"A leopard!" he cried. "I hit him. He's wounded. Run her into the bank."
The canoe shot under a large tree, one branch of which overhung the water so low that they were able to seize it. Edward Harden was ashore in a moment, followed by his nephew. Crouch swung himself ashore by means of the overhanging bough. Harden's eyes were fixed upon the ground. It was a place where animals came to drink, for the soft mud had been trampled and churned by the feet of many beasts.
"There!" cried Harden. "Blood!"
Sure enough, upon the green leaf of some strange water plant there was a single drop of blood. Though the big game hunter had spoken in an excited manner, he had never raised his voice.
It was Crouch who took up the spoor, and followed it from leaf to leaf. Whenever he failed to pick it up, Harden put him right. Max was as a baby in such matters, and it was often that he failed to recognize the spoor, even when it was pointed out to him.
They had to break their way through undergrowth so thick that it was like a woodstack. The skin upon their hands and faces was scratched repeatedly by thorns. They were followed by a cloud of insects. They were unable to see the sky above them by reason of the branches of the trees, which, high above the undergrowth through which they passed, formed a vast barrier to the sunlight. And yet it was not dark. There was a kind of half-light which it is difficult to describe, and which seemed to emanate from nowhere. Nothing in particular, yet everything in general, appeared to be in the shade.
On a sudden Crouch stopped dead.
"He's not far from here," he said. "Look there!"
Max's eyes followed Crouch's finger. He saw a place where the long grass was all crushed and broken as if some animal had been lying down, and in two places there were pools of blood.
Crouch raised both arms. "Open out," said he. "Be ready to fire if he springs. He'll probably warn you with a growl."