It was a long two hours, nearer three. I fancy the savage could
have done it alone much quicker. There was a desperate tangle
of wood and water and a swampy patch we never should have
found our way across alone. But there was one, and I could see
Terry, with compass and notebook, marking directions and trying
to place landmarks.
We came after a while to a sort of marshy lake, very big, so
that the circling forest looked quite low and dim across it. Our
guide told us that boats could go from there to our camp--but
"long way--all day."
This water was somewhat clearer than that we had left, but
we could not judge well from the margin. We skirted it for
another half hour or so, the ground growing firmer as we
advanced, and presently we turned the corner of a wooded
promontory and saw a quite different country--a sudden view
of mountains, steep and bare.
"One of those long easterly spurs," Terry said appraisingly.
"May be hundreds of miles from the range.
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