It was hot there, terribly hot. The air was stifling. It fairly reeked of moisture and the smells from the swamp behind them were sickening. Tommy began to transfer the shells from the spare bent magazine to the one he had carried with the gun.
“We’ve a couple of reasons to be thankful,” he observed. “One is that there’s a bit of shade overhead. The other is that we had the big magazines for this gun. We still have nearly ninety shells, besides the ones for the pistols.”
Evelyn said soberly:
“We’re going to be killed, don’t you think, Tommy?”
Tommy frowned.
“I’m rather afraid we are,” he said irritably. “Confound it, and I’d thought of such excellent arguments to use in the City back yonder! Smithers said the Death Mist was two miles across, to-day, and still growing. The people in th
