
time between the calls growing shorter minute by minute.

"This is all very well," said Cross softly, "but he's bringing on his
Injun mates. You'll tell us when to fire, sir?"

"Yes, if there is any need," said my uncle. "Be ready; that is all."

Our prisoner watched us excitedly, and evidently grasped what was meant,
for he began to talk to us eagerly, and then pointed downward again and
again.

He was in the midst of an eager explanation to us when there was a
rustling in the bushes below, and a dusky figure came up, caught sight
of us behind the barricade, and stopped short. But our prisoner uttered
a call, and the dark, pleasant-faced figure came on fearlessly, found
the opening we had left, and the next moment was down upon her knees
wailing softly and passing her hands over the bandages, ending by laying
her face against our prisoner's breast, and beginning to sob.

"Nothing to fear from her," said my uncle. "It's the poor fellow's
wife."

Meanwhile the Carib was evidently explaining his position to the woman,
and she turned to us, smiling, evidently ready to be the best of
friends, while her manners showed that she meant to stay and nurse her
wounded husband, whom she had traced to where he lay.

"Better be friends than enemies, Nat," said my uncle. "But one of us
must keep watch to-night."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

SUCCESS AT LAST.

Watch was kept that night and several more, while the days were passed
suspiciously and uneasily. But we saw no sign of more Indians, those
who shared our camp seeming quite at home, and proving to be gentle,
inoffensive c