"It's my turn next." I felt hot and uncomfortable, for my success seemed to be the result of pure accident, and I said so, but Mr Brooke laughed and shook his head.
"Never mind the birds, Herrick," he said; "I feel sure our other game is close by somewhere." "Yes, up cleek somewhere," said Ching.
"Why do you say that ?" "No pointee--no look.

I tell you," said the Chinaman, taking up and pretending to examine the mottled brown wing of the goose he opened out.
"Boat come behind, pilate fliend come see which way we go." "Yes, I'm sure you are right," said Mr Brooke, taking up another of the birds; "and if I'm not very much mistaken, that other boat you see ahead has his eye upon us." "Ching not velly sure, p'laps; only see one man look over side thlee times." "There's a bit of a river runs off here, sir, to the right," said one of the men, nodding to his left, where there was an opening in a patch of forest which came down to the river, with fine timber trees overhanging the muddy banks, and their branches every here and there showing dead grass and reeds caked with mud, as if at times this part of the country was deeply flooded.
"Yes," said Ching very quietly; "p'laps plenty mud up there.

Go see." "And while we are up a side branch of the river, they may come down the main stream and escape." Ching shook his head.
"Fliend say pilate junk hide up liver in cleek." "Yes, but--" "Wait lit' bit," said Ching, with a cunning look.

"Go up lit' way, shoot birds, and no lit' boat come after, no pilate fliend.

If come after, plenty muchee pilate fliend, and junk not vellee far." "He's right, Herrick," said Mr Brooke, nodding.