It was hot work.
The humid air of the jungle weighed upon them like a blanket of steam. Their bodies were dripping and it was hard to breathe.
Most of the time they were in the shade of the huge trees, but once in a while the canoe darted into a patch of sunshine and then the rays of the afternoon sun beat down upon them fiercely.
The Taharans minded the humidity and so did the Gorols, while Dick and Dan were terribly fagged, but the black men did not seem to notice it. Their ebony-like bodies were wet with perspiration, but they seemed cheerful and eager. Only the command of the Mahatma kept them from breaking into song.
The boys looked into the jungle on both sides and saw that it was densely tangled with hanging vines. Here and there a clump of bamboo made a barrier that only a hatchet could cut through; elsewhere the forest was overgrown with small trees forcing their way to the sunlight, and among them could be seen the stealthy shapes of wild beasts.
"Hope we don't run into leopards or lions," said Dan. "It's going to be tough to fight the tribesmen, and we don't want to be clawed by wild animals before the scrap begins."
"That's a chance we have to take."
"You said it! Hey!——Look at that! Duck for your life!"
From a near-by branch, a long sinuous object like a giant creeper, suddenly swung toward them. It showed a murderous head, with wide open jaws and a tongue that darted angrily.
"Great snakes!" shouted Dan, striking at it with his paddle.