"Two. We made them with fire," said Bill proudly. "They are better than a log. For Jack's father, who is dead, and was not so foolish a little while ago, told us about hollow logs which he called boats."
And he went on chattering, while Smith was thinking how he could get possession of the boats. He wondered, too, whether it would be wiser to take them or to make some kind of an exchange. It was possible that the knife which Big Jack had might be considered an equivalent. He wished now they had brought their tomahawks, and pondered about the possibility of returning down the billabong for them. For with them they might make canoes for themselves.
But Fate solved the problem for them far more suddenly than he thought possible, and solved it that very night not long after they returned to the camp.
"Just sneak off if you can," said Smith to the Baker an hour later, "and try and find out where they keep the canoes. And see if the paddles are there."
"I don't like leaving you," said Mandeville; "that's a fact, for there's some that's took up the old un's prophecies. That I can see. And Bill's brother is talkin' agin us plain."
And when Smith looked, it certainly seemed that the Baker was right, for the objectionable suitor for the "wild cat's" hand was holding forth by the fire on a subject which made those with him continually look at the two from that other tribe of white men.
"Never mind," said Smith. "I'll stick to Bill and Jack, and they're all right so far."
So presently the little Baker casually sauntered into the darkness, and went down to the river, with his heart in his mouth.
"I want more 'bacca, Smith," said Big Jack, and Smith reluctantly parted with what he had left.
"If you will send one of your young men back with me," said Smith, "I will give you a great deal of tobacco, and many knives."