He had the feeling that he must not enter the hut while the owner was away. None the less, he looked curiously at the contents of the hut. Some clothes of a yellowish drill were hanging from one of the posts, with a leather belt on which the initial D was marked in black. At the back of the hut, beyond the hammock, was a table, made of two planks supported upon the taller sort of Indian stools, of the kind cut by them for their god-houses. This table was heaped with objects, which seemed to be mostly stones or lumps of ore; he could not make out what they were. Under the table was another tin box marked D W upon the side; this box was open and contained boots. The hammock had a good brown camel-hair blanket rolled up across its foot. Hi had just such another in his kit at Santa Barbara: his mother had chosen it for him, “For your father says the nights can be very cold, even a month after the rains.”
There seemed to be nothing else worth notice in the hut, except the usual canvas water bottle, holding a gallon, a canvas bucket with a laniard spliced into its rim, and a canvas basin in which D. W. had soaped himself that morning. Hi had experience of the things bought for outfits; he noticed that all these things were very good of their kind but the worse for wear. “No tools,” Hi thought. “He has a working or a claim somewhere near; the tools will be there.”
“Well,” Hi said to himself, “I must not spy upon this man. I wish that he would come back, so that I could have it out with him.”
He walked into the compound, where he passed an hour trying to make friends with the parrots and the little dogs. Both were gentle yet suspicious; he had no success with them. The day dragged heavily over him, while he waited for D. W. to return. The village was interesting and the forest beautiful. He longed to be out of both, going fast upon his mission, while there was still hope.
After a while, he felt within himself the suggestion that there might be something of interest in the hut where he had slept. He had not examined it thoroughly; now that his eyes were so much less swollen, he felt that that would be something to do; there might even be some book tossed aside somewhere. He had seen no trace of a book in D. W.’s hut.
In the furthest corner of his hut was a small rubbish heap. He pulled a half-burnt piece of wood from his fireplace. With this, he began to poke aside the rubbish, to see what he could find. The rubbish was of all sorts, much the worse for having been in a corner of the hut into which the rain had blown. He found these things:
Part of a canvas sack, into which the ants had worked.
A briar pipe, much used, which had a bleached look from exposure.
Part of a leather strop that had been cut through.
Three small twists of tough galvanised wire.