"There wasn't a great deal down in the cargo sheets, and, any way, until they'd hove the oil out they couldn't come at it."
"You are still sure about the gum yourself?"
Jefferson laughed softly. "I think I am. I don't quite know where it is, but the skipper got it—a good deal of it."
"Still, the steamer would be worth a persistent effort. There was no doubt about her being there."
"No," said Jefferson, with a little gesture of comprehension. "Now I know just what you mean. You're wondering, since those men couldn't heave her off, what's the use of us trying. Well, specialists make their mistakes now and then, just like other men, and they took it for granted that things were normal when they were there. From what I've seen of the sand strips and the marks on the mangrove trunks, I don't think they were. You see, there's a good deal we don't know about the tides yet, and the Guinea stream doesn't always run quite the same along this coast; while, when there's less than usual of the southwest winds that help it along, it's quite likely to mean two or three feet less water in these creeks. Then you can have a wet season that's a little drier than the other ones, and it's fresh water here—the tide just backs it up."
"Then you're counting on the present season being a normal one?"
"Yes," said Jefferson quietly. "I've staked all I have on it—and a good deal more than that. If it isn't, I might as well have pitched my forty thousand dollars into the sea."
He stopped a moment, and then laid a little grey object in Austin's palm. "What d'you make of that?"
Austin started as he looked at it. "A pistol bullet!"
"Exactly," said Jefferson. "It has been through the barrel, too; you can see the score of the rifling. I picked it up along the trail, but I don't know how long it lay there, or who fired it. Still, the niggers don't carry pistols. Well, it's about time I was getting back on board if we're to start the pump to-night."