The now familiar cawing cry of the paradise bird came from close at hand, and, with his eyes glistening, Oliver made a sign to the rest to remain where they were. Then, softly cocking his piece, he stole in through the thick bush-like tangle which extended for a few yards before the tall forest tree-trunks rose up to spread branches which effectually shut out the sun and checked all undergrowth while they turned their leaves and flowers to the sun, a hundred and fifty or two hundred feet in the air.
“Hadn’t I better foller him, sir?” said Smith.
“No; he is more likely to get a specimen alone,” replied Drew. “We’ll go on round that corner where the forest edge seems to bend away to the south, and wait for him there.”
He indicated a spot about a hundred yards farther on, and the party walked slowly along till the bend was reached, when as they caught a puff of the soft warm air from which they had been sheltered, Smith suddenly threw up his head, expanded his nostrils, as he drew in a deep breath and exclaimed,—
“Hysters!”
“Nay, lad,” cried Wriggs, who had followed his example.
“Mussels!”
“It’s both on ’em, matey,” cried Smith. “Hear that?”
Everyone did hear “that”—the deep, heavy, dull, booming thud of a roller, as in imagination they saw it come running in like a wall of water to strike on the reef; curl over in a brilliant, many-hued arch, and break in thousands of sheaves of diamond spray.
“It can’t be more than a mile away,” said Drew, quickly, as he began to look about for a spot where he could throw himself down and rest while they waited.