He carried in his hand a heavy grip-sack, and commenced at once taking the path that led downwards to the river.
Here lay the dinghy boat drawn up on the beach. She was secured with padlock and chain, but all Roland's officers carried keys.
It was about a quarter of a mile to the river-side, and Peter was proceeding at a fairly rapid rate, considering the weight of his grip-sack.
He had a habit of talking to himself. He was doing so now.
"I have only to drop well down the river and intercept a steamer. It is this very day they pass, and--"
Two figures suddenly glided from the bush and stood before him.
One sprang up behind, whom he could not see.
"Good-morning, Mr. Peter! Going for a walk early, aren't you? It's going to turn out a delightful day, I think."
They were white men.
"Here!" cried Peter, "advance but one step, or dare to impede my progress, and you are both dead men! I am a good shot, and happen, as you see, to have the draw on you."