Coulson suspended his operations. Clear and shrill came the rattle of the lokali tapping its message:
"Tom-te tom, tom-te tom, tommitty tommitty tommitty-tom."
"There she goes," said the loquacious Jim, complacently. "Two white men of suspicious appearance have arrived in town—Court papers please copy."
Coulson grinned again. He was working his hammer deftly, and already the offending branch had disappeared.
"A ha'porth of cement in the morning," he said, "and she's the Royal yacht."
Jim sniffed.
"It'll take many ha'porths of cement to make her anything but a big intake pipe," he said. He put his hand on the edge of the boat and leapt aboard. Abaft the deck-house were two tiny cupboards of cabins, the length of a man's body and twice his width. Into one of these he dived, and returned shortly afterwards with a small, worn portmanteau, patched and soiled. He jumped down over the bows to the beach, first handing the piece of baggage down to the engineer of the little boat. It was so heavy that the man nearly dropped it.
"What's the idea?" Coulson mopped the sweat from his forehead with a pocket-handkerchief, and turned his astonished gaze to the other.
"'Tis the loot," said Jim significantly. "We make a cache of this to-night lest a worse thing happen.
"Oh, God, this man!" prayed Coulson, appealing heavenward. "With the eyes of the whole dam' barbarian rabble directed on him, he stalks through the wilderness with his grip full of gold and his heart full of innocent guile!"