It was strange, fascinating, weird, this eternal drifting, drifting, drifting on into the night. Now the sudden brush of a palm leaf told him they were traveling close to the bank; now a mad forward plunge followed by low exclamations, told of rapids; and now the distant bark of a dog somewhere on land suggested a cabin and some few scattered inhabitants.
They were quite a goodly company, this Maya band which escorted him from their city to some unknown destination. Johnny, with his white companions, rode in a large pit-pan. There were other crafts. From time to time he caught the sound of their dipping paddles, heard their low cries of warning as one boat came perilously near another. Twice they had made camp. At such times as this, blindfolded though he was, Johnny was able to estimate the number of men.
“About a hundred,” he had said to Jean.
“Quite a band,” she had agreed. “Wonder why so many?”
“Who can tell?”
The princess was with them. He heard her voice from time to time. The old chief, too, perhaps. He could not be sure of that.
Wondering dreamily how it all would end, and wishing with all his heart that Jean at least was out of it all, he fell into a doze.
From this he was awakened by a sudden movement of the boat. It was as if the hand of a giant had seized the prow and suddenly turned it through a quarter of a circle, then had given it a powerful shove.
For a second the boy’s head whirled.
“Wha—what has happened?” Jean whispered.