"Yonder is the chief's bullock cart. I myself will find the bullocks!"
"What then?"
"We shall be on the way south before the others land."
"An extra handful of gold for you! Get the oars out! Let us hurry!"
"More, holy one; these men will obey me."
"They shall be well paid."
Umballa had reached the point where he could not plan without treachery. He proposed to carry the basket into the jungle somewhere, bury it and make way with every man who knew the secret; then, at the proper time, he would return for it with a brave caravan, his own men or those whose loyalty he could repurchase.
The landing was made, the basket conveyed to the bullock cart, which was emptied of its bait and leopard trap; the bullocks were brought out and harnessed—all this activity before the fishing boats had covered half the distance.
"I see light," murmured Umballa.
He tried to act coolly, but when he spoke his voice cracked and the blood in his throat nigh suffocated him.