I handed him my line, and he twisted it well round his hand.
“Fish run big, sometimes,” he said, nodding his head sagaciously. “Don’t leave your line like that, doctor,” he added; “make it fast to that bough.”
The doctor obeyed, and leaving Jack looking very drowsy and dreamy we two took our guns and started along the river bank, thinking that perhaps we might find something useful for the larder, the heat of the climate rendering it necessary for a supply to be obtained from day to day.
It was a glorious walk past quiet bends of the river
that were as still as ponds, and full of red and white lotus plants which shot up their lovely blossoms from amidst their floating liliaceous leaves. Trees in places overhung the water, and great wreaths of blossom or leaves of dazzling green were reflected on the surface. Insect life was abundant: burnished beetles and lovely coloured butterflies flitting from flower to flower. Birds, too, especially waders and great creatures that I took to be pelicans, were busy in the shallows, where now and then a great crocodile wallowed through the mud, evidently roused by our approach, for though we saw several of these creatures, not one gave the slightest sign of a disposition to attack.
“There, we are not likely to see deer before evening when they come down to drink,” said the doctor. “Let’s get back, Joe, my lad, the sun is not so powerful as it was, and we may as well make a fresh start.”
We were about three parts of the way back, finding some fresh object of interest at every turn, when I suddenly caught hold of my companion’s arm, for a peculiar cry fell upon my ear.
“Something wrong!” exclaimed the doctor, and we set off at a sharp run where the undergrowth would allow.
A curious sensation of dread came over me, and a cold damp feeling was on my brow and in the palms of my hands as the cry rose once more—a singularly doleful cry, as of some one in great peril.