CHAPTER XXIII.—A DANGEROUS TREE.
All this time, from the river, came the same weird cries that had mystified them. What with these cries and Muldoon’s lusty yells for help, had there been an enemy within a mile they must have heard them, but luckily they were in a territory known to be peaceable, although Salloo was not quite so sure of some of the tribes who had a bad reputation as “head hunters.”
“He’s stuck in the mud!” exclaimed Jack, and was starting forward to Muldoon’s assistance when Salloo grabbed his arm.
“No go,” he warned, “him mud velly bad. Make drown in mud plitty quick no get helpee.”
The native began making his way by a circuitous route toward the luckless Muldoon. In his hand he had a long rope. He leaped from tuft to tuft of the hummocks that appeared above the black soil. As soon as he got close enough to Muldoon he threw the struggling boatswain the end of the line, which Muldoon had presence of mind enough to place under his arm-pits. Then Salloo skipped nimbly back to the trail and all laying hold with a will they soon hauled Muldoon out of his disagreeable predicament, although he was a sorry sight to look at.
“But faith,” he exclaimed, “it’s glad enough I am to know O’im not dead intirely. A little mud will soon dry and clean off, begob.”
“Tropical places are full of just such treacherous swamps,” declared Captain Sparhawk. “It will be well for all of us to be very careful and not leave the trail except by Salloo’s advice.”
But now the strange wailing sound which they had for the moment forgotten in the excitement of Muldoon’s rescue again startled them. The cause of it was quickly explained by Salloo.
“Him dugong, allee samee sea-cow,” he said.
“Oh, I know now—like the manitou they have in Florida,” cried Jack.