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 bu