That Duran was on his way to the gold mine, there was little doubt. Carlos assured us that it was always this way he went when he meant to conceal his movements. And on these occasions he would sail away in his schooner in the night. And it was this had made it impossible for Carlos to follow him to the place. That his father had never travelled to the mine by a water route Carlos was quite sure, though he had been much too young to have much judgment in the matter, or over much curiosity.
Duran's sailors had proven uncorruptible. Voodoo superstition had had much to do with it, doubtless, and they were liberally paid by their master. Carlos knew of only one black who had deserted Duran's service; and he had afterward been found murdered, in the city.
The character of the growth changed as we approached the sea. The greater trees were less plentiful; there were more open spaces; bamboo, tall grasses, came in our way; cocoa palms, royal palms, cabbage palms, looked down upon us as we passed. And then came vistas, giving view of the blue sea. Here the course turned east.
In the comparative sparsity of the growth, there was less need for a path, so now Carlos soon had lost the trail of Duran and his black. He recommended that we remain where we then were, while he was gone forward, to seek for signs of the two.
"Thanks, Carlos," said Ray, throwing himself on the ground, "I never was so hot, and done up."
All were glad of a rest, except perhaps Grant Norris, who was always for going forward. Now, though, the heat must have taken, temporarily, some of the go out of him, for he lay immovable for so much as ten minutes. The mid-day sun was almost directly overhead, and there was scarcely a breath of air stirring.
When an hour had passed, Norris was on nettles again. He had smoked three pipefuls, to calm his nerves. Again and again he made short excursions to the east to anticipate the return of Carlos.
Ray had been observing him. "Say, Norris," he said, "there won't be slow music at your funeral."
Then, finally, Carlos turned up. He beckoned us to follow him. We tramped two more miles, much of it through a heavy bushy growth. And then at last he halted us in a screen of bush, whence we looked out on the waters of a small cove, almost surrounded by palms, whose tall trunks leaned over the white sand beach. Resting in that cove was a schooner—the Orion.
"Duran, he go on board," said Carlos.