ed seated. He remarked:

"All right, Rolfe. Don't show fight. Keep six men on deck and have them
in easy reach of their arms. I'll be up in a minute. You, Little, sit
down and finish your meal. It may be long enough before you get another
regular lunch. When you're through eating, hike up to the post. You'll
find that gatekeeper worth asking, if you need advice."

CHAPTER SEVEN

After Little had gone, Barry tried to map out his plans, and the deeper
he got into the matter, the less sure he felt. The measures he had
ordered seemed, on cool reflection, to be the very measures likely to
defeat his ends. For beyond doubt Leyden had not made this voyage
without a definite object in view; he had been to the trading post
surreptitiously, often before, knew the country around, probably knew
the precise location of the gold-bearing sands, and was intimate with
Gordon. Knowing Houten's clear title to the trading concession, he was
scarcely likely to bring his vessel up the river on an avowed piratical
errand; and there was, too, the matter more important to Barry of
Leyden's ambitions with regard to the Mission worker.

"Won't be any fight of my starting," decided the skipper, preparing to
relieve the mate. "Any fuss that's started, he'll start. I'll go up to
the Mission. I'll get there this time and beat him to it."

That Mission visit had been too long delayed already. He waited no
longer than to give the mate time to eat lunch. Then, repeating the
order to keep a keen watch on the schooner's people and to permit none
of them on board the _Barang_, he stepped ashore.

"If anybody tries to come on board, Rolfe, tell 'em I'm ashore and won't
be back until evening."

Then he struck off through the huddled village and took to the bush path
which Gordon had told him led to the Mission. Bamboo thickets alternated
with patches of lush jungle, and life seethed in both. The chirruping
chafe of bamboo shoots were so many voices that hummed in harmony with
the cries of birds and the chattering of monkeys. In among the tall,
golden stems, short-statured brown ghosts moved, sarong clad; little
people whose eyes gazed at the intruder with soft inquisitiveness as he
strode sturdily forward. And a patch of gorgeous jungle was entered to
the whisk and flirt of graceful heads and slim, swift legs, all the
visible signs revealed by herds of startled deer.

Barry noticed each passing thing of life with a start, for his steps
kept