“Perhaps we can do something when it grows darker.”
The guide drew down the corners of his mouth. Then, as he gazed at the river, his big black eyes brightened.
“Yeas, when it is darker we try. But must be careful.”
“Perhaps we can get to him by the way of the river.”
Jorge smiled grimly. Catching me by the arm he led me along the bank, overgrown with grass and rushes. Not far away was something that looked like a half-submerged log covered with mud. Taking a stone he threw it, and the “log” roused up and flopped angrily into the stream.
“Alligators!” I cried, with a shiver. “No, we won’t be able to get to him by way of the river. But we must do something.”
“We cross river, and I tell you what we do,” replied my guide.
Crossing was not an easy matter, as neither of us cared to attempt swimming or fording with alligators in the vicinity. But by passing along the bank we presently discovered a spot where half a dozen rocks afforded a footing, and over we went in the semi-darkness, for the sun was now setting.
As we hurried down the course of the stream again, Jorge cut several cedar and pine branches which appeared to be particularly dry. Then he handed me a number of matches, of which, fortunately, he had an entire box.
“We will put one pile of branches here,” he said, “and another further down, and one further yet. Den I go back to camp. You watch tree over there. When you see light wait few minutes, den light all dree fires.”