Mr. Corklan grunted. He walked to the edge of the village, where the ground sloped down to a strip of vivid green rushes. "Tell me, how long will this river be full?" he asked.
"Lord, for a moon."
Corklan nodded. Whilst the secret river ran, there was escape for him, for its meandering course would bring him and his rich cargo to Spanish territory and deep water.
His headman waited as though he had something to say. "Lord," he said at last, "the chief of the N'coro village sends this night ten great teeth and a pot."
Corklan nodded. "If we're here, we'll get 'em. I hope we shall be gone."
And then the tragically unexpected happened. A man in white came through the trees towards him, and behind was another white man and a platoon of native soldiers.
"Trouble," said Corklan to himself, and thought the moment was one which called for a cigar.
"Good-morning, Mr. Sanders!" he said cheerfully.
Sanders eyed him in silence.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," said Corklan.