Page:H. D. Traill - From Cairo to the Soudan Frontier.djvu/179

soon the jet black knobs come bobbing up again like so many burnt corks some twenty yards down the river; and then, while the "log-rollers" drift away still further down stream in search of a smoother landing-place, every swimmer—for is not bakshîsh limited and time of importance?—turns over in an instant towards the left bank. Every pair of arms is flung out of the water and set revolving like a couple of paddle wheels in the effort of cutting across the powerful current, and one by one they spring ashore and race each other up the bank to where we are standing, their heaving flanks and quivering nostrils telling plainly enough of the exertion of their brief but sharp struggle with the river. Their fuzzy wigs seem to curl tighter than ever for their dip, and in the brilliant afternoon their wet bodies gleam like burnished bronze. For strength and symmetry and inches, for natural grace of pose and splendid ease of movement, some of these cataract shooters are unsurpassable. Look at that

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