Hitherto, the active life of the island, the shade of trees, hut or cave, the power of unrestricted movement and the possession of water in any desired quantity, robbed the tropical heat of the day of its chief terrors.  Now all was changed.  Instead of working amidst grateful foliage, they were bound to the brown rock, which soon would glow with radiated energy and give off scorching gusts like unto the opening of a furnace-door.

This he had foreseen all along.  The tarpaulin would yield them some degree of uneasy protection, and they both were in perfect physical condition.  But—­if Iris were wounded!  If the extra strain brought fever in its wake!  That way he saw nothing but blank despair, to be ended, for her, by delirium and merciful death, for him by a Berserk rush among the Dyaks, and one last mad fight against overwhelming numbers.

Then the girl’s voice reached him, self-reliant, almost cheerful—­

“You will be glad to hear that the cut has stopped bleeding.  It is only a scratch.”

So a kindly Providence had spared them yet a little while.  The cloud passed from his mind, the gathering mist from his eyes.  In that instant he thought he detected a slight rustling among the trees where the cliff shelved up from the house.  Standing as he was on the edge of the rock, this was a point he could not guard against.

When her welcome assurance recalled his scattered senses, he stepped back to speak to her, and in the same instant a couple of bullets crashed against the rock overhead.  Iris had unwittingly saved him from a serious, perhaps fatal, wound.

He sprang to the extreme right of the ledge and boldly looked into the trees beneath.  Two Dyaks were there, belated wanderers cut off from the main body.  They dived headlong into the undergrowth for safety, but one of them was too late.  The Lee-Metford reached him, and its reverberating concussion, tossed back and forth by the echoing rocks, drowned his parting scream.

In the plenitude of restored vigor the sailor waited for no counter demonstration.  He turned and crouchingly approached the southern end of his parapet.  Through his screen of grass he could discern the long black hair and yellow face of a man who lay on the sand and twisted his head around the base of the further cliff.  The distance, oft measured, was ninety yards, the target practically a six-inch bull’s-eye.  Jenks took careful aim, fired, and a whiff of sand flew up.

Perhaps he had used too fine a sight and ploughed a furrow beneath the Dyak’s ear.  He only heard a faint yell, but the enterprising head vanished and there were no more volunteers for that particular service.

He was still peering at the place when a cry of unmitigated anguish came from Iris—­

“Oh, come quick!  Our water!  The casks have burst!”

It was not until Jenks had torn the tarpaulin from off their stores, and he was wildly striving with both hands to scoop up some precious drops collected in the small hollows of the ledge, that he realized the full magnitude of the disaster which had befallen them.