The guide of the party nodded and pointed at what seemed afar to be a floating log. The Americans looked intently and found the log had half-closed eyes but an open mouth—open to catch any wandering tidbit which might be attracted to venture to that gate of sure death.
“If only we were over there now—we’d bag our first ’gator, eh?” said Jack, anxiously.
“No, no, not him! He gone too queeck,” replied the guide.
The boat was anchored and the men climbed out into water which reached to their waists. Then the guide started out to divide the party into units. He led the two young men as he must have thought they needed more careful supervision than the older and more reserved men in the group.
“Good gracious! Every known pest of an insect must find its home in this swamp!” exclaimed Ray, as he kept busily whipping away gnats, midges, mosquitoes, and a myriad of other stinging bugs.
“Gee! Can’t say I care for this stench of rotting wood and decayed vegetation,” laughed Jack, wrinkling his nostrils to keep out the odor.
Passing through evil-looking stretches of scum, over rotting stumps, disturbing nests of plagues, and causing swarms of stinging insects to cover their hands and faces, the two young men finally reached a spot where the guide suddenly halted.
“Looka-dere!” he whispered, pointing to an up-thrust of green filth and scum.
Jack and Ray stared for a moment in sheer unbelief, then they aimed, shot, and at the same instant the sickening mass sunk, and all the hunters could see was a cleavage of the surrounding slime.
“Too late!” sighed the guide: “Him hear me talk.”