The mud and the tiny islands stretched northward to the blue streak on
the horizon, which might be timber highland or only mist.
"It works!" called Higgins from below.
By the time Payne had descended from his perch the engineer was out on
the mud, demonstrating the efficiency of the mats of thin saplings and
creepers which he had woven the evening before. While standing upon
one mat, which supported his weight and prevented him sinking into the
mud, he tossed a second one ahead, stepped upon it, drew the first mat
after him, and repeated the process. It was slow work, for the mud
clung to the mats, necessitating a heavy tug to free them, but it was
sure--so long as a man's strength remained. Payne followed tediously
in Higgins' trail and presently by virtue of greater length of leg and
arm, had caught up with him. They reached the first island at the same
time and found it no island at all, but a clump of mangrove trees
inextricably woven together above a salt-water hole in the mud.
They went on their tedious way without a pause, without a word. The
next island was the same, and the next and next. Still they crept
steadily on, buoyed and spurred by the hope that the island just ahead
would prove different. It was in the middle of the forenoon before
they permitted this hope to die.
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