"An otter, by gad!" we exclaimed in the same breath, laughing.

It _was_ an otter, alive, and out on the hunt; yet it had looked exactly
like the body of a drowned man turning helplessly in the current. Far
below it came to the surface once again, and we saw its black skin, wet
and shining in the sunlight.

Then, too, just as we turned back, our arms full of driftwood, another
thing happened to recall us to the river bank. This time it really was a
man, and what was more, a man in a boat. Now a small boat on the Danube
was an unusual sight at any time, but here in this deserted region, and
at flood time, it was so unexpected as to constitute a real event. We
stood and stared.

Whether it was due to the slanting sunlight, or the refraction from the
wonderfully illumined water, I cannot say, but, whatever the cause, I
found it difficult to focus my sight properly upon the flying
apparition. It seemed, however, to be a man standing upright in a sort
of flat-bottomed boat, steering with a long oar, and being carried down
the opposite shore at a tremendous pace. He apparently was looking
across in our direction, but the distance was too great and the light
too uncertain for us to make out very plainly what he was about. It
seemed to me that he was gesticulating and making signs at us. His voice
came across the water to us shouting something furiously but the wind
drowned it so that no single word was audible. There was something
curious about the whole appearance--man, boat, signs, voice--that made
an impression on me out of all proportion to its cause.

"He's crossing himself!" I cried. "Look, he's making the sign of the