In any case, the creepers became suddenly still again, and Austin, who rose a trifle stiffly, found nothing when he pushed his way through the midst of them. There was no sound in the steamy bush, not a leaf seemed bruised or bent, and he went back again, with the perspiration dripping from him. Nevertheless, he was annoyed to notice that the Canario was watching him curiously.
"Nothing!" he said, with a dramatic gesture. "Nothing that one can see."
"What do you mean?" asked Austin sharply.
The Canario flung out an arm again. "Who knows! Though one cannot see it, it comes now and then. There are evil things in this land of the devil, and the saints are very far away. This is no place for them."
Austin sat down again and took out his pipe. He felt that there was nothing to be gained by continuing the discussion, for of late he had become almost superstitiously apprehensive himself. He lay watching the bush for another hour, and then, though it was the last thing he had intended, went to sleep. He had borne a heavy strain, and his will was weakening.
It was dark when he was awakened by a splash of paddles as the Cumbria's surfboat crept up the creek with the relief watch, and another hour had passed when they made the craft fast alongside the gangway and climbed wearily on board the steamer. There was no sound or light on board her, for half the crew were sick, and the pump had stopped. She lay, a black mass, amidst the sliding mist, and he stumbled over the kernel bags upon her slanted deck as he groped his way to his room in the poop. It was seldom he or Jefferson slept soundly now, and as they only awakened each other, Austin had moved to a room aft.
He lighted the oil lamp and flung himself, dressed as he was, into his berth, but found he could not sleep, though he could not remember how long he lay awake listening. He could hear mysterious splashings in the forest and the low gurgle of the creek, while now and then a timber creaked, or a drop of moisture fell from the iron beams with a splash that startled him. At last, when his eyes were growing heavy, there was a different and very faint sound on deck, and as he raised himself the door that stood a little open swung back gently. The lamp was still burning, for he found the light comforting, as white men are occasionally apt to do in that country, and it was with a little gasp of relief he felt for the pistol beneath his pillow as Funnel-paint came in. He was almost naked, and the water ran from him, but the strip of cloth about his loins was bound by a leather belt, with a sheath hung to it such as seamen wear, and the knife from the latter gleamed in his wet hand. He, however, dropped it upon the deck, and squatted on the water-ledge that rose a foot beneath the door. Austin watched him quietly, for he was, at least, not afraid of Funnel-paint.
"What the devil do you want?" he said.
"Halluf them gum," said the negro, with a wicked grin.
"How are we to give it you when we haven't found a bag of it?"