They had twice to ford a stream.
The path led them circuitously to the rear of the coolie lines, but they did not wish to reach them till nearly dawn and presently Stratton gave the order to halt.
It was a long cold wait.
At last the night seemed to be less dark; you did not see the trunks, but were vaguely sensible of them against its darkness.
Stratton had been sitting with his back to a tree.
He gave a whispered order to a sergeant and in a few minutes the column was once more on the march.
Suddenly they found themselves on a road.
They formed fours.
The dawn broke and in the ghostly light the surrounding objects were wanly visible.
The column stopped on a whispered order.
They had come in sight of the coolie lines.
Silence reigned in them.
The column crept on again and again halted.
Stratton, his eyes shining, gave Alban a smile.
'We've caught the blighters asleep.'
He lined up his men.
They inserted cartridges in their guns.
He stepped forward and raised his hand.
The carbines were pointed at the coolie lines.
'Fire.'
There was a rattle as the volley of shots rang out.
Then suddenly there was a tremendous din and the Chinese poured out, shouting and waving their arms, but in front of them, to Alban's utter bewilderment, bellowing at the top of his voice and shaking his fist at them, was a white man.
'Who the hell's that?' cried Stratton.
A very big, very fat man, in khaki trousers and a singlet, was running towards them as fast as his fat legs would carry him and as he ran shaking both fists at them and yelling:
'Smerige flikkers!
Verlockte ploerten!'
'My God, it's Van Hasseldt,' said Alban.
This was the Dutch manager of the timber camp which was situated on a considerable tributary of the river about twenty miles away.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he puffed as he came up to them.
'How the hell did you get here?' asked Stratton in turn.
He saw that the Chinese were scattering in all directions and gave his men instructions to round them up.
Then he turned again to Van Hasseldt.
'What's it mean?'
'Mean?
Mean?' shouted the Dutchman furiously.
'That's what I want to know.
You and your damned policemen. What do you mean by coming here at this hour in the morning and firing a damned volley.
Target practice?
You might have killed me. Idiots!'
'Have a cigarette,' said Stratton.
'How did you get here, Van Hasseldt?' asked Alban again, very much at sea.
'This is the force they've sent from Port Wallace to quell the riot.'
'How did I get here?
I walked.
How did you think I got here?
Riot be damned. I quelled the riot.
If that's what you came for you can take your damned policemen home again.
A bullet came within a foot of my head.'
'I don't understand,' said Alban.
'There's nothing to understand,' spluttered Van Hasseldt, still fuming.