When the light was fading, the porters declared the swamps in front were dangerous and put down their load, and after some trouble the white men lighted a fire.  A heavy dew began to drip from the leaves and the blaze was comforting in the gloom that swiftly settled down.  Kit had brought a piece of tarpaulin and spread it between the roots of a cottonwood.  He did not mean to go to sleep, but his head ached and he was worn out by physical effort and anxious watching.  By and by his eyes got heavy and he sank down in a corner of the great roots.

The fire had burned low when he looked up and a bright beam that touched a neighboring trunk indicated that the moon was high.  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.

For a few moments, Kit thought hard.  To begin with, he had been rash to pay half the porters’ wages before they started.  The money was a large sum for them and they had stolen away; perhaps because they were satisfied and afraid of meeting the president’s soldiers, or perhaps to betray the party to the rebels for another reward.  If the latter supposition were correct, Kit thought he ran some risk.  Galdar’s friends knew he could not be bribed and that Adam was ill, although it was hardly possible they knew he was dead.  They would see that Kit had now control and since his help was valuable to the president might try to kill him.  His best plan was to push on.

He wakened the sailors, who grumbled, but picked up the coffin when he tersely explained the situation.  Wet bushes brushed against them, soaking their thin clothes, trailers caught their heads, and the road got wetter and rougher until they came to a creek.  Kit could not tell how deep it was; the forest was very dark and only a faint reflection marked the water.

“We must get across, boys,” he said, and the others agreed.  They were hard men, but the dark and silence weighed them down and excited vague superstitious fears.  It was a gruesome business in which they were engaged and they did not like their load.

They plunged in and one called out hoarsely when he stumbled and the lurching coffin struck his head.  Another gasped, as if he were choking, while he struggled to balance the poles.  The current rippled round their legs; it was hard to pull their feet out of the mud, and when there was a splash in the dark they stopped, dripping with sweat that was not altogether caused by effort.  One swore at the others in a breathless voice.

“Shove on, you slobs!” he said.  “The old man’s getting heavier while you stop.  I want to dump him and be done with the job.  Guess I’ve had enough.”