There was a tent under the trees, and four other white men came forward. The blacks squatted on the ground, Ray and I between them. Duran was in colloquy with one of the whites.
"There's no use wastin' yer breath on that, I'm tellin' ye," said the man. "We don't sail away from here. We got business here that's pressin'. Five thousan' ain't temptin' us, with others on the island."
"Yes, but I give five t'ousand more if you keep them one week," said Duran. "And—"
"Now looky here," interrupted the other. "It's no use. Besides we got as purty a little place to hide them in, the devil himself couldn't find them. We don't sail away with them, that's sure as shootin'. It's just a thousand apiece down, we hold them a week, and if you succeed, it's a thousand apiece more, when you come back in a month, that's all there is to it. Now mush along after the spondulicks afore it's daylight an' too late, or maybe their friends has got some gold, and—"
"No—No!" said Duran. "They can never have what I have. When I come back I breeng ten thousand—you see!"
Duran and the four blacks were soon gone, and Ray and I had new keepers. One of the five white men remained by us, while the other four moved off out of ear-shot for some sort of discussion. Ray sought to talk with our guard, but he would have none of it.
"Shut your palaver!" he ordered. And he made a threatening gesture.
Within two hours Duran appeared. Then came the counting of money, in bills and gold, in the light of the lantern. Each white man took his own share, and smacked his lips over it.
"You keep them one week," said Duran, then. "I come back in one month, and I give you ten thousand, maybe more if I succeed well."
And he was off again in the dark forest.