Through Forest and Stream Part 6

"The marks made by a boat," I said. "Why, uncle, they must have come in a canoe, and been attracted by our fire. Can you see their canoe?"

"No," said my uncle, after a long look round and away over the glittering waters. "But it's bad, Nat. They will not have gone far away, and will be coming back here in search of it."

"Then we shall have to take to the boat again and sail farther down the coast."

"We'd better get on board, my lad, certainly," said my uncle; "so let's roll up the tent, and--ah! look-out! Quick, lad--your gun!"

I was ready directly, c.o.c.ked both barrels of my piece, my heart beating fast in the emergency--for the danger we dreaded seemed to be at hand.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A SURPRISE.

"Ahoy! Don't shoot," came from out of the dense jungle up the stream.

"Why, uncle," I cried, "that doesn't sound like a savage."

"It's worse, Nat," said my uncle. "There's a terribly English sound about it."

"Ahoy, I say!" came again. "Don't shoot!"

"Ahoy! who are you?" shouted my uncle.

"Don't shoot, and we'll come out," came in tones half smothered by the thick growth.

"We're not going to fire. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

There was a sharp brushing sound of leaf.a.ge being forced aside, the splashing of feet in water, and the soft rattle of pebbles being moved in the stream bed by feet, and the next minute two figures came from under the pendent bough, which nearly touched the water and stood in the bright glow of the rising sun, while astonishment brought the words to our lips:

"The carpenter!" cried my uncle. And I burst out laughing as I said:

"That boy!"

"Why, we took you for savages," said my uncle. "Was it you two who came to the fire last night?"

"And you shot at us," said the boy, in a doleful voice.

"Shot at you?" cried my uncle angrily. "Of course I did. How dare you come prowling about our tent in the dead of night!"

"Didn't prowl, sir," said the boy humbly. "We could see your fire burning like a light as we come along, and we came straight to it, landed--and landed--and you came out, sir--came out, sir--and fired at us."

"Then you should have shouted."

"Yes, sir," said the boy, "but we was afraid to--feared you'd fire at us."

"But you see now, you came the wrong way."

"Yes, sir," said the boy, glancing at the carpenter; "we did come the wrong way."

"Well, what is it? Did we leave anything behind? Very good of the captain to send you."

"Didn't send us, sir," said the boy, looking down.

"Not send you?" cried Uncle d.i.c.k, staring. "How is it you came, then?"

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scooping up the dry sand with his toes, and turned to his companion, who gave me a peculiar look and stood frowning.

"Why don't you speak out and tell the gentleman, Bill Cross?"

"I left it to you, boy. You've got a tongue in your head."

"Yes; but you're bigger and older than me. But I don't mind telling.

You see, Mr Nat, sir," he said, suddenly turning to me, "I couldn't stand it any longer. They was killing of me, and as soon as you was gone, sir, it seemed so much worse that I went and shook hands with Bill Cross, who was the only one who ever said a kind word to me, and I telled him what I was going to do."

"Told him you were going to run away?" said my uncle.

"No, sir," said the boy promptly. "I telled him I'd come to say good-bye, for as soon as it was too dark for them to see to save me I was going to--"

"Run away?" said my uncle sternly, for the boy had stopped short.

"No, sir," he resumed; "I was going to jump overboard."

"Why, you miserable, wicked young rascal, how dare you tell me such a thing as that?" cried my uncle.

The boy gave a loud sniff.

"That's just what Bill Cross said, sir: and that he'd knock my blessed young head off if I dared to do such a thing."

"Did you say that?" asked my uncle.

"Yes, sir, I did, sir," said the man gruffly; "and a very stupid thing too."

"How stupid?" said my uncle.

"If he drowned himself and went to the bottom, how was I ever to get the chance to hit him, sir?"

"Humph! I see," said my uncle; "but you meant right. And what then?"

he continued, turning back to the boy.

"Bill Cross said, sir, that if I'd got the spirit of a c.o.c.kroach I wouldn't do that. 'Cut and run,' he says."

"Quite right," said my uncle. "I mean, get to another ship."

"'Where am I to run to?' I says. 'I can't run atop of the water.'

"'No,' he says; 'but you could get in a boat when it was dark and row away.' 'I dursen't,' I says; 'it would be stealing the boat.' 'You could borrow it,' he says; 'that's what I'm going to do.' 'You are?' I says. 'I am,' he says; 'for I'd sooner die o' thirst on the roaring main,' he says, 'than put up with any more.' You did, didn't you, mate?" he cried, appealingly.