They stepped carefully out into the forward part of the boat, and then
Harry thrust back his head to carry out his promise.
"Father! Doctor!" he cried. "Morning."
"Yes; thank you," said Mr. Kenyon, and the doctor grunted.
Phra had by this time reached the mooring rope and begun drawing the boat's prow close up to the prostrate tree-trunk to which it was moored, for prostrate trees were plentiful along the banks, and in one place two falling nearly opposite from either bank of the stream had almost formed a barricade to stop the way.
"Be careful, Sahibs," said a voice out of the gloom, the old hunter having left the group of rowers gathered round the fire. "The tree-trunk is slippery with the dew."
"Oh, it's you, Sree," said Harry. "Isn't that the coo—ah calling?"
"Yes, Sahib; I have heard it many times."
"Could we get near and manage a shot at it?"
"No, Sahib; it would hear us before we were half way, and be silent. Then we should not know which way to go. Besides, you would find the grass and trees too wet."
"Would it come if you called to it?"