“Well, at least,” cried Stranleigh cheerfully, “we’ve had one pleasant afternoon, and I’m more than grateful for your company. I hope that you will find valuable minerals on this spot; a second Klondike or Kimberley in either gold or diamonds. Somehow I think you’ll be successful, and so I’ll leave you my best wishes. Good-by, good-by.”
The steamer was moving off down the river as Stranleigh waved his hand at the choice gang of ruffians that manned the highest outcrop of the reef.
“After all,” he murmured to himself, “they’re Englishmen, poor devils, and we’re all a long way from home!”
The manager standing there on the rock suddenly bethought himself, and raised his hat. A cheer broke forth from the outlaws, and they waved aloft tattered caps.
“Pull the whistle, captain, with a hip-hip-hip-hurrah,” and the siren sounded across the delta.
The manager stood for a long while watching the retreating boat, with his hands clasped behind him.
“By God,” he said, “I don’t know what to make of that man! I believe the captain’s right, and that he’ll capture the Rajah before nightfall, yet he’ll have no shot from my cannon.”
The Woman in White, as soon as she was out of sight of the camp, made record time to the coast, traversed the deep channel between the river and the sea with some caution, then struck straight out to the west. The sun was still about two hours above the western ocean. Far to the north the Rajah could be seen keeping closer inshore than seemed quite safe, the captain’s idea being doubtless to get out of sight behind the first headland he might encounter. The heavily laden boat was burning up coal with reckless prodigality, the slight wind from the shore carrying out to sea a great black banner of smoke. Stranleigh walked forward to the captain.
“Can you overtake him before sunset?” he asked.
“I think so, sir.”