'We should not be far from La Dorada now,' said Toffy, steering between the lines of stakes; 'but I can't see any signs of the steamer in this blackness.'
In the daytime the river was a pale mud-colour and very thick and dirty-looking. The moon came out for a moment and showed it like a silver ribbon between the grey banks.
'Easy all!' said Toffy, sniffing the air. 'We must be near the canning-factory at La Dorada.'
The horrible smell of the slaughter-house was borne to them on the river, and there were some big corrals close by the water, and a small wharf.
'It reminds me,' thought Toffy, 'of the beastly beef-tea which I have had to drink all my life.'
'Good heavens!' cried Ross, 'they are firing the wharf! Purvis's chances are small if this is their game.'
There was not very much to burn; the wood of the wharf kindled easily, and the wheat burned sullenly and sent up grey volumes of smoke.
'Steer under the bank,' said Peter. 'We don't want to be seen.'
Toffy steered the boat as near the shore as the mud would allow, and as the wood of the wharf burned more brightly he could see some men running to and fro confusedly every few minutes, and then making off farther down the river.
'They 'll fire the steamer next!' said Peter, and then bent his back to the oar, and the boat swung away into the middle of the stream again.