“Don’t worry!” Cliff retorted. “I examined the film, this morning. I wondered why the film was so combustible when it was to be used on a ship and with an open light. I saw the reason. The ‘leader part’ isn’t supposed to be ‘threaded-up’ in the beam of heat from the light; it is to go down to the lower magazine and so it can be of ordinary celluloid base film. But the real picture is on what is called ‘non-flam’ which is a celluloid base especially treated and with chemical constituents that make it smoulder when it gets hot, but it won’t burst into flame or explode. The chief has a bit of the picture itself, so Tom’s laurels are safe.”
It proved that he was right, for when the film was cast into the fire it only curled up and smouldered into ash, whereas Tom, to “make good” his own standing, at Cliff’s behest secretly secured a bit of “leader” from a second roll of the film and then “put on a show” for the chief which impressed the monarch so much that he ordered his bowmen at once—and the jungle resounded to the crashing escape of a medicine man who had advised jealously but not too wisely.
In time the sick had been touched and Margery’s request that she be allowed to go with the chums was granted; she promised to send back, by the guards, all the medicines on the cruiser, and when, after the days in the jungle trails the quartet reached the head of a small stream, and thence were hurried to the coast in canoes, they set foot again on the smooth white deck, she kept her word. All the medicine was sent, with careful instructions for its use according to the diseases prevalent in the country; other gifts were heaped upon the messengers and they left with the first smiles that any white man had seen on their stolid faces for many years. In return they loaded Margery and the chums with their cloth into which was woven many designs which later proved to be a key to many links of the modern Indians with ancient civilization.
Margery was greeted with much delight by Bill and Jack. Both of them were old enough, as was Mr. Gray, to realize that what worried Tom, her childishness, her habits of the girl of eleven in a body of a miss of sixteen, would soon be outgrown in new surroundings.
There was great excitement and a regular banquet to celebrate the return, and over plates of tinned meats and broiled yams, turtle and freshly caught fish, the youths related their experiences to an eager audience; but they hardly finished when Bill slapped his knee, almost upsetting all their crockery as he shouted:
“So you let Henry Morgan and Beecher go? And you thought they’d quit? Where were you lads when you and Margery talked over her story?”
“In her hut!” cried Tom, starting as he recalled a former time when Toosa had declined certain facts and an eavesdropper had overheard.
“You don’t mean?—” began Nicky. “Why—let me get hold of that—”
“That would explain why they avoided us and why the sloop sailed North in such a hurry,” Jack declared. He was much more of a self-respecting man than he had been even when the youths saw him last. He had control of himself, and took pride in his appearance.
“Andy—Bob—” called Bill, “get up the anchors and make everything shipshape. We’ve got enough provisions for a run back to Mexico?”