But all the time he was steadily walking on in the direction he believed to be correct, till he felt at last that he must be level with the brig, then passing it, and again that he must be well on his way now, and that it was time to turn more sharply round and get up to the other side of the vessel. Then—Splash!
He drew back with a chill of dread running through his frame, for he had reached the edge of a pool, and there was no water within half a mile of the spot where the brig lay.
“What is it—water?” whispered Panton.
“Yes, I have come wrong.”
“No, you haven’t, only kept straight on instead of bearing more to your right.”
“But I thought I was bearing well to the right,” whispered Oliver.
“So did I—too much, but you see you were not. This is the half-dried-up pool, where there are three crocos. I saw them the other day.”
“It can’t be.”
Splash, splash, splash, splash!
Four heavy blows given to the surface of the water by the tail of a great reptile, for the purpose of stunning any fish there might be close at hand.