It was a black lump like the end of a floating log,—an alligator submerged all but that inch or two of head.
"That's the place I'm looking for, I think," said Lanse; "I was up here yesterday."
And with two or three strong strokes of the paddle he sent the canoe round a cape of lily-pads, into the mouth of a smaller creek which here came, almost unobserved, into the larger one. It was a stream narrow but deep, which took them into the forest. Here they floated over reflections so perfect of the trees draped in silver moss on shore that it was hard to tell where reality ended and the picture began. Great turtles swam along down below, water-moccasins slipped noiselessly into the amber depths from the roots of the trees as the canoe drew near; alligators began to show themselves more freely; the boat floated noiselessly over one huge fellow fifteen feet long.
Lanse was aroused. "I tell you, old lad, this isn't bad," he said.
"I don't care about it," Winthrop answered; "it's sensational."
Over this remark Lanse indulged in a retrospective grin. "Old!" he said. "You've been getting that off ever since you were twenty. Who was it that called Niagara 'violent?' The joke is that, at heart, you yourself are the most violent creature I know."
"Oh—talk about hearts!" said Winthrop.
The trees now began to meet overhead; when their branches interlaced so that the shade was complete, Lanse tied the boat-rope to a bough, stretched himself out in his end of the boat, lit a cigarette, and looked at his companion. "Now for the story," he said. "I tell you because I want your help; I am sure that Margaret has the highest opinion of you."
"She has none at all. She detests me."
"No!" said Lanse, using the word as an exclamation. "How comes that? You must have been very savage to her?"