no one could sleep more soundly than didour heroes and heroine that night.
Next day, and next, they went on shore again, andon the third a huge jaguar, who fancied he would liketo dine off Brawn's shoulder, fell a victim to DickTemple's unerring aim.
But the raft never stirred nor moved for a whole week.
Said Bill to Jake one morning, as he took his meerschaumfrom his mouth:
"I think, Jake, and w'at I thinks be's this like.There ain't ne'er a morsel o' good smokin' and on'yjust lookin' at that fine and valuable pile o' timber.It strikes me conclusive like that something 'ad betterbe done."
"And what would you propose, Bill?" said Jake.
"Well, Jake, you're captain like, and my propositionis subject to your disposition as it were. But I'dlighten her, and lighten her till she floats; then towher off, and build up the odd timbers again."
"Good! You have a better head than I have, Bill; and it's you that should have been skipper, not me."
Nothing was done that day, however, except makinga few more attempts with the steamer at full speed totow her off. She did shift and slue round a little, butthat was all.
Next morning dawned as beautifully as any thathad gone before it.
There were fleecy clouds, however, hurrying acrossthe sky as if on business bent, and the blue betweenthem was bluer than ever our young folks had seen it.
Dick Temple, with Roland and Peggy, had made uptheir minds to go on shore for another day while thework of dismantling the raft went on.
But a fierce south wind began to blow, drivingheavy black clouds before it, and lashing the riverinto foam.
One of those terrible tropic storms was evidentlyon the cards, and come it did right soon.
The darkest blackness was away to the west, andhere, though no thunder could be heard, the lightningwas very vivid. It was evident that this was thevortex of the hurricane, for only a few drops of rainfell around the raft.
The picnic scheme was of course abandoned, and allwaited anxiously enough for something to come.
That something did come in less than an hour-thedescent of the mighty Amazon in flood. Its tributarieshad no doubt been swollen by the awful rainand water-spouts, and poured into the great queen ofrivers double their usual discharge.
A bore is a curling wave like a shore breaker thatrushes down the smaller rivers, and is terriblydestructive to boating or to shipping.
The Amazon, however, did not rise like this. Itcame rushing almost silently down in a broad tallwave that appeared to stretch right across it, from theforest-clad bank where the raft lay to the far-offgreen horizon in the north.
But Burly Bill was quite prepared for eventualities.
Steam had been got up, the vessel's bows wereheaded for up stream, and the hawser betwixt raftand boat tautened.
On and on rushed the huge wave. It toweredabove the raft, even when fifty yards away, in themost threatening manner, as if about to sweep allthings to destruction.
But on its nearer approach it glided in under theraft, and steamer as well-like some huge submarinemonster such as we read of in fairy books of thelong-long-ago-glided in under them, and seemed to liftthem sky-high.
"Go ahead at full speed!"
It was the sonorous voice of Burly Bill shouting tothe engineer.
"Ay, ay, sir!" came the cheery reply.
The screw went round with a rush.
It churned up a wake of foaming water as thePeggy began to forge ahead, and next minute, drivenalong on the breeze, the monster raft began to followand was soon out and away beyond danger from rockor shoal.
Then arose to heaven a prayer of thankfulness, anda cheer so loud and long that even the parrots andmonkeys in the forest depths heard it, and yelled andchattered till they frightened both 'gators and jaguars.
Just two weeks after these adventures, the littlePeggy was at anchor, and the great raft safely beached.
Burly Bill was left in charge with his white menand his Indians, with Dick Temple to act assupercargo, and Jake Solomons with Roland and Peggy, not to mention the dog, started off for Pará.
In due course, but after many discomforts, theyarrived there, and Jake, after taking rooms in ahotel, hurried off to secure his despatches from thepost-office.
"No letters!" cried Jake, as his big brown fist camedown with a bang on the counter. "Why, I see thevery documents I came for in the pigeon-hole behind you!"
The clerk, somewhat alarmed at the attitude ofthis tall Yankee backwoodsman, pulled them out andlooked at them.
"They cannot be delivered," he said.
"And why?" thundered Jake, "Inasmuch as towherefore, you greasy-faced little whipper-snapper!"
"Not sufficient postage."
Jake thrust one hand into a front pocket, and onebehind him. Then on the counter he dashed down abag of cash and a six-chambered revolver.
"I'm Jake Solomons," he said. "There before youlies peace or war. Hand over the letters, and you'llhave the rhino. Refuse, and I guess and calculate I'llblow the whole top of your head off."
The clerk preferred peace, and Jake strode awaytriumphant.
When he returned to the hotel and told the boysthe story, they laughed heartily. In their eyes, Jakewas more a hero than ever.
"Ah!" said the giant quietly, "there's nothing bringsthese long-shore chaps sooner to their senses thanletting 'em have a squint down the barrel of a six-shooter."
The letters were all from Mr. St. Clair, and hadbeen lying at the post-office for over a week. Theyall related to business, to the sale of the timber andthe other commodities, the best markets, and so onand so forth, with hints as to the gold-mine.
But the last one was much more bulky than theothers, and so soon as he had glanced at the firstlines, Jake lit his meerschaum, then threw himselfback in his rocker to quietly discuss it.
It was a plain, outspoken letter, such as one man ofthe world writes to another. Here is one extract: -
Our business is increasing at a rapid rate, JakeSolomon. I have too much to do and so have you; therefore, although I did not think it necessary toinform you before, I have been in communicationwith my brother John, and he is sending me out ashrewd, splendid man of business. He will havearrived before your return.
I can trust John thoroughly, and this Don PedroSalvador, over and above his excellent businesscapabilities, can talk Spanish, French, and Portuguese.
I do not quite like the name, Jake, so he must becontent to be called plain Mr. Peter.
About the very time that Jake Solomons was readingthis letter, there sat close to the sky-light of anoutward-bound steamer at Liverpool, two men holdinglow but earnest conversation. Their faces were partlyobscured, for it was night, and the only light aglimmer from the ship's lamp.
Steam was up and roaring through the pipes.
A casual observer might have noted that one was aslim, swarthy, but wiry, smart-looking man of aboutthirty. His companion was a man considerably over forty.
"I shall go now," said the latter. "You have myinstructions, and I believe I can trust you."
"Have I not already given you reason to?" was therejoinder. "At the risk of penal servitude did I notsteal my employer's keys, break into his room atnight, and copy that will for you? It was but a copyof a copy, it is true, and I could not discover theoriginal, else the quickest and simplest plan wouldhave been-fire:"
"True, you did so, but" – the older man laughedlightly-"you were well paid for the duty you performed."
"Duty, eh?" sneered the other. "Well," he added,"thank God nothing has been discovered. Myemployer has bidden me an almost affectionate farewell, and given me excellent certificates."
The