“No, sir; nor yours either, Cyril. They are both cinchona, but of the inferior, comparatively useless kinds.”
John Manning chuckled.
“But the seeds are so much alike, sir,” said Cyril.
“Yes, but the broken capsules with them are not, boy. The good splits down one way, the inferior the other. There, I suppose I must give you all another lesson. Come and have a walk at once.”
He led the way out, all taking their guns, in the hope of getting a little fresh provision, as well as to throw off the attention of the Indians, who smiled at them pleasantly enough, as they looked up from their tasks of cutting and peeling the bark from the trunks and branches, most of the men with their jaws working, as they chewed away at the coca leaf, which every one seemed to carry in a little pouch attached to the waist.
No one seemed to pay further heed to them, but they were soon conscious that they were being watched, for an Indian was visible, when they went past the spot where their two guides were watching the browsing mules; and then, as they plunged into the forest, from time to time there was an indication that they were being well guarded, and that any attempt at evasion would result in an alarm being spread at once.
Once well out among the trees, the colonel began picking leaf and flower indiscriminately, to take off the watcher’s attention; but he contrived, at the same time, to rivet the boys’ attention upon the flower and seed of the most valuable of the cinchona trees, indicating the colour of the blossom, and the peculiarities of the seed-vessels, till even John Manning declared himself perfect.
“Seeds only,” said the colonel. “I give up all thought of trying to take plants. We must depend upon the seeds alone, and we ought to get a good collection before we have done.”
“And then, father?” asked Perry.
“Then we go back as fast as we can, if—”