“Mind! No,” cried Rodd. “But they will have to cook what are left for themselves. I say, uncle, can we trust them to put the fire out afterwards?”
“Oh yes, my lad. I suppose we must.”
“That’s right, Mr Rodd, sir. They’ll take care not to fry themselves. But here, cookie, don’t you leave them our pan.”
Once more as the boat swept round a bend a glimpse was caught of the two blacks, who had no hesitation now about paddling across to the deserted halting-place.
The Spaniard was as good as his word that evening in guiding them to another bivouac, and that night, feeling perfectly secure, the lads lay down to sleep, looking forward to another day of intense enjoyment in the wondrous labyrinth of Nature’s beauties, far from feeling satisfied with what had gone before.
Three more days passed, and halt after halt had been made at spots which always presented just the right facilities required, the Spaniard proving how great was his knowledge of the geography of the country through which they rowed or sailed, while the two blacks, who over and over again seemed to have disappeared, always turned up again ready for the departure of the travellers, who now took it as a matter of course to leave plenty of fish or flesh collected by the guns for the poor savages’ support.
More than once the lads had made advances to these men, to try and get them to approach, but their shyness and suspicion were most marked, and they never came near till the departing boat was some distance off.
“Now,” said the doctor, one evening, “I have been mentally marking down such birds and insects as I wish for us to collect, so to-morrow morning all this pleasure-seeking must come to an end, and we’ll all work hard, shooting, skinning, and boxing a few butterflies as well.”
“What a pity!” said Rodd. “I should like to go on yet for weeks.”
“So should I, Pickle, but we must get back to the schooner.”