DOWNSTREAM. 
155 
landed on the right bank of the small river 
earlier still, and they meant to make a wide 
detour, hoping to drive any game there might 
be, down to the water. Meanwhile our canoe 
lay silently, waiting the chance of some animal 
breaking cover within range. It was worse 
than hunting for a needle in a haystack : for 
these particular needles were vigilant and swift¬ 
footed, and we knew our chances of success were 
small. The usual thick early mists hung about, 
and everything was filmed with moisture. A 
tree-turkey had been calling in the wood at the 
mouth of the river, but we could not see him. 
When he fell silent, there was not a sound to 
be heard. Occasionally Pedroso dipped a 
cautious paddle, to keep the canoe in place, and 
the drip of water from it seemed startlingly 
loud. The river flowed silently, brimmed to 
its muddy banks, and the ghostly trees huddled 
together in an indistinct mass, from which 
sometimes a branch, black and flattened-looking 
in the fog, thrust itself over the water. 
We had taken up our position where a 
hollowed faint track in the undergrowth showed 
it to be a place where the wild animals came 
down to drink, and sat straining our ears to 
catch the faintest rustle. Maidenhair fern 
clustered under an overhanging bank, but there 
was no splash of colour anywhere, to break up 
the washes of grey. The bark of the dog came 
to us faintly from the distance, but nothing 
