It lay up towards the sun, and was hard to make out because of the dazzle of radiance.
"Can you see what that is?" he asked his bow man in the native.
"It is just a man on a branch," said that savage, with cheerful indifference. "Presently the crocodiles will chop him. Shall we go back now, Effendi, to the raft?"
"No, my callous friend. We'll investigate the person in the tree first. Full speed ahead!"
The clumsy dugout lurched and twisted down the broad marigold-smelling river, and as there was a strong current under her, she soon drew the obstruction into clearer view.
It was a tree clearly enough, swept down by some flood and stranded here in mid-channel to form one of the myriad snags with which West African rivers abound. In it was a black man who hung by his hands from the upper branches, and was perpetually pulling up his toes like some ridiculous jumping-jack. He was a very fat man, and his movements were getting more feeble even as they watched him. But it was not till they got close alongside that they saw the impelling motive of these gymnastics.
A twelve-foot crocodile was in attendance beneath the tree, and every now and again it swam up with a great swirl and shot its grisly jaws out of the water, and snapped noisily at the fat man's toes.
Carter lifted his Winchester and waited for a chance, but of a sudden his bow man turned to him with a face that was gray with fear. "That man," he said, "is the King of Okky, and if you save him, presently we shall both die."
"I had already recognized the gentleman, and I fancy he's far more my enemy than yours, but I'm going to pull him out of this mess for all that, and give him a good level start again on dry land."
Then as the crocodile jumped once more, he threw up his rifle and shot it under the left foreleg, where the protective plates are absent.