The cry of the gold washers did not alter Barry's plans; he followed the
native to the river and kept him under close observation from the bank.
But Little thought he had detected a note of sincerity in that dismal
wail and undertook a little scrutiny himself. He, like Barry, was
ignorant regarding the business of gold seeking; but the native sense
and shrewdness that had carried him to a high point of salesmanship
fitted him to at least read signs if such signs were. He opened a bulky
wallet which served him for a travelling case, and from among a litter
of shaving gear, hairbrush, and spare sock-suspenders, he took a huge
reading glass, purchased in Batavia with a vague idea of studying insect
life in the primitive wilds.
This he carried into the hut and diligently sought with it for traces of
glittering metal. Common sense told him that if gold had ever been found
here, it must have been carried away or stored against transportation,
and in so crude a plant it was conceivable that specks of gold would be
discovered somewhere about the floor. Thus he scrutinized every square
foot of the floors of all the huts, pulling off roofs and knocking out
walls wherever necessary to get sufficient light. But no trace of metal
did he find; nothing but a populous colony of virile insects that at
last drove him out to the river, shedding clothes as he ran.
Barry met him with a grin on the bank and helped him peel off his
garments.
"Struck it rich, hey?" chuckled the skipper, amused out of his scowling
disgust. "Find any gold?"
"Gold color, Barry, and they bite like gold-bugs!" chirped Little,
irrepressible even in his discomfort; for red ants bite hard and deep.
"How about you?" he shouted over his shoulder, as he floundered into the
water to rid himself of his tiny tormentors.
"I believe the man's right," returned Barry. "I never saw gold washing
done, but if there's any gold in this river it's a long way from here.
It don't _look_ like gold sand to me."
Little emerged from his bath and sluiced out his clothes. While
dressing, he began to see something more than a temporary fault in the
search for Houten's gold. These few men from the post were undoubtedly
loyal to his employer and Barry's; but why they should have been sent to
this place to make a palpable bluff at gold mining, even to building
huts and carrying up washing gear and food, beat him as a problem. And
Barry was no clearer on the matter.
"I believe I begin to see why Leyden showed such cocksureness," muttered
Barry, taking his companion's arm and returning to the huts. He shouted
to the man in the river to come out and gave orders for the others to be
released; then, with a quiet hint to his own crew to keep an unobtrusive
watch over the liberated men, he and Little walked upstream to a piece
of high ground, and there they sat down to discuss the situation where
they had under their eyes every yard of country within a five-mile
radius.
Upstream the river speedily dwindled to a creek, and its headwaters were
apparently fed out of a maze of low jungle land that looked feverish and
uninviting. Beyond the stream, the land rolled away for a mile in
smoothly alternating downs and hills; on the near side, two miles of
open country lay spread before them, fringed at that distance by a dark
and luxuriant forest of stout trees. In the direction from which they
had come, the river ran into the narrow pass, and disappeared from view;
but the nature of the country beyond was well known to them by having
passed through most of it by bright moonlight.
"I don't mind being fooled like this, but what gets me is Vandersee's
attitude again," remarked Barry, with his eyes roving keenly over the
stretch of land that terminated in the forest.
"That's what I can't understand," agreed Little. "He knows so much that
he must know about this fake. If he does, what could be his object in
letting us come up here?"
"It beats me, Little," the skipper grunted. His gaze had fixed upon a
point in the forest fringe, and for a moment he said no more; then he
said with sudden interest:
"You've got good eyes; what d' ye make of that?" and pointed.
Out from the forest trees a party of people had emerged, and they seemed
to be lined up in some sort of definite order. Little stared awhile,
then replied:
"In uniform, ain't they? Sailors or soldiers, hey?"
"Look like naval seamen to me--natives too--wonder if the Dutch Navy has
native crews out here."
"There's at least one white man, Barry. Two--no, three--coming over
here, too. Here, let's get back to the boat. Perhaps we'll find out
something about this mix-up."
"Bright boy," rejoined the skipper, rising. "Get ready to make the talk.
You speak Dutch, don't you?"
"Enough to sell typewriters," grinned the ex-salesman. "I can say gold,
and point, anyhow."
Back to the boat they hurried, and Barry first made his men stow their
arms out of sight. Armed expeditions were not in favor with the
authorities. The action did not escape the gold washers, and they drew
together in a huddle, chattering among themselves. They had no arms
visible, and the skipper took little heed to them; his entire faculties
were working on the problem that faced him. Little, too, stood beside
him, waiting for the strangers to come in sight above the hummocks that
rose between river and forest. It was one of the gold seekers who
startled them into swift life.
"Oh, sar! Dat man he run! He queer fella, sar; no good, dat man!"
Barry swung around, followed the direction of the speaker's outflung
arm, and saw a brown figure running like a deer towards the down-river
gorge. He had run the minute Barry disarmed his men.
"Fire after him!" he shouted, then remembered that his men had no guns
at hand now. He whipped out his own pistol and fired. But the distance
was too great for such a short-barrelled weapon, and the fugitive ran
on, bounding like a rubber ball over sand and grasses until he vanished
from sight over the river bank.
"After him and bring him back!" cried Barry, shoving two of his own men
in that direction. The seamen followed with true sea clumsiness in
running; but as they ran they gained speed, and they were not two
hundred yards behind the chase when they too reached the river and
vanished.
"Now what's up, I wonder," muttered Little, staring from his skipper to
the open-mouthed gold washers, who expressed alarm beyond suspicion of
connivance. "Here, you!" he demanded of the man who had been spokesman;
"what fashion that man, hey?"
"He no man for us, sar," chattered the shivering native. "He bring de
last lot of rice for us. Me no know him before, sar. He new man, I
t'ink."
"New man?" echoed Barry, still more at a loss. His face had darkened,
and the scowl that sat on his forehead reminded Little of a certain
scene on a hotel veranda in Surabaya. Further speech or thought was cut
short then by a cry from one of the _Barang's_ crew, and topping the
last rise of the river bank marched three white men in the uniform of
naval officers, followed by twelve stout natives in seamen's rig. They
advanced towards the waiting men of the _Barang_, lined up at a sharp
"Halt!" and the white men came forward alone. They were keen-eyed men,
tanned and capable, yet they impressed Barry as contrasting very poorly
with the naval officers he had known. The men were poorer yet; they were
utterly slovenly in their address, holding their rifles at as many
different positions as there were men,--and even Little noticed that the
arms were not all from the same factory. But the strangers were before
them, and now one of them spoke curtly:
"Your business here?" addressing Barry in English.
"What is yours?" retorted the skipper as curtly.
"Answer me!" snapped the officer. "I am seeking just such a party as
yours."
"What if I don't choose to tell you?"
"In that case--" the man shrugged and smiled evilly. "Never mind, my
friend. I, as an officer of the Dutch Navy, demand your business here."
"Oh, since you speak officially, I am seeking gold for my employer on
land that your Government has leased to him," Barry replied. The result
was surprising.
"Gold!" The officer croaked the word as if derision were choking him. He
stared from Barry to Little and then at his companions, and they, too,
broke into derisive grins that sent Barry's anger mounting.
"Gold? A pretty tale, my friend. It is interesting to know that gold is
to be found here. I must look into your boat and see what instruments
you use to seek gold where no gold is. Search that boat!" he snapped,
and another white went off with two men to the river bank. In a few
minutes they were back, and they bore all the rifles lately stowed
therein.
"So!" sneered the leader. "All one needs to secure gold in Celebes is a
rifle--yes--" he swiftly counted heads--"a rifle to each man. Stop!" he
cried, as Little's hand slipped to his pocket. "You are my prisoners."
His own pistol was presented at Barry, and beside him another man held
an unwavering muzzle at Little. He gave some rapid commands in the
native tongue, and two men stepped out and securely tied the hands of
Barry and his friend. Another man stepped into the biggest hut, emerged,
and searched the rest in order. When he at last rejoined his fellows, he
carried some tins in his hand, and at sight of them a look of satisfied
cunning passed between the Dutch officers.
"Very good!" ejaculated the leader, and a cruel expression lurked in his
eyes. He conversed in whispers for a moment with his mates, then nodded
his head. "Easy to pick sheep from wolves here," he remarked, looking
swiftly over the native seamen and the gold washers. "These men are all
we want," and he indicated Barry and Little and the _Barang's_ party.
A shuffling formation took place, and half of the Dutch sailors ranged
up beside the prisoners; the other half remained and herded the gold
washers together. Barry tried to look around, but a pistol at his head
warned him not to try it again, and out of a corner of his eye he caught
the grimace on Little's face which told of a similar disappointment.
"Forward--march!" shouted the officer, and the party struck off towards
the forest. Behind them the sound of axes told of a dismantled boat;
when that sound ceased, another more ominous sound struck dismay into
the captives. It was the sound of a fusillade of musketry, and echoing
the reports came the shrill, entreating cries of the unfortunate gold
washers. Shot after shot rang out, and cry after cry, until the cries
ceased and only a few scattering reports indicated that perhaps one poor
wretch had sought safety in the river only to afford sport for his
assassins.
"You infernal murderers!" gritted Barry and flashed about, all bound as
he was, to rush at the leader.
"Right about face!" the fellow growled, and a long knife in his hand
pricked deeply into Barry's upper arm. "March, you dirty smugglers!" he
growled again, and the column moved on.
"Smugglers!" Little echoed, ignoring his own guardian and swinging
around at the taunt. "Look here, old chap, if that's your idea, you're
dead wrong. We're no smugglers--"
"March, I said!" came the order, and Little also subsided, perforce at
the persuasion of cold steel.
Across the open they trailed in a long line, the rear brought up by the
party hurrying up from the river. They entered the forest and struck
into a trackless jungle, where Barry and Little suffered the torments of
damnation from insects and swinging creepers that stung, neither of
which could they avoid with their hands bound. As for their men, of such
small importance did their captors think them that they were permitted
to march unfettered, simply under the eyes of their guards.
As the forest grew deeper and darker, the party straggled out more and
more, until Barry began again to peer about him for an opening of
escape. It seemed hopeless. At his side, and at Little's side, stalked
one of the white officers, no matter how dense the thicket they passed;
if it were too thick for two abreast, the officer would shove his
captive ahead of himself to break the way, and until the breach was
clear, a knife-point pressed sharply into the back effectively prevented
a dash. But the seamen were not in such a fix. Little, in bursting
through a cane brake, cringing with the pain of a sharp stab between his
shoulders, found himself momentarily alongside one of the sailors of his
own ship; and, daring even further visitation of the knife, he let fly
the canes with a rattling crash into his guard's face and whispered
fiercely to the seaman:
"Run! Tell Mr. Rolfe!"
His guard burst through, swearing vilely, and rewarded the temerarious
typewriter expert with a twisting prod that kept him gasping for the
rest of the journey, now nearing its end. But Little was satisfied. When
at length they broke through a mat of bush and came out into an open
glade dotted with great, bare, brown humps, his pained eyes twinkled at
Barry with some of his old cheery spirit and, speechless though they
were under coercion, imparted hope to the skipper.
They were given little time to wonder what their fate was to be.
Presuming they had been carried to this place for a midday halt, and
that their journey would soon be resumed, Barry and Little flung
themselves down to rest and maintained a careless attitude in the face
of their captors. But this attitude was swiftly dispelled for, idly
staring at the sailors, barely wondering at what they saw, they suddenly
awoke to a fear that turned them cold.
"Look!" muttered Barry hoarsely. Little needed no such reminder.
One by one the _Barang's_ seamen were taken to trees and fastened
securely by tough vines. No distinction was made between seamen and the
men from the post, since neither wore uniforms but were simply dressed
in flimsy cotton pants and shirt. In a wide circle they were placed, and
gradually it dawned upon Barry that he and Little were in the center of
the circle.
Now the leader of the naval crew called his fellows, and they approached
their white prisoners with ropes--vegetable vines. And with the leer of
a devil, the officer leaned down and flung Barry over on his face.
Swiftly both captives were secured, and with no tyro hands. Then they
were dragged apart a bit, and each lifted and carried by head and feet
until they were fairly over two of those bare, brown humps of earth.
Here they were dropped, and a heavy stake at head and foot, driven into
the ground, made tethering posts for their bonds.
"My God! Ants!" gasped Barry, struggling madly. A laugh above him
chilled his blood, and a drawling voice replied: "Yes, my brave gold
washer. Ants. A fit amusement for such as you."
Barry twisted his purple face to catch Little's eye. In the ex-salesman,
so swiftly transferred from an atmosphere of peaceful trade to one of
lurid tragedy, the skipper saw a pale, awed fear of the horrible; but
not one trace of weakness was there: none of the coward. Little
returned his friend's gaze and, bravely trying to conceal the effort it
cost him, he winked slowly, whimsically, then wrinkled his nose in
distaste.
"In case you may not be sufficiently amused, we will make sure of good
quick action," sneered the officer, and a man came forward with a pail
of sticky native sugar. This he smeared over both the bound men, then
laid trails of the mess in radiating lines to the edge of the ant hills
to attract other vermin.
And when all was done, the Dutch party withdrew, and Little's soul
surged with renewed hope. He called softly yet clearly to Barry:
"There's a chance yet! They'll go now. I sent a man to the ship!"
"It is just a chance," returned Barry more hopefully. Then his heart
sank again, and he groaned: "Not a chance, Little, old scout. Look! The
fiends are camping. They mean to watch us out!"