rought me here on the run. Now that the excitement is
over I feel weak as a kitten," Charley answered.

"You're going back to bed and stay there until that wound is completely
healed," declared Walter as he put his arm around his chum and assisted
him out of the chapel.

Before he could get the exhausted lad to the hut, he had become a dead
weight in Walter's arms. Walter let him down gently upon the ground
and ran to the hut where he aroused Chris and the captain, and the
three bore Charley inside and laid him on his couch.

Captain Westfield bathed the wound and bandaged it afresh. His face
was very grave as he examined the unconscious lad's skin and pulse.
"He has a high fever," he declared anxiously. "I thought yesterday
from the way he was yawning and stretching that he was in for an attack
of swamp fever. With a dose of it on top of this hole in his leg it is
likely to go hard with the poor lad. I'd give a sight now for some
brandy and quinine." He glanced up at Walter's haggard face. "You get
to bed this minute or we will have two on our hands," he commanded.
"Chris and I have had a good nap and we'll keep watch the balance of
the night, though, I 'low, there ain't much use in doing it."

Walter was too near collapse, himself, to offer objections and dropping
down on his couch was soon sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. He woke
again just as the sun arose feeling rested and quite his old vigorous
self, but his spirits soon fell as his chum's meanings fell upon his
ears.

Charley was tossing restfully upon his couch in a high fever and the
wounded leg was greatly swollen and flushed an angry red.

There was nothing he could do to relieve the sufferer, so Walter with a
heavy heart stole out of the hut.

The captain and Chris were busy over the fire preparing breakfast.
They greeted Walter with grave faces for Charley's condition was
resting heavily upon them.

"If I only had some quinine I could check that fever," sighed the old
sailor. "He is healthy and clean-blooded and I reckon he'd get over
that bad leg in time, but he can't fight them both. How in the world
did he come to start the wound to bleeding again?"

Sadly Walter recounted the adventures of the night. He told of their
previous discovery of the bell, their first fruitless search of the
chapel, and of his venturing in alone and the shooting of the
bell-ringer.

As he proceeded with his narrative the captain's face grew crimson wit