"Look for running water," shouted Higgins. "That's our bet."
"I know." Roger was scanning the mud field to the northward.
"There must be high ground some place beyond," continued the engineer.
"And if there is, there'll be a creek running into that mud. That
would mean fresh water."
"I see something that looks like high ground, all right," said Payne,
studying a smudge of blue against the northern horizon. "But I don't
see anything like running water."
"It's got to be there," maintained Higgins. "In this soft mud it may
be underground and you'd never see it."
Payne held his precarious perch, scrutinizing the treacherous ground
which they must cross if they were to continue their journey, until the
sun, like a blazing red wafer, had slipped down behind the mangrove
swamp in the west and darkness had come to the earth below. The
darkness spread and crept upward to where he sat, and as he prepared to
descend Payne glanced up toward the last rosy gleams on the topmost
branches of the tall, dead tree. The buzzards, which had flown away at
his appearance, had returned and the sun was gilding their black bodies
and their foul red heads, as patiently, confidently, they sat waiting.
"Higgins," said Payne, when he reached the ground, "there seems to be a
chain of islands running across that mud.
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