“And you assure me that you could pilot us in and right up to the slaver’s stronghold?”
“Pilot yew? Yew don’t want no piloting; all yew’ve got to do is to sail up in and out through the big wilderness of trees. Yew wouldn’t want no piloting, but if you undertake to see that I have that chief’s land, and clear him and his black crews away, I’ll lay yew off his front door where you can blow his palm-tree palace all to smithers without losing a man.”
“And what about the slaver?” asked Murray.
“What about her? She’ll be lying anchored there, of course.”
“With any colleagues?” asked the lieutenant.
“Whatche’r mean—t’others?”
“Yes.”
“Not now, mister. There’s as many as four or five sometimes, but I only see her go up the river this time. Yew should have come later on if you wanted more.”
“The slaver is up the river now, then?” said the lieutenant, looking at the man searchingly.
“Yes, of course,” was the reply, as the American involuntarily gave a look round, and then, as if taking himself to task for an act of folly, he added laughingly. “If she wasn’t up there she’d be out here, and you can see for yourselves that she ain’t.”