But the automatic pistol in his belt with its rattling, quick-dealing death, and the automatic, death- defying spirit in the man himself, made them refrain and buckle down to the task of hauling him to safety through the storm.
Wet through and exhausted, he was nevertheless surprised at the ease with which he got into a change of clothing.

Though he was fearfully weak, he found himself actually feeling better.

The disease had spent itself, and the mend had begun.
"Now if I don't get the fever," he said aloud, and at the same moment resolved to go to taking quinine as soon as he was strong enough to dare.
He crawled out on the veranda.

The rain had ceased, but the wind, which had dwindled to a half-gale, was increasing.

A big sea had sprung up, and the mile-long breakers, curling up to the over-fall two hundred yards from shore, were crashing on the beach.