The sun was almost down before they got clear of the forest. They were on a bare green hill now, and far below on the east side of the island they could see the waving cocoa-palms and the green banana banks near to which the savages dwelt.
“Halt!” cried Stransom.
Then he took out a long piece of rope and tied the guide’s arms to his side and his wrists to one another, bidding the wondering Tootaker watch exactly how it was done. Tootaker had cute eyes, and he needed them to follow this wondrous intricacy of knot.
“Now,” said Stransom, laughing, “pull your hands apart.”
Tootaker did so, and to his amazement every knot was instantly loosed and the rope fell to the ground.
“Now bind me, Tootaker.”
The black was a little awkward at first, but he soon managed the whole trick.
By this time the moon had risen, and in less than half an hour Tootaker marched with bold strides into the camp, and right up to the great kraal of the king, leading a white captive, apparently bound and helpless.
There were shouts of savage joy, but Tootaker held up his hand authoritatively and commanded silence. The natives followed as far as the verandah of the palace, but on being told that he and his captive must first hold chik-chak with the chief, they retired.
Critical moments followed. Stransom was staking his life and the life of all on board the Vulture on one bold stroke. If it failed—well, after all, people have only once to die!