By degrees the muddy water crawled up the plates and the Rio Negro rose upright; the haze melted and it got fiercely hot when the sun shone.  A canoe, manned by half-breed peons, crossed the lagoon, and with heavy labor the kedge-anchor was hoisted out and hung between two boats.  Half-naked men toiled at the oars until the lashings were cut and the boats rocked as the anchor sank.  Then their crews, dragging large stiff warps, forced their way among the mangrove roots and made the ropes fast where they could.  They came back exhausted, dripping with water and daubed by slime, and Mayne went to the bridge.

The sun pierced the narrow awning and there was not a breath of wind.  The lagoon shone with dazzling brightness and the iron deck threw up an intolerable heat.  Kit felt the perspiration soak his thin clothes, and big drops of moisture trickled down Adam’s yellow face as he sat with half-shut eyes, in a canvas chair.  By and by he took out his watch, and Kit noted that he moved it once or twice before he could see the time.

“Hadn’t you better get busy?” he asked Mayne.

The telegraph clanged, the engines panted, and the Rio Negro began to shake as the screw revolved.  There was no movement but the racking throb, until Mayne raised his hand and winch and windlass rattled.  Puffs of steam blew about, the cable rose from the water with a jar, and the warps ran slowly across the winch-drums, foul with greasy scum.

“Hold on to it!” Mayne shouted.  “Get in the last inch!”

His voice was drowned by the rattle of chain and hiss of steam, but the uproar began to die away and the sharp clatter of small engines changed to spasmodic jars.  Then somebody shouted, there was a crash, and the end of a broken warp, flying back, tore up the dazzling water.  The windlass stopped, and a few moments later a clump of mangroves swayed.  Kit heard green wood crack, as a rope that had stretched and strained began to move.  Then Mayne raised his hand.

“Let go; stop her!  You’re pulling up the trees.”

There was a sudden quietness except for the insistent throb of the screw, and Mayne turned to Adam.

“If the cable holds, I can smash the windlass, but I can’t heave her off.”

“Very well.  You quit and get the cargo out.  Better hustle while she’s upright.”

Mayne went down the ladder and when he unlocked the iron door of the after wheel-house a gang of men brought out a row of small-boxes.  A mulatto from the beach, who wore neat white clothes and an expensive hat, counted the boxes and then gave Adam a receipt.

“Don Hernando will be glad to get these goods and we will start at once,” he said.  “Although I have a guard, it will be safe to reach the town before the president’s enemies know.”

“That would be prudent, senor,” Adam agreed, and turned to Kit when the mulatto went away.

“I have done my part and it’s Alvarez’s business to see the chests get through.  Well, we have both taken some chances since he was a Customs-clerk and I a contrabandista running the old Mercedes, but I reckon this is my rashest plunge.  Anyhow, if I get my money back or not, I’ve put up the goods.  Now you can tell Mayne to break out the guns.”