"Someone is prowling round the tent, and we shall have to go out and challenge them."

"Suppose they are savages with bows and arrows?" I whispered back.

"Too dark for them to take aim," he said. "A bold dash out will scare them, and I'll fire over their heads."

I felt as if it would be safer to stay where we were; but it seemed cowardly, so I was silent.

"I'll go out at once," said Uncle d.i.c.k, and I was silent for a moment, and then rose with my gun ready.

"I'll come with you, uncle," I whispered.

He pressed my hand before creeping softly out; and I followed, to find that the darkness was as black as inside the tent; that the fire-flies had ceased to shimmer and flash about the low trees, and that the fire was so nearly out that there was nothing visible but a faint glow.

"Stand fast," whispered Uncle d.i.c.k, "while I throw on some of the light twigs we put ready."

I did not remember putting any light twigs ready, nor anything else just then, for my head was full of wild thoughts, and I was straining my eyesight in all directions, with my gun c.o.c.ked and ready to fire at the first attack.

All at once there was a rustle as the twigs were thrown on the glowing embers; a sharp crackling followed, and a bright flame sprang up.

At almost the same moment there came from the trees beyond the sound of a rush being made through the bushes, and then the report of Uncle d.i.c.k's gun as he fired twice.

Someone uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, the rushing sound increased, and directly after there came a loud crashing noise as if someone had fallen; but he--or it--was up again directly, and our enemies, by the splashing and crackling sounds, seemed to be retreating up the bed of the rivulet.

I stood ready to fire, but reserved my shot, as there seemed to be no need; and as I listened intently I could hear Uncle d.i.c.k slipping fresh cartridges into his gun, and the click it gave as he closed the breech.

"Hadn't we better get into shelter?" I whispered. "We offer such a good mark for an arrow."

"No, my boy," said my uncle; "the fire is between us and the enemy, and we are quite safe."

For the twigs were blazing merrily now, and sending out a bright light, which spread around and made the nearest trees stand out and the little tent look bright and clear.

But the next moment something else caught my eye, and the startled sensation seemed to cause a catching of my breath as I stood pointing down at the smooth patch of sand beside the trickling water of the stream--a patch over which a wave must have lately pa.s.sed, it was so smooth, while close up towards the fire, and where the full blaze of light played, were the objects which had struck my eye.

"What is it, Nat?" said my uncle sharply, and then as he caught sight of the marks too, he answered his own question aloud:

"Footprints--men's--yes, more than one. Hah! Look-out, Nat; I can hear them coming back."

Uncle d.i.c.k's ears seemed to be sharper than mine, for though I listened intently and stood prepared to fire, some minutes elapsed before I heard a sound, and then it was not from up the stream, but from overhead--a sharp whistling cry--which was repeated again and again, and I caught the flash of wings as a large bird circled round, evidently attracted by the fire, which was kept blazing.

"Throw on some more, Nat," said my uncle; "it will serve to keep them at a distance. Perhaps we've scared the savages off for good."

"I hope so," I said; "but we mustn't go to sleep again."

"You're a queer chap, Nat, if you could go to sleep after this; I couldn't."

"But they may not be savages, uncle," I said.

"Perhaps not, but the place seemed so wild that I don't think they could be anything else. We must take turn and turn to watch till daylight.

You go and lie down."

"No, uncle," I said; "I'd rather stay and watch. What time is it?"

"About midnight, I should think," he said, pulling out the big old silver hunting-watch that accompanied him on all his travels, and holding it down in the full light from the fire. "Humph!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "What time do you say?"

"Not much more than ten," I said decisively. "I had only just dropped asleep."

"It took you a long time to drop, then," he said drily. "Ah! Look at that bird. It will singe its wings directly."

"What time is it, then?" I said, for I was more interested in knowing how long I should have to watch in the darkness than in the flight of a bird.

"Like to know exactly, Nat?" said my uncle.

"Of course," I said, wonderingly.

"You shall, then, my boy. It's ten minutes, thirty seconds, past six."

"Nonsense, uncle!" I cried. "The old watch must have stopped. Did you forget to wind it up?"

For answer he held it to my ear, and it was ticking loudly, while as he lowered it and I glanced at the face, I could see that the second hand had moved some distance on.

"Do you think it is right?" I said.

"Yes; we were f.a.gged out last night and slept very soundly. You'll soon know, for it will be daylight directly."

Both the watch and my uncle were right--for the scream of a parrot reached my ears soon after, followed by whistlings and pipings from the forest; while soon after a horribly harsh grating screech came from overhead, and I caught a glimpse of the bird which uttered it--one of the great long-tailed Aras, on its way with three or four more to a favourite part of the forest.

"Going figging, Nat," said my uncle, putting some more wood on the fire, not for the sake of the light--for away across the sea the dawn was brightening fast, after the way of sunrise and sunset in tropic lands; and even as I looked there, far on high, was a faint fleck of orange light on a tiny cloud. A few minutes later there were scores, and the birds were singing and chirping in all directions, even the sea furnishing the screams and peculiar cries of the various ducks and gulls.

"How glorious!" I said softly, for the beauty of the scene around in the glow of the morning light made me forget the darkness of the night and the terrors that it brought.

"Yes, Nat; we've hit upon birdland the first try," said my uncle. "But it seems as if we shall have to leave it unless we can be sure that the Indians are friendly."

As he spoke, we both examined the footprints again.

"Savage marks for certain, Nat," said my uncle. "Do you see? These fellows have not been in the habit of wearing shoes."

"Yes, I see," I replied. "The big toe so wide away from the others."

"You see that at a glance. I suppose it would be unwise to follow them; they would hear us coming, and might send a couple of arrows into us-- perhaps poisoned. It's a pity Nat; for there are plenty of birds about, and we could get some good specimens.--Yes; what is it?"

"They've been all along here, right down to the sea, uncle. See their tracks?"

"Yes; and I can see something else," he said, shading his eyes, and looking to right and left anxiously in the now broad daylight.

"What can you see?" I asked.

He pointed now, and I saw what he meant.