"French lingo, or I'm a Fiji!" averred Dick. "It's the same as some one calling for help. And a woman, too. No man could make a sound like that."
As if to prove Dick's words, the cry was repeated, but the words were English, now, and not French.
"Help! Help!"
"Py chiminy grickets!" gasped Carl. "Dere iss someding going on vat means drouple for der laty."
"We've got to land," declared Matt, "and see what's the matter. Can you find a place?"
Both Dick and Carl were leaning over the forward rail and staring ahead and downward.
Suddenly the tree tops broke away and a heap of blazing wood could be seen. The fire had been kindled on a cleared stretch of bayou bank, and not far from it was a log hovel. But there was no one in sight, either near the fire or around the hut.
The two boys on the lookout announced their discoveries to Motor Matt.
"We'll come down on the bayou bank," said Matt. "Give me directions, Dick."
The young Canadian, watching sharply below, called their bearings to Matt, and the Hawk was safely manœuvred to the surface of the ground. The calls for aid had ceased, an ominous silence reigning in the vicinity of the fire and the hut while the boys got out their mooring ropes and secured the Hawk to nearby trees.