Brandon of the Engineers

Yet he was not in love with her. She attracted him strongly, and he

admitted that it would be remarkably easy to become infatuated, but did

not mean to let this happen. Though often rash, he had more sense and

self-control than his friends believed, and realized that Clare was not

for him. He could not tell how he had arrived at this conclusion, but

there it was, and he knew he was not mistaken. Sometimes he wondered with

a twinge of jealousy what she thought of Brandon.

By and by he roused himself from his reflections and looked about. There

was no moon and a thin mist that had stolen out of the jungle drifted

past the shack. A coffee-pot and two cups stood upon a table near his

chair, and one cup was half empty, as Dick had left it when he was

unexpectedly summoned to the dam, where work was going on. The veranda

lamp had been put out, because Jake did not want to read and a bright

light would have attracted moths and beetles, but Dick had left a lamp

burning in his room, and a faint illumination came through the curtain on

the open window. Everything was very quiet except when the ringing of

hammers and the rattle of a crane rose from the dam.

Looking farther round, Jake thought he distinguished the blurred outline

of a human figure in the mist, but was not surprised. Some ironwork that

made a comfortable seat lay near the shack and the figure had been there

before. For all that, he imagined the man was wasting his time and

keeping an unnecessary watch. Then his thoughts again centered on Clare

and Kenwardine and some time had passed when he looked up. Something had

disturbed him, but he could not tell what it was, and on glancing at the

spot where he had seen the figure he found it had gone.

Next moment a board in the house creaked softly, as if it had been

trodden on; but the boards often did so after a change of temperature,

and Jake sat still. Their colored servant had asked leave to go down to

the camp and was perhaps now coming back. One had to be careful not to

give one's imagination too much rein in these hot countries. Payne seemed

to have done so and had got an attack of nerves, which was curious,

because indulgence in native caña generally led to that kind of thing,

and Payne was sober. Moreover, he was of the type that is commonly called

hard.

Jake took out a cigarette and was lighting it when he heard a swift,

stealthy step close behind him. He dropped the match as he swung round,

pushing back his canvas chair, and found his eyes dazzled by the sudden

darkness. Still he thought he saw a shadow flit across the veranda and

vanish into the mist. Next moment there were heavier footsteps, and a

crash as a man fell over the projecting legs of the chair. The fellow

rolled down the shallow stairs, dropping a pistol and then hurriedly got

up.