"Those black fellows are smart!" gasped Dan. "Jehosephat, I thought I was a goner, sure!"
"The natives are pretty well pleased!" said Dick. "Listen to them laugh and jeer at the unlucky beast."
"Don't waste any pity on crocodiles! This one was ready to make a lunch out of me."
"I am not sorry for him. And it's no wonder the natives hate those man-eaters that lurk in the shallows to snap off an arm."
"I've read that they are particularly fond of black children," said Dan, "so there's one croc' at least that won't eat any babies."
"Hush! Listen!" said Dick.
Close to his ear came the even voice of the Mahatma as before:
"Quiet, my children. We are near the journey's end."
Dick and Dan stared at each other. It was uncanny. They were sure this time that they had not actually heard the Mahatma's voice, but that their minds had received the message in some occult way.
Shadows were slanting from the west. The river was wider now and the surface was sluggish with hardly a ripple.