The air was balmy, and Jerry seemed nothing loth to sit there and dry
off, as the journey was resumed down the river.

"Any game along here, do you think?" asked Will presently.

"They told me there was plenty, only you have to look sharp, and not
get lost in the swamps. Men have gone out hunting and never come back
again; though, of course, these were strangers, and not the natives.
Nobody ever knew whether they were lost or fell into the hands of some
black criminals who were hanging out hereabouts."

Jerry volunteered this information. He was always making inquiries in
connection with the possibilities of game.

"I saw a blue heron just then, swinging downstream below us. And there's
something snow-white over there. Yes, it must be a crane standing in the
water, with his fishing-rod ready for business; and there goes a string
of white birds, over yonder. Do you know what they are, Frank?" asked
Will.

"I'm not sure, but I think they belong to the ibis family. Look at that
'coon scurrying up that log, running from the water. He's been trying to
scoop out a dinner of fish, too. Nearly everything feeds on fish down
here, even many of the wild ducks. Got him that time, did you, Will?"

"I think so," replied Will complacently, for he had snapped his camera
while the striped "bushy-tail" was still moving up the slanting log.

They were making fair progress all the while. So the afternoon began to