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"Perhaps I can find a few men, but they will want the money before they go." For a time, Kit bargained. The sailors were tired, and few white men are capable of much exertion in the tropic swamps. He must have help, and doubting if the Meztisos could be trusted, thought it best to offer a sum that would excite their greed, but stipulated that half would not be paid until they returned.
All was very quiet but for the splash of the falling dew; the glade was a little brighter, and rousing himself with an effort, he glanced about. He saw the white men's figures, stretched in ungainly attitudes on a piece of old canvas. They were all there, but he could not see the Meztisos. Getting up, he walked into the gloom and then stopped with something of a shock. There was nobody about.
You can go ahead; we'll put the job over." The peons took up the stretcher-poles lashed to the coffin, a relief party went behind and they set off. Nobody spoke and the Meztisos' bare feet fell silently on the hot sand, although Kit heard the dragging tramp of the sailors' muddy boots.
However, we will see if I can find porters, if the señor will wait until the afternoon." Kit distrusted the fellow and thought he had an object for putting off the start. He had been warned that the Meztisos sympathized with the rebels, and imagined that his party's safety depended on its speed.
"Well," he said, "I think I'd have kept the onza, whether it was mine or not." He paused and pulled a knife from its sheath. The handle was ornamented and the narrow blade glittered in the light, although its point was dull. "But what is this? Has it a story?" "Take care!" said Kit "It may be poisoned; the Meztisos use a stuff that will kill you if a very small quantity gets into your blood.
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