The dandy's toe strayed privily to feel out the butts of the Sniders under the green leaves, and Ishikola was loth to depart.
"Washee-washee!" Van Horn cried with imperative suddenness.
The paddlers, without command from chief or dandy, involuntarily obeyed, and with deep, strong strokes sent the canoe into the encircling darkness.

Just as quickly Van Horn changed his position on deck to the tune of a dozen yards, so that no hazarded bullet might reach him.

He crouched low and listened to the wash of paddles fade away in the distance.
"All right, you fella Tambi," he ordered quietly.

"Make 'm music he fella walk about." And while "Red Wing" screeched its cheap and pretty rhythm, he reclined elbow on deck, smoked his cigar, and gathered Jerry into caressing inclosure.
As he smoked he watched the abrupt misting of the stars by a rain-squall that made to windward or to where windward might vaguely be configured.
While he gauged the minutes ere he must order Tambi below with the phonograph and records, he noted the bush-girl gazing at him in dumb fear.

He nodded consent with half-closed eyes and up-tilting face, clinching his consent with a wave of hand toward the companionway.