He took everything out of his pockets and divested himself of such clothing as would impede his progress—removed his poncho, his shoes and stockings, and soon was ready, barefooted and clad only in a woollen shirt and trousers. Sounds now came distinctly from down the river. These noises, first heard faintly while they were eating their frugal supper, grew in volume and became long wails, rising and falling.
“They are singing,” whispered the señor. “That is a chant.”
He placed a hunting-knife in his belt, laying aside his rifle, and announced himself ready to leave.
“What if they should see you and should attack? How are we to know it?” asked Ferguson.
The captain shrugged his shoulders. “I think you would not know until I failed to return.”
“That will never do, sir,” protested the American. “Take your revolver,” and he picked up the small weapon, which had been discarded with the rifle. “If you are attacked, fire a shot, and we will hurry to the rescue. We all stand together in this. Don’t we, fellows?”
“Of course we do,” said Hope-Jones and Harvey.
He looked at them gratefully and started to leave, but stopped a minute to say: “While I am gone keep a close watch. Don’t worry, even should I be absent two hours, for it will be slow work. I will fire the pistol should anything happen. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” they said, and each grasped him by the hand.
It was quite lonely when he had gone, and they then appreciated how much they depended upon him. From down the river the sound of the chant came louder, evidence that more voices were joining in the evening song. It was a night with no clouds in the sky, and the full moon shone direct upon their camp and the surrounding country, silvering the broad leaves of trees, throwing the trunks into blackness more deep by the contrast, and causing strange shadows to appear on all sides. As a gentle wind stirred the branches, the shadows moved from side to side. Once or twice Harvey, who was stationed at the opening near the wooded country, was certain that he saw the figure of an Indian, and whispered a warning, but each time it proved to be only the obscuration of the moonlight by a branch or a rock.