carnivorous fish had come up the river,
dimming the clear water like a cloud of silvery mud, and with a sharp
cry he turned to escape to shore, and awoke.

But the pain in his ankle was no dream, for it stung sharply, and,
sitting up, he drew up his foot, to find that he had been bitten by some
insect.

His first thought was to rise and plunge the bitten place in the cool
fresh water, and, creeping cautiously away so as not to awaken the rest,
he had nearly reached the water-side when he was brought up short by a
low whispering away towards where a tree stood alone.

His blood seemed to turn cold, for the thought came that a party of
Indians had been attracted by the fire, and that this, their first night
passed ashore, was to prove a fatal mistake.

But his common-sense soon told him that savages bent upon a night attack
would never betray themselves by whispering loudly together in eager
discussion, while directly after his nose became as fully aware of
something being on the way as his ears.

Brace began to sniff.

That was smoke, certainly, but not the smoke of the fire, that he could
smell, for it was plainly enough the familiar strong plug Cavendish
tobacco which the men cut up small and rubbed finer between their horny
palms before thrusting it into their pipes.

That explained all, no doubt. The flies had been attacking them in
spite of the wood-smoke, and they had crept away to get under the boughs
of the big tree to try what the stronger fumes of tobacco would do in
the way of keeping off the noxious stinging insects.

"And no wonder," he said to himself; as he bent down to lay his hand
upon his tingling ankle. "Poor fellows! They--"

Brace started upright again, and was in the act of taking a step to
reach the running water, when a voice sounded louder from among the
whisperers, and in the intense silence of the night he plainly heard the
words:

"Not a foot furder do I go, mates, and leave that gold."

There was silence for a few moments, and then a voice said:

"You can do as you like, my lads: here I am, and here I stays till I've
made my pile."

"That was Jem's voice," thought Brace; and then he listened again
intently.

"What about the skipper?" said a voice.

"Skipper'll have to put up with it," said another of the men. "I like
the skipper, and I haven't a word to say about the two mates. I like
Mas' Dellow as well as I like Mas' Lynton, and t'other way on; but gold
aren't silve