"What's that, Uncle George?"
Turning in their seats, the others saw the top of the high marsh-grass waving as if some creature were forcing its way along. John, who had over-heard the question, brought up the rifles at once but Mr. Wallace waved him back and took out his glasses.
"I don't know, Burt. Doesn't show up yet. It'd hardly be any animal, for we are up-wind and he would scent us. It might be a crocodile, although in that case he would not make so much commotion. What do you think, John?"
The gigantic negro took the glasses and gazed long and earnestly at the faint movement in the grass, which seemed to be coming toward the river. Then he returned them with a shrug.
"Not know, sar."
"Tell Mvita to send over some of his boys and find out," suggested Critch. Mr. Wallace nodded and John was off instantly. A moment later a dozen natives started crossing the stream, advancing cautiously, for they too had been puzzled and were taking no chances. Before they had reached the opposite bank Critch gave a cry.
"Look there! It's coming out!"
Through their glasses they could see a dark object crossing one of the more open spaces. Its method of progression was peculiar, because while it was undoubtedly coming toward the river, it seemed to be rising and falling, floundering in the marsh-mud, and at times lying motionless on the grass-hummocks.
"It's a man!" exclaimed Burt in amazement. Critch uttered a scornful denial, but Mr. Wallace slowly nodded.