st," bade the man. "We'll have to lift him. He's far
gone."

While the boatmen held the two crafts together by the gunwales, the
helpless form, swathed in a blanket, was passed across and propped
beside Maria in the stern. Then in stepped a short, stout, red-faced
man, and the two boatmen nimbly followed, with their paddles.

The dug-out was weighted almost to the gunwale by the new load, and
Charley caught his breath, in dismay. But she ceased sinking, and
still floated.

"Cast off," bade the short man, brusquely. "Thank God," he breathed,
wiping his brow. "I guess we'll make it now, storm or no storm. My
boys will help paddle."

With an exclamation all together Maria and Francisco and the two new
boatmen dipped their paddles, as the two boats parted; and the dug-out
leaped ahead.

"My name is Captain Crosby. I'm a sailor, from Boston," the stranger
introduced himself.

Mr. Adams explained who they were. Captain Crosby continued:

"I've followed the sea all my life, since I was a small boy, and this
is one of the narrowest escapes I've ever had, afloat or ashore. If it
hadn't been for you, my mate and I would have been drowned, or would
have died in the jungle. As for those cowardly whelps who passed us
by--faugh! Each one left us to the boat behind. Fiji Islanders would
have had more heart than that. It was the cholera that scared 'em."

"I'm afraid your partner's very sick," commented Mr. Adams. And
indeed, lying limp and unconscious, wrapped in the blanket, his
features pinched and white in the glare of lightning and flare of
torch, the partner certainly looked to Charley to be a very sick man.

"Yes, sir. He'll not recover. I've seen cholera before. But I'll
stay with him to the last, and then I'll bury him. Seems to me you're
late on the up-river trip, aren't you?"

"We are. But evidently there was a purpose in it," responded Mr.
Adams. "Things work out for the best, in this world."

"You'll not lose by it, sir," asserted Captain Crosby. "Wait and see.
You'll not lose by it. I've something up my sleeve. But now the main
thing to be done is to land us and be rid of us."

That may have been so; in fact, it behooved them all to land, if the
approaching storm's bite was as bad as its bark. The torch flickered
and went out; but the lightning was light enough, illuminating river
and wooded shores with blinding violet blazes. The bellow of the
thunder was terrific--and while the f