"He says you may show yourselves as much as you like; they have no idea how to get up here," said Cynthia, who had joined us.
"Where is the Bo's'n?" asked I. At that moment the Bo's'n emerged from some concealment to the westward of where we were standing. In his arms he carried the little boy who had been rescued by Zalee the night before. Besides the child, he carried the spyglass. He had made the glass his special care. It stood to him in place of the family Bible. The reverence that he felt for this useful article stood us in good stead. I took the glass.
"I wonder what that savage wants," said I.
"He wants to know how to get up here," said the Smith.
"Can it be Uncle?" asked Cynthia.
"No," said I; "he's as black as that funereal bag of yours. The only difference is he hasn't a white spot on him." The man waved and gesticulated.
"I wouldn't show myself out on the edge of that terrace," said the Smith. "They'll surely find a way up here if they see us."
"Zalee said there was no danger," said I; but I retreated, leaving the man gesticulating.
"It's some ruse, I suppose," said the Smith.
I could not help crawling to the edge of the rock a little later, however, and peering through the leaves which fringed its extreme limit. The man was still looking upward. So he stood for a few moments, and then turned reluctantly, I thought, toward the path leading to the one up which we had clambered, and was lost in the thick undergrowth.