I repeated the incident of being surrounded, and the way in which Tom presented a stalactite to the principal man.
My uncle smiled grimly.
“Tom,” he said, “you must look out, or that stalactite will come back with interest. I’m afraid that we English do not give the Indians credit for all the brain they possess. They may have once been a simple, childlike race, but long oppression has roused something more in their breasts. You must look out, lads—look out.”
My uncle left us, and Tom started one way, I the other, to look watchfully and carefully round for danger; although, to my way of thinking, it was decidedly a work of supererogation there in broad daylight, with the sun pouring down his intensely bright beams. There was the creeper-overhung verandah on one side, which, at a glance, I could see was untenanted; there, on the other side, was the garden-like plantation, with its gorgeous blossoms and flitting birds. The rows could be easily scanned, and I looked down between them; but it was evident that there was no danger to apprehend nearer than the forest; and I reached one corner of the verandah just as a parrot gave one of its peculiar calls, to be answered by another behind me.
This was followed by a regular chorus from the woods, every parrot within hearing setting up a series of its ear-piercing shrieks, which in turn started birds of other kinds; the toucans hopping about from branch to branch uttering their singular barking cries, as they raised high their huge bills, which looked as if they would overbalance their bodies, but were as light as if made of paper and as thin.
It did not seem a time to notice such things, but somehow they impressed themselves upon my mind, and I could not help letting my eyes rest upon a pair of the most magnificent trogons I had ever seen. They were in the full beauty of their gorgeous golden-green plumage, which contrasted strongly with their brilliant scarlet breasts. Where they were perched there was an opening among the trees and the full blaze of the sun came down upon their backs, crests, and yard-long tail-feathers which glistened and sparkled at every movement as if formed of burnished metal.
This set me thinking of the golden treasure, and a sort of childish fancy came upon me as to whether these birds might be inhabited by the spirits of some of the old gold-loving Incas, who were watching over their treasure and waiting about to see what steps I should take next to steal that store away.
I walked on, met, and passed Tom, who remarked upon the improbability of the copperskin showing up again; and then I continued my patrol slowly round the house, past the court-yard, where all was still, and at last found Tom where we had parted from my uncle.
“Seen anything, Tom?” I said.
“Lizard cutting up the verandy, Mas’r Harry, and a bee-bird buzzing about over the flowers: nothing else.”