The breeze came fresh and cool across the river. They kept their boat in the middle of the stream, and in most places there was a wide stretch of open water between them and either bank.
It was nearly daylight before they reached the island which the chief pirate had in view as a new basis of operations, and they made a bad landing.
They ran in among some young mangroves and grounded.
It took pushing and hauling to get the heavy boat clear of the clinging mud—there is always mud where the mangroves grow—and they were very tired.
At length they found a place where they could get ashore and secure and hide their craft.
Day had broken. The east was reddening with the sun as they staggered along with their traps through a track in the lantana which seemed to lead towards a shady jungle closely covering the centre of the island.
Dave was in front.
He stepped back suddenly, white to the lips, stumbling over Tom, who was close to his heels.
“What’s up?” cried the latter. “What is it—a snake?”
“No,” choked Dave. “No—him!”