"No," continued Fitz thoughtfully; "but I didn't know there were jaguars here."

"Didn't you, my lad?" said the skipper quietly. "Why, we are just at the edge of the impenetrable jungle. There is only this strip of land between it and the sea, and the only way into it is up that little river. If we were to row up there we should have right and left pretty well every wild creature that inhabits the South American jungles: tigers--you have had a taste of the snakes this afternoon--water-hogs, tapirs, pumas too, I dare say. There goes another of those great alligators slapping the water with his tail."

"Would there be any of the great serpents?" asked Fitz.

"Any number," replied the skipper, "if we could penetrate to where they are; the great tree-living ones, and those water-boas that live among the swamps and pools."

"They grow very big, don't they?" said Fitz, who began to find the conversation interesting.

"All sizes. Big as you or me round the thickest part, and as long as--"

"A hundred feet?" said Poole.

"Well, I don't know about that, my boy," said the skipper. "I shouldn't like to meet one that size. I saw the skin of one that was over thirty, and I have heard tell by people out here that they had seen them five-and-forty and fifty feet long. They may grow to that size in these hot, steamy jungles. There is no reason why they shouldn't, when whales grow to seventy or eighty feet long in the sea; but I believe those monster anacondas of fifty feet long were only skins, and that either they or the stories had been very much stretched."

"What time do you think it is, father?"

"Well, by the feel of the night, my lad, I should say it's about three."

"As late as that, father? Time seems to have gone very quickly."

"Quickly, eh? That's proof positive, my boy, that you have had a nap or two. I have not, and I have found it slow."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A JUNCTION.

The skipper moved off into the darkness, and all was wonderfully still once more in the clearing. There was the dense jungle all round, but not a sound broke the silence, for it was the peculiar period between the going to rest of the myriad creatures who prey by night, and the waking up of those expectant of the sun.

Then there was a sound of about the most commonplace, matter-of-fact character that can be imagined. Fitz, as he lay half upon a heap of dry leaves and canes, opened his mouth very widely, yawned portentously and loudly, ending with, "Oh, dear me!" and a quickly-uttered correction of what seemed to him like bad manners: "I beg your pardon!"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Poole, "I was doing just the same. Here, you are a pretty sort of fellow," he continued, "to be on the watch, and kick up a shindy like that! Suppose the enemy had been sneaking in."

He had hardly finished speaking when Fitz caught him by the arm and sprang up, for there was a faint rustling, and the two lads felt more than saw that some one was approaching them. Relief came directly, for instead of a sudden attack, it was the skipper who spoke.

"Silence!" he said softly. "Here, if you two lads are as sleepy as that, lie down again till sunrise."

"No, no, father," said Poole; "I am all right now. You must be tired out. Burnett and I will go your rounds now."

"Thanks, my lad; but no, thank you."

"But you may trust me, father, and I will call you at daybreak."

"No, my boy; I couldn't sleep if I tried."

"No more could I now, father. Let me help you, then; and go round to see that the watch is all right."

"Very well. You go that way, and have a quiet chat with the man on duty. It will rouse him up. I am going round here."

The skipper moved off directly, and Poole, before starting off in the indicated direction, whispered to Fitz--

"You can have another snooze till I come back."

"Thank you; but I am going along with you."

Quite willing to accept his companionship, Poole led the way slowly and cautiously; but at the end of a few yards he stopped short.

"What's the matter?" whispered Fitz.

"Nothing yet; but I was just thinking. Is there any pa.s.sword?"

"I dunno," whispered Fitz.

"I didn't ask father, and it would be rather awkward if we were challenged and shot at."

"Oh, there's no fear of that. You'd know by the voice which of the men it was who spoke, and he'd know yours when you answered."

"To be sure. False alarm. Come on." It seemed darker than ever as they went forward on what seemed to be the track, but proved to be off it, for all at once as they were going cautiously on, literally feeling their way, Poole caught his foot against a stump and nearly fell headlong.

"Bother!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed loudly, to add to the noise he made, and instantly a gruff voice from their right growled out, "Who goes there?"

accompanying the question with a clicking of a rifle-lock. "Friends,"

cried Fitz sharply. "The word."

"_Teal_" cried Poole, as he scrambled up. "Aren't right," growled the same voice. "That you, Mr Poole?"

"Oh, it's you, Chips!" cried the lad, in a tone full of relief.

"Winks it is," was the reply; "but the skipper said I warn't to let anybody pa.s.s without he said Sponson."

"Sponson," cried Fitz, laughing.

"Ah, you know now," growled the carpenter, "because I telled you; but it don't seem right somehow. But you aren't enemies, of course."

"Not much," said Poole. "Well, how are you getting on, Chips?"

"Oh, tidy, sir, tidy; only it's raither dull work, and precious damp. A bit wearisome like with nothing to do but chew. Thought when I heard you that there was going to be something to warm one up a bit.

Wonderful how chilly it gets before the sun's up. I should just like to have a bit of timber here, and my saw."

"To let the enemy know exactly where we are?"

"Ah, of course; that wouldn't do. But I always feel when I haven't got another job on the way that it's a good thing to do to cut up a bit of timber into boards."

"Why?" asked Fitz, more for the sake of speaking than from any desire to know.

"Plaisters, my lad."