The decks were almost awash, and the holds and cabins were full of muddy water, but aboard the _Barang_ there was gratification mixed with the mate's anger, for without a doubt the schooner was shut in as completely as if she were in dry-dock with the gates closed at low tide.

In truth it was but fair reprisal for the trick played on Leyden's vessel by Barry in Surabaya; but Jerry Rolfe had not been aware of that exploit, and this last coup was to him simply a piece of bald wickedness, swiftly turned against the perpetrators.

The pumps were tried once more--they had been going, of course, while the brigantine kept afloat--but with all brakes working full force, and both mates lending a hand, the water came in faster than it went out, and by the time the moon bounded up over the trees, the situation was accepted as demanding measures beyond mere pumping. And Rolfe stood glaring over at the now clearly visible schooner, debating the wisdom of attempting to carry her by boarding. Bill Blunt joined him, and the old sea dog hitched his trousers, shifted his quid, and hinted:

"Skipper talked 'bout some dawg a-bitin', didn't he, sir?"

"Halleluja! Yes," shouted Rolfe, suddenly reminded of what he should never have forgot. "Let's see what the big Dutchman knows about dogs!"

Without raising his voice, he sent Bill Blunt around to the crew, and like brown phantoms the little Javanese sailors worked at the gig falls, flitting here and there, and appearing twice as strong in numbers as they were, showing themselves over the rail, yet trying to give an impression of aiming at secrecy. And when the gig dropped into the water, on the blind side from the schooner, all save two slipped down into it and lay along the bottom boards, leaving the boat apparently manned by two oarsmen and the stout old navy man. Jerry Rolfe gave a final look around and below, to satisfy himself that there was nothing in the ship accessible to possible marauders, then he joined the men in the boat's bottom and gave the word to shove off. Keeping on the edge of the moonlight, dodging between light and shadow, the party pulled along past the schooner and landed abreast of the stockade, while the gig kept on with noisy oars as if bound straight up the river in search of Barry and help.

With the mate and Blunt there were eight men, and besides the officers'

own two revolvers, there were no arms save boat-stretchers, for the party with Barry had taken all available weapons. But the lack was soon to be made up. Rolfe left his men in the bush and went alone to the great gate, where the guardian peered over at his soft hail, alert as if he were but one of many watchmen instead of being, as it seemed he was, the only one.

"Wa.s.sa matta you?" the grinning head whispered.

"Dog bites," replied Rolfe, grimacing as he gave the word, curious yet unbelieving. His matter-of-fact sailor mind was incapable of completely throwing out his earlier aversion to Vandersee. He was ready to find now that this "dog biting" pa.s.sword was simply a piece of theatrical bunk.u.m. He was to be swiftly put right.

"Ho much he bite?" came the rejoinder, unruffled, without outward interest.

"Th' whole piece!" growled Rolfe. "Ship's sunk."

"All ri'. Bring men here. Wait till to-morrow. Eve'thing proper. You no bodder, sar."

"No bother, hey? d.a.m.ned simple, ain't it?" swore the mate, striving to scrutinize the impa.s.sive gargoyle face above him.

"No bodder. I know. My man, he see eve'thing. Schooner no can sail, hey?

All ri'. Bring men here. To-morrow p'isen dat dog, I tell you. Misser Vand'see, he say so. He know all things, sar."

Rolfe turned away, more than half impressed in spite of himself.

Growling and swearing he rejoined his men, and, sending a messenger to bring back the two men from the gig, after leaving her hidden in the riverside jungle, he led the party to the stockade. Now the gate was open to them; they pa.s.sed inside and were shown into the big main hut of the post, where they might have been expected for weeks, so complete were the accommodations awaiting them.

"Something creepy in this!" muttered the mate, gazing around. Beds were ready on the floor; a table was spread with a rough but hearty supper; things seemed to come out of the shadows, for not a man appeared to them once their guide had left them. But to calm any suspicions Jerry Rolfe might have excusably entertained, under the table lay a pile of rifles, and to each was tied a full cartridge belt. Even a last flickering doubt was set at rest; for examination satisfied the mate that every cartridge was a live one.

"Reg'lar bloomin' fairy tale, I calls it, sir," whispered Bill Blunt hoa.r.s.ely. "Too good to be true, be dummed if 't ain't. Here's weepins, an' powder an' shot, all sammee navy style, and ther' ain't a bloomin'

paint pot in th' hull shebang! I be awake, ain't I, sir?"

"Wide," returned Rolfe, grinning at the old salt's query. "If we'd been as awake two hours ago, we wouldn't have lost our ship."

"Mebbe, sir. An' we wouldn't ha' started on what looks to be a reg'lar man's landin' party. Will I keep fust watch?"

"Turn in, Blunt. I won't sleep to-night," replied the mate. And in two minutes the old navy salt filled the hut with deep-sea nasal noises, to the sleepy admiration of his little brown men who only snored in whistles.

As the night turned to morning, Jerry Rolfe experienced a change of feeling, and when silent-footed natives brought in food for breakfast, he had arrived at a state of confidence that permitted him to sleep for two hours after eating, no longer hampered by doubts. As for Blunt, that very self-possessed seaman had accepted the situation immediately he had satisfied himself about those cartridges. He had slept well, eaten well, and now while the mate slept, he a.s.sumed with relish the job of issuing rifles and ammunition to his crew.

A little uneasy as the forenoon wore on without a word from outside, noon found Rolfe and Blunt seeking the guardian of the gate for information. The gargoyle-faced native was absent, and the gate was barred; but while they lingered around the stockade the watchman came in, bringing two of the _Barang's_ men who had gone with Barry.

These were the men who had run down river in chase of the flying gold washer, and their tattered clothes and bewildered faces gave the mate a jolt.

"We follow dat man, sar, an' he come close to dis place," one of them chattered in reply to Rolfe's brusque demand. "Den he go some place we no can find, an' we see dis station fence. We no t'ink we so near, sar."

"So near?" echoed Rolfe. "How far are the others from here?"

"No can tell, sar. Boat he sail and row all night, an' we t'ink he very far. Den we run for dat man, an' in one hour--two, mebbe--we come here.

I t'ink dat ribber he twist, sar."

Then, so swiftly that it shocked, out of the forest stumbled another of the _Barang's_ seamen, panting, thorn-slashed, and frightened.

"Oh, sar!" he gasped, "Cap'n Barry an' Misser Li'l, an' all mans dey pris'ner in de woods, an' de gol' washers dey all kill, sar!"

"Hey, don't faint yet!" roared Rolfe, seizing the trembling seaman and hauling him back to his feet. "Prisoners where? Who's got 'em? Leyden?"

"No, sar. Dutch navy man he come an' cotch us, sar. Misser Li'l he fly cane in de man's face an' say to me, 'Run!' Oh, verry bad, sar."

The man collapsed at the mate's feet, and Bill Blunt sent two men to carry him inside the hut. When he rejoined Rolfe, he found that perplexed worthy staring in fresh puzzlement at Natalie Sheldon, then coming in through the gate, flushed and excited.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rolfe awkwardly awaited the torrent of questions that obviously trembled on the girl's lips. He saw behind her the dwarf of the gate, shrugging his deformed shoulders in disgust at the intrusion of a feminine factor at such a time. Miss Sheldon came directly towards him and spoke hurriedly, agitatedly.

"Mr. Rolfe, some wickedness is going on. What is it? Why have you come here to shatter our little people's peace?"

"Me? I ain't shattered anybody's peace, Miss," returned Rolfe, as puzzled as she. "Wickedness--yes, ma'am, I know that. But it ain't wickedness of mine, nor my skipper's. D' ye think we'd be wicked enough to sink our own ship?"

"Sink--your ship? Why--how--"

"Yes, Miss, our ship. And what's more, if you don't mind, I can't stop chawing the rag here; Captain Barry and Mr. Little are in danger o'

their lives, by all accounts."

"Then it was true!" cried Natalie, her eyes gleaming with a hope that had almost gone from her. "They have been caught, as Mr. Leyden told me they would. Why did you begin your hateful work here?"

"What did Leyden tell ye, mum?" old Bill Blunt put in, with gruff gentleness. He saw Rolfe's utter bewilderment.

"Oh, you are a new man," she cried. "You cannot know that the men you are with are engaged in planting the curse of opium in this beautiful land, where our Mission has almost reaped the fruits of years of labor."

"Opium be d.a.m.ned--beg your pardon, lady," exploded and apologized Rolfe, near bursting with rage. "If opium's being run in here, I can guess who's doing it. Not to mention names, ma'am, his tally begins with Leyden. None came in the _Barang_, I'll swear."

"Me too, Miss," rejoined Blunt heartily. "New man I may be, but I ain't new among men, an' it ain't men like Cap'n Barry as runs p'isen to poor n.i.g.g.e.rs."

All the while they were arguing the matter, Rolfe's men were busy preparing for their march to Barry's a.s.sistance. Food and water and emergency medical supplies had to be rummaged for and packed; a wood-wise guide had to be obtained through the agency of the gateman.

Miss Sheldon hovered nervously about them, struggling hard with some emotion within her, gazing searchingly from face to face as if to find there an answer to the problem that troubled her.

The _Barang's_ men certainly looked anything but the rascals she had been told they were; she had never seen sailors more utterly peaceable in their demeanor. When the preparations were nearly complete, and but a few minutes could remain before the party set out, she forced a decision herself.

"Mr. Rolfe, I am afraid," she said in low, tremulous tones.