On the other side of the stream was a break in the ground that indicated the presence of a gully—how steep, they did not know. They resolved to find out as soon as they had rested.
“Unless,” said Joe, “we can’t get across the creek. Never can tell how many alligators and piranhas have migrated here from the river.”
He picked up a stone and threw it with all his strength into the muddy water, hoping to arouse any life that might be lurking sluggishly out of sight. Once he thought he detected a slight ripple other than that caused by the stone but was not sure.
“Don’t believe I care to wade it,” backed out Bob. “Wouldn’t feel funny to have a toe nipped off by a piranha, or worse yet, to be carried into an alligator’s lair. Suppose we throw a log across for safety.”
They spent several more minutes sitting on the bank in idleness. At last Joe got up and looked about the near-by jungle.
“No logs around here,” he called to Bob, who had wandered along the bank.
Further search was not in vain. A small tree that had been uprooted by a hurricane lay in a patch of bushes not far away, and it was carried to the stream and thrown across. Then the youths began carefully walking along its narrow surface.
Bob reached the other side first, and he warned his friend to be careful. Joe was, and in a few moments also had crossed the log.
“Now let’s see what’s beyond that ravine,” he said.