that she was certain was
destined to eat her.

Jerry left the caressing hand of Skipper for a moment to go over and
sniff her. This was an act of duty. He was identifying her once again.
No matter what happened, no matter what months or years might elapse, he
would know her again and for ever know her again. He returned to the
free hand of Skipper that resumed its caressing. The other hand held the
cigar which he was smoking.

The wet sultry heat grew more oppressive. The air was nauseous with the
dank mucky odour that cooked out of the mangrove swamp. Rowelled by the
squeaky music to recollection of old-world ports and places, Borckman lay
on his face on the hot planking, beat a tattoo with his naked toes, and
gutturally muttered an unending monologue of curses. But Van Horn, with
Jerry panting under his hand, placidly and philosophically continued to
smoke, lighting a fresh cigar when the first gave out.

He roused abruptly at the faint wash of paddles which he was the first on
board to hear. In fact, it was Jerry's low growl and neck-rippling of
hair that had keyed Van Horn to hear. Pulling the stick of dynamite out
from the twist of his loin cloth and glancing at the cigar to be certain
it was alight, he rose to his feet with leisurely swiftness and with
leisurely swiftness gained the rail.

"What name belong you?" was his challenge to the dark.

"Me fella Ishikola," came the answer in the quavering falsetto of age.

Van Horn, before speaking again, loosened his automatic pistol half out
of its holster, and slipped the holster around from his hip till it
rested on his groin conveniently close to his hand.

"How many fella boy stop along you?" he demanded.

"One fella ten-boy altogether he stop," came the aged voice.

"Come alongside then." Without turning his head, his right hand
unconsciously dropping close to the butt of the automatic, Van Horn
commanded: "You fella Tambi. Fetch 'm lantern. No fetch 'm this place.
Fetch 'm aft along mizzen rigging and look sharp eye belong you."

Tambi obeyed, exposing the lantern twenty feet away from where his
captain stood. This gave Van Horn the advantage over the approaching
canoe-men, for the lantern, suspended through the barbed wire across the
rail and well down, would clearly illuminate the occupants of the canoe
while he was left in semi-darkness and shadow.

"Washee-washee!" he urged peremptorily, while those in the invisible
canoe still hesitat