ft, where there was an opening in a patch of
forest which came down to the river, with fine timber trees overhanging
the muddy banks, and their branches every here and there showing dead
grass and reeds caked with mud, as if at times this part of the country
was deeply flooded.

"Yes," said Ching very quietly; "p'laps plenty mud up there. Go see."

"And while we are up a side branch of the river, they may come down the
main stream and escape."

Ching shook his head.

"Fliend say pilate junk hide up liver in cleek."

"Yes, but--"

"Wait lit' bit," said Ching, with a cunning look. "Go up lit' way,
shoot birds, and no lit' boat come after, no pilate fliend. If come
after, plenty muchee pilate fliend, and junk not vellee far."

"He's right, Herrick," said Mr Brooke, nodding. "Turn up the side
branch, my lads. Keep up the comedy of the shooting, and have a shot at
something."

"But there's nothing to shoot at, sir," I said, feeling rather doubtful
of the accuracy of Ching's ideas.

But as we turned up the narrow branch of the river--a creek not much
wider than an English canal, I caught sight of a black-looking bird,
which rose from the water and flew away paddling the surface with its
feet.

I fired and dropped the bird, but it flapped along, and the men cheered
and pulled in chase for two or three hundred yards before it was
retrieved.

"It's a sort of moor-hen," I said, as I looked up from my captive.

"One of the pirate's hens, perhaps, Herrick," said Mr Brooke, smiling.

"Well, Ching, had we better go on?"

"Yes, go 'long," said the Chinaman rather huskily. "Velly good place."

We rowed on for another three or four hundred yards, the branch winding
a great deal, so that we seemed to be in a succession of lakes, while
the trees on either side completely shut us in.

"Stream runs very fast," I said.

"Yes, velly fast," said Ching.

"There, I think we had better turn back now," said Mr Brooke, but Ching
smiled in a curious way.

"What go turnee back? Pilate fliend both come in cleek after, to see
what Queen Victolia jolly sailor boy go to do."

"Are you sure?" said Mr Brooke excitedly.

"Yes, sir, I see the top of one of their sails," said Tom Jecks.

"Then, by George, we are in the right track," cried Mr Brooke, and, as
my heart began to beat rapidly, "Give way, my lads," he cried, "give
way."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A STARTLING.

"What are we going to do?" I said, with my heart