The canoe had already come into view and the bent forms of the two paddlers were directing its course toward the bank. Straight to the settlement it glided, like some long, graceful snake.
Hal held his breath as it pushed into the bank. He dared not stir the bushes for so much as a peek then. They were too close at hand. But then he had no need to see, for they started to speak and he could listen.
They talked in Portuguese, however, speaking in soft tones. Both voices struck Hal immediately as being familiar—the one especially so. But still he dared not stir, for he knew that they had not gotten out of the canoe. Then after a moment of silence, the familiar voice spoke in English.
“There is gold here—I feel it,” it whispered. “We must get these Pembertons away—no? It would be ver’ easy. The Pallidas, they perhaps kill Señor Pemberton, Junior. Why not make it look as if they do it again, eh? Why not, Pizella?”
“Si, Señor,” came the answer. “Why not so?”
CHAPTER XXVIII
HE WHO RISKS NOTHING
“Quem nao arrisca nao ganha,” said Señor Goncalves, twisting at his moustache. He chuckled softly. “Tomorrow night, perhaps?”
“Si, Señor,” said Pizella in a whisper. “Quem nao arrisca nao ganha.”
Suddenly the swish of paddles sounded and, with a creaking noise, the canoe pushed out of the clay and back into the stream. Hal held his breath listening for them to reveal something more but not a word did they speak until they put a great deal of distance between themselves and the settlement.
Hal crawled out of the bushes, wiped his hands on his handkerchief and scrambled up the bank. He made no effort to conceal himself but walked with determined step past the Pemberton hut. A flickering light showed someone to still be up.