Just before daylight, what he half feared, half hoped for, took place. During a dark moment he heard the bunt, felt the jar, of a prow against the side of the Rambler. He sat still and listened, his only motion being that of an arm to bring his automatic revolver into position for use.
Presently the light boat tipped a trifle to the east, as if some heavy body or bodies were keeling her over by clinging to the railing which ran around the deck. Whispered words in Spanish followed, and then the soft pad of a naked foot on the planks.
Clay’s purpose in remaining inactive at this time and permitting the intruders to gain the deck was to allow the invasion of the Rambler to proceed without interruption until the object of the visit was made known by some unmistakable proceeding. For all he knew the object of the intrusion might be larceny. In that case he did not wish to take a human life, as he would be almost certain to do should he open fire with his automatic revolver.
Presently the footsteps moved in the direction of the cabin door, which was wide open. The bulk of the cabin could only be outlined in the darkness, and the creeping figure could not be seen at all. The deck seemed empty save for himself, only the soft pat-pat of naked feet showing the presence of another.
The restless tumblings in the cabin had ceased, and Clay was under the impression that Frank had dropped off into slumber, but in this he was mistaken. He was already rising to his feet to switch on the light in the cabin when another light shot out of the doorway like a bullet.
It proceeded from a powerful electric searchlight, held in Frank’s left hand, and showed a weapon in the right. Straight out of the doorway it flashed, bringing into the center of a white circle the dusky face and evil eyes of a native Indian, such as Clay had observed on the streets of Para that evening.
The Indian was crouching low, his shoulders hunched as if for a quick spring, and a knife flashed back the light, a knife clutched in his right hand, already half lifted. The object of the night visit was no longer in doubt. Clay stepped forward, but quick as he was the Indian was too active for him.
There was a sudden movement and a splash in the river. When they cautiously peered over the railing of the deck, a second later, nothing was to be seen in the water below. Even the boat in which the Indian had reached the Rambler had disappeared. Frank threw the rays of his light far up arid down the current, but no bobbing head came within its circle.
“It is of no use to look for him,” the boy said. “He can swim beneath the surface as handily as on top.”
“But where is the boat?” asked Clay. “I distinctly heard one strike the Rambler.”