That instant a shot rang out. "That must be George," exclaimed John. "Forward as quickly as possible."
The party turned the bend of the river. All along this part of the stream the banks were cut up by ridges and diminutive cliffs, and in many places were large shelving rocks which came up close to the stream.
Immediately after the shot John stopped, and listened for some sound, and the natives, usually so alert to recognize noises, did likewise.
"That shot means that George is in some danger," said John.
"But why does he not answer the whistle? Why should he shoot, and then not call to us, if there is any danger," said Harry in despair.
They turned the bend, and searched to and fro. The shot could not have been more than eight hundred feet away. The searchers spread out into a fan-shaped formation. One of the scouts ran up hurriedly and called to John, who went forward, and there, alongside of a huge rock, where there was little grass, he saw unmistakable evidence of a scuffle.
"These are the footprints of George's shoes," remarked Harry.
"Yes, and here are the prints of the native feet," said John, as one of the scouts distinctly pointed out two or three well defined marks.
"They are, undoubtedly, near at hand. We must now be on our guard," said John, as he pondered on the situation.