Part 33 (1/2)

The last was in Castilian, and one of the Canarios went scrambling down the ladder, while when he came back with an armful of duck clothing Jefferson held out a jar to his comrade.

”No!” said Austin sharply. ”Put it down!”

Jefferson did as he was bidden, and Austin, who stripped the thin garments from him and flung them over the rail, shook the permanganate into the bucket, and then, standing stark naked, when it had dissolved, sluiced himself all over with the pink solution. It was ten minutes later when he stepped into the room, dripping, with a wet rag about his waist, and shook his head when Jefferson handed him a towel.

”I think not,” he said. ”If there's any efficacy in the thing, I may as well let it dry in. After all, it's consoling to remember that it mayn't be necessary.”

Jefferson's fingers quivered as he leaned upon the table. ”No. Of course not!” he said, and added, inconsequently: ”I don't think I'm unduly sensitive, but a very little thing would turn me deadly sick.”

Austin struggled into his duck trousers, and Jefferson, whose face was also a little more pallid than usual, glanced at him again.

”You have a beautiful skin,” he said. ”It's most like a woman's. There's good clean blood in you.”

”It's one of my few good points,” and Austin's smile suggested comprehension. ”I haven't been particularly indulgent in any direction, considering my opportunities, and I'm rather glad of it now. One could fancy that the man who seldom let one slip would be unusually apt to get the promised wages in this country.”

He dragged his singlet over his arms, and a little twinkle slowly crept into Jefferson's eyes.

”Well,” he said, ”you carry your character with you. How long has the restraining influence been at work on you?”

”You are a little outside the mark,” and a faint flush showed in Austin's hollow cheeks. ”I am, as you know, not a believer in the unnecessary mortification of the flesh, but there's a trace of the artistic temperament, if that's the right name for it, in me, and it's rather apt to make one finickingly dainty.”

Jefferson smiled drily. ”That doesn't go quite far enough. I've seen men of your kind wallow harder than the rest. Still, whatever kept you from it, you can be thankful now.”

Austin went on with his dressing, and then took a little medical treatise out of a drawer. He spent some time turning over it before he looked up.

”There's nothing that quite fits the thing here, and from what the West-coast mailboat men told me, craw-craw must be different,” he said.

”In the meanwhile, it wouldn't do any harm to soak myself in black coffee.”

He was about to go out when Jefferson stopped him. ”This is a thing that is better buried, but there's something to be said. From my point of view, and it's that of the average sensible man, I was right; but yours goes higher, and in one way I am glad of it. I just want to tell you I'm satisfied with my partner!”

Austin smiled at him. ”We'll both be guilty of some sentimental nonsense we may be sorry for afterwards if we continue in that strain, my friend.

Still, there's one thing to consider. Although I couldn't help it, what I did was, of course, absurd, if you look at it practically, and things of that kind have their results occasionally.”

Jefferson seemed to s.h.i.+ver, and then clenched a hard, scarred fist.

”We won't think of it. Your blood's clean,” he said. ”But if, after all, trouble comes--I'll get even with that d.a.m.ned Funnel-paint if I spend my life in Africa trailing him, and have to kill him with my naked hands!”

CHAPTER XXIV

AUSTIN FINDS A CLUE

The grey light was growing clearer, and the mangroves taking shape among the fleecy mist, when Austin stood looking down upon the creek in the heavy, windless morning. There was no brightness in the dingy sky, which hung low above the mastheads, but the water gleamed curiously, and no longer lapped along the steamer's rusty plates. It lay still beneath her hove-up bilge, giving up a hot, sour smell, and Jefferson, who came out of the skipper's room, touched Austin as he gazed at it.

”The stream should have been setting down by now. Something's backing up the ebb,” he said. ”A s.h.i.+ft of wind along the sh.o.r.e, most likely. The rain's coming!”

Austin glanced up at the lowering heavens, but there was no change in their uniform greyness, and no drift of cloud. The smoke of the locomotive boiler went straight up, and the mist hung motionless among the trees ash.o.r.e. Still, there was something oppressive and portentous in the stillness, and his skin was tingling.

”If it doesn't come soon we'll not have a man left,” he said. ”It isn't in flesh and blood to stand this much longer.”