"It's the
alligators in the river I guess. You know they
have an odor of musk."
"Do you mean to say you didn't feel that
shadow flying over us just now?" asked Ned.
"Well, I felt something sail through the air,
but I took it to be a big bird. I didn't pay much
attention. To tell you the truth I was thinking
about Beecher--wondering when he would get
here," added Tom quickly as if to forestall any
question as to whether or not his thoughts had
to do with Beecher in connection with Tom's
affair of the heart.
"Well it wasn't a bird--at least not a regular
bird," said Ned in a low voice, as once more he
looked at the dark and gloomy jungle that
stretched back from the river and behind the
little clearing where the camp had been made.
"Come on!" cried Tom, in what he tried to
make a cheerful voice. "This is getting on your
nerves, Ned, and I didn't know you had any.
Let's go back and turn in. I'm dog-tired and
the mosquitoes are beginning to find that we're
here. Let's get under the nets. Then the black
shadows won't get you."
Not at all unwilling to leave so gloomy a scene,
Ned, after a brief glance up and down the dark
river, followed his chum. They found Professor
Bumper and Mr. Damon in their tent, a separate
one having been set up for the two men adjoining
that of the youths.
"Bless my fountain pen!" exclaimed Mr. Damon,
as he caught sight of Tom and Ned in the
flickering light of the smudge fire between the
two canvas shelters.
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