Mallet and Corwell, with the natives, worked hard till near sunset, and then ceased.
“There's nearly five ounces in that lot, Mallet,” said the captain, pointing to two buckets of wash-dirt. “Let us have a bathe, and then get something to eat before it is too dark.”
“The natives say we ought to get back to the house, sir, instead of sleeping here tonight. They say a heavy storm is coming on, and we'll be washed out of the camp.”
“Very well, Mallet I don't want to stay here, I can assure you. Tell them to hurry up, then. Get the shovels and other gear, and let us start as quickly as possible. It will take us a good three hours to get back to the house.”
By sunset they started, walking in single file along the narrow, dangerous mountain-path, a false step on which meant a fall of hundreds of feet.
Half-way down, the storm overtook them, but guided by the surefooted natives they pressed steadily on, gained the level ground, and at last reached the house about ten o'clock.
“Now that we have come so far we might as well go on board and give my wife a surprise,” said Corwell to Mallet. “Look, the rain is taking off.”
“Not for long, sir. But if we start at once we may get aboard afore it starts again.”
Two willing natives, wet and shivering as they were, quickly baled out a canoe, and in a few minutes they were off, paddling down towards the sea. But scarce had they gone a few hundred yards when another sudden downpour of rain blotted out everything around them. But the natives paddled steadily on amid the deafening roar; the river was wide, and there was no danger of striking anything harder than the hanging branch of a tree or the soft banks.