It was nearly sundown when the boys awoke, so the purposed trip was not made. As the machine was now working again, there was no need of a guard on it, so the boys agreed to divide up the camp watch. One standing guard with the Spaniards until midnight, and the other one from midnight until morning. "I'll take the first watch," Charley said, "then I can get a good nap and run into town in the morning."
Before going out to his post, Charley sauntered over to the Indian's camp and exchanged greetings with Willie John. "Did you see any pale-faces in the woods to-day?" he inquired.
The Seminole shook his head. "No see strange pale-face," he said. "See campfire. Him one sleep old. Pale-faces gone."
"Well," said Charley, puzzled. "You must not go near any pale-face camp in woods. They very bad men. Maybe they shoot you or oxen. You understand?"
"Yes, me understand," said the Seminole. "No go near campfires any more."
"The gunmen have either moved camp or gone to town," the lad remarked to his chum when he returned to camp. "But we will keep watch just the same. It may be only a ruse to throw us off our guard."
The night passed away, however, without the slightest alarm, much to the lad's relief. Charley slept later than usual in the morning, and when he emerged from his tent he found the Captain waiting for him.
"One of the graders is sick," the old sailor informed him. "I wish you would take a look at him. He looks to me to be pretty badly off."
The lad found the sick man, one of their best workers, tossing restlessly on his cot, his face a brick red.
"What's the matter, Meticas?" he said cheerfully as he felt of the sick man's hot face.
"Plenty sick, señor," said the sufferer. "Plenty not all the time. No can work to-day. Work to-morrow, maybe."
"Don't you worry about the work," said the lad kindly. "I go to town this morning, get doctor. He will make you well pretty quick."
"Thanks, señor," said the man gratefully.
"It looks to me like a case of jungle fever," the lad said as he joined the Captain.
"It's working in that nasty mud all the time that has made him sick," the old sailor declared. "The hot sun burning down on that foul muck is enough to make an alligator sick. It don't bother me much, for I get off to one side and keep out of it. It's hardest on the ground men and the graders. They are in it all the time. They don't complain any, but I notice they are getting sores all over their legs from standing in it. It would not surprise me if more of them came down before long."