“Perhaps so,” replied Krantz;—­“but still you must yield to my whim, and take the gold.  If I am wrong, and we do arrive safe, you know, Philip, you can let me have it back,” observed Krantz, with a faint smile—­“but you forget, our water is nearly out, and we must look out for a rill on the coast to obtain a fresh supply.”

“I was thinking of that when you commenced this unwelcome topic.  We had better look out for the water before dark, and as soon as we have replenished our jars, we will make sail again.”

At the time that this conversation took place, they were on the eastern side of the Strait, about forty miles to the northward.  The interior of the coast was rocky and mountainous, but it slowly descended to low land of alternate forest and jungles, which continued to the beach:  the country appeared to be uninhabited.  Keeping close in to the shore, they discovered, after two hours’ run, a fresh stream which burst in a cascade from the mountains, and swept its devious course through the jungle, until it poured its tribute into the waters of the Strait.

They ran close in to the mouth of the stream, lowered the sails, and pulled the peroqua against the current, until they had advanced far enough to assure them that the water was quite fresh.  The jars were soon filled, and they were again thinking of pushing off; when, enticed by the beauty of the spot, the coolness of the fresh water, and wearied with their long confinement on board of the peroqua, they proposed to bathe—­a luxury hardly to be appreciated by those who have not been in a similar situation.  They threw off their Mussulman dresses, and plunged into the stream, where they remained for some time.  Krantz was the first to get out; he complained of feeling chilled, and he walked on to the banks where their clothes had been laid.  Philip also approached nearer to the beach, intending to follow him.

“And now, Philip,” said Krantz, “this will be a good opportunity for me to give you the money.  I will open my sash, and pour it out, and you can put it into your own before you put it on.”

Philip was standing in the water, which was about level with his waist.

“Well, Krantz,” said he, “I suppose if it must be so, it must; but it appears to me an idea so ridiculous—­however, you shall have your own way.”

Philip quitted the run, and sat down by Krantz, who was already busy in shaking the doubloons out of the folds of his sash; at last he said—­

“I believe, Philip, you have got them all, now?—­I feel satisfied.”

“What danger there can be to you, which I am not equally exposed to, I cannot conceive,” replied Philip; “however—­”

Hardly had he said these words, when there was a tremendous roar—­a rush like a mighty wind through the air—­a blow which threw him on his back—­a loud cry—­and a contention.  Philip recovered himself, and perceived the naked form of Krantz carried off with the speed of an arrow by an enormous tiger through the jungle.  He watched with distended eyeballs; in a few seconds the animal and Krantz had disappeared!