A double report sounded from some way along the river-bank then and there. In about twenty minutes Renshaw returned.
“I’ve been marketing,” he said, turning half a dozen ring-doves out of his pocket. “These little jokers are not half bad when grilled on the coals, and they don’t take long to cook. To-night will be the last time we can make a fire, until we find ourselves here again—that is, if we come back this way.”
“Well, I shall go and get a swim,” said Maurice, jumping up and stretching himself.
“A swim? Hold hard. Where will you get it?”
“In the river, of course,” was the astonished answer. But Renshaw shook his head.
“You’d better not try it, Sellon. It isn’t safe.”
“Why? Alligators?”
“Yes. You can’t go into deep water. But there’s a shallow a little way up, where you can have a good splash. It’s only a matter of a few inches if you keep close to the bank—and you must keep close to it too. I’ve been in myself this morning—and by the same token it’s the last chance of tubbing we shall get. I’ll go as far as the rise and point you out the place.”
Half an hour later Sellon returned, reinvigorated by his bath and clamouring for breakfast.
The birds had been plucked and spread upon the embers, split open, spatchcock fashion, and when ready afforded our travellers a toothsome breakfast. Then they saddled up.