a grim smile flickered around the corners of his mouth. "What have rest
and I to do with each other just now?"

"Yet there's nothing you can do here."

"I am here, anyway," Reade retorted. "I'm on the spot---that's something."

"Let me run back to the house and get you some blankets," urged the
superintendent. "Then you can lie down on the sand and rest. Of course
I know you can't sleep at present."

"It is not necessary go back," volunteered a voice behind them. "I have
the blankets."

"Nicolas!" gasped Tom, in surprise. "How did you know I was here?"

"I wake up when you talk to Meester Renshaw," replied the Mexican simply.
"I listen. I know, now---poor Senor Hazelton!"

Nicolas's voice broke, and, as he stepped closer, Tom beheld some large
tears trickling down the little Mexican's face.

"Nicolas, you're a good fellow!" cried Tom, impulsively, "but I don't want
the blankets. Spread them on the sand, then lie down on them yourself
until I need you."

"What---me? I lie down?" demanded Nicolas. "No, no! That impossible is.
I must walk, walk! Me? I am like the caged panther to-night. I want
nothing but find the enemy who have hurt Senor Hazelton. Then I jump on
the back of that enemy!"