Max answered that he was very weak.
"Your strength 'll return," said Crouch; "but you must have some cover for your head."
He took off his coat, which was nothing but a bundle of tatters, and rolling this into a kind of turban, he placed it upon Max's forehead to protect him from the heat of the sun. Then he went back to the water's edge, washed the blood from his face and hands, and bathed the back of his neck. As he returned, he found the barrel of his broken rifle, and stooped and picked it up.
"Look at that!" said he. "That was once the best rifle in this forsaken continent. Not worth its weight as scrap-iron!"
"I suppose," said Max, "you'll be offended if I try to thank you?"
"You suppose right," said Crouch. "Do you feel able to walk?"
"I think so."
"You don't," said the captain. "There's no hurry." Then he began to think aloud. "If we work up-stream," said he, "we'll be on the wrong side of the river. By now Cæsar will have found our canoe. We're not armed; we have no food. There are precisely three ways in which we might die: first, starvation; second, Cæsar; third, a buffalo. The first's a certainty. Both of us are too weak to swim the river at Hippo Pool--to say nothing of crocodiles. On the other hand, if we go down-stream, walking will be easy till we get to the mangrove swamp. Have you got a knife?"
Max felt in his pockets, and produced the article in question. Crouch looked at it.
"That'll do," said he. "With this we should be able to dig out a canoe, and make a couple of paddles. If we don't die at the job, we ought to work our way up to Date Palm Island. As soon as you're ready, we'll start."