The man who called himself Jacques held up a finger.  “Ah, you wan’ to know, eh?  Well, I don’ tell you.  I fin’ anything, I don’ tell all the people; I don’ blow the gaff.  I sit still, eh?  I lie low, eh?  I keep ’im all for me, eh?  You see?”

“Well, of course,” agreed Mills; “struck a pocket, I suppose.  I shouldn’t have thought you’d have found much here.  But then, of course, you’re not going to give your game away.  Where’s your camp?  I could do with a drink.”

“Back there,” said the Frenchman, pointing in the direction whence Mills had come. “‘Bout five miles.  You don’ wan’ to come, eh?  Too far, eh?”

“Yes, I reckon it’s too far,” replied Mills.  “I’m not more than four miles from my own kia now.  You goin’ on?”

“Yais,” agreed the Frenchman.  “I go a leetle bit.  Not too far, eh!”

They moved on through the bush.  Mills shifted his; gun from shoulder to shoulder, and suffered still from heat and sweat.  His taller companion went more easily, striding along as Mills thought, glancing at him, “like a fox.”  The warmth appeared not to distress him in the least.

“By Jove,” exclaimed the trader.  “You’re the build of man for this blooming country.  You travel as if you was born to it.  Don’t the heat trouble you at all?”

“Oh no,” answered the Frenchman carelessly.  “You see, I come from a ‘ot country.  In France it is ver’ often ‘ot.  But you don’ like it, eh?”

“No,” said the trader, with emphasis.  “I was after pea-hen, or you wouldn’t see me out this time o’ the day.  English chaps can’t stand it.”

“Eh?”

“English chaps can’t stand it, I said,” repeated Mills.  “They mos’ly lie up till it’s cooler.”

“Ah yais.”

They were now nearing the river.  A steam rose over the bushes and spiraled into the air, and the hum of water going slowly was audible.  A few minutes of walking brought them to its banks.  The stream flowed greasily and dark, some forty yards wide, but in the middle it forked about a spit of sand not more than ten paces broad.  It was a very Lethe of a river, running oilily and with a slumberous sound, and its reputation for crocodiles was vile.

Mills sat down and began to pull off his boots.

“As well here as anywhere,” he said.  “I’ll try it, anyhow.”

“I go back now,” said the Frenchman.  “Some day I come up an’ see you, eh?  You like that?”

“Come along any time,” replied Mills cheerfully as he slung his boots across his shoulders.  “You don’t think that island’s a quicksand, eh?”

The Frenchman turned and stared at it.  “I do’ know,” he answered.  “Per’aps.  You goin’ to try, eh?”

“Yes, I’ll have a shot at it.  You can mos’ly trust yourself on ’em if you walk light an’ quick.  But we’ll see.”

The Frenchman watched him as he waded out.  The black water reached no higher than his knees, but the ground was soft under foot, and he floundered anxiously.