I found the adventure exciting, but was unprepared for its effect on Christopher. His usually dull eyes had intelligent vision; his slouchiness was gone.
After a few moments’ rest Beelo rose, and led us to the stream. It was deep and slow here, and crept through a dense overhanging growth. We pushed through the tangle, and soon came to a little clearing near the bank, but screened from it. The bamboo raft which he and Christopher had made lay there.
We launched it. Christopher produced a pole from another hiding-place, boarded the raft, and knelt on the forward end. Beelo and I followed.
“Christopher,” the lad inquired, “can you see in the dark?”
“Yes,” and Christopher shoved off.
The vegetation grew denser as we slipped along, and its shadows combined with the darkness of the day to plunge us into night. Presently I realized that we must have traversed more than the distance between the launching-place and the wall.
“Where are we, Beelo?” I asked, but the sound of my voice informed me before the boy’s answer:
“Under the mountain. We are going through.”
To describe my sensations would be impertinent. Beelo’s reticence was more than silence. The only sound was the swish of Christopher’s pole as it dipped and scraped while we drifted. Beelo, sitting a little to the rear and at one side of me, crept nearer.
“Talk,” he begged, edging still closer, till our arms touched.