The time passed very slowly. The cries of wild creatures could be heard in the woods, and although Frank did not expect to be attacked, it was impossible to sleep with these calls of leopards, with which the forest seemed to abound, in his ears. He had reloaded his revolver immediately after discharging it, and had replaced it in his pouch, and felt confident that nothing could climb the tree. Besides, he had heard that leopards seldom attack men unless themselves attacked. Sleep, however, was out of the question, for when he slept he might have fallen from his seat in the crotch of the tree. Occasionally, however, he dozed off, waking up always with an uncomfortable start, and a feeling that he had just saved himself from falling. With the earliest dawn of morn he descended, stiff and weary, from the tree. Directly the sun rose he set off walking. He knew at least that he was to the south of the camp, and that by keeping the sun on his right hand till it reached the zenith he must get in time to the little stream on which it was pitched. As he walked he listened intently for the sound of guns. Once or twice he fancied that he heard them, but he was quite unable to judge of the direction. He had been out with the Houssa about six hours before he strayed from him in the pursuit of the butterfly, and they had for some time been walking towards the camp, in order to reach it by nightfall. Thus he thought, that at that time, he could only have been some three or four miles distant from it. Supposing that he had run due south, he could still be but eight miles from the stream, and he thought that in three hours' walking he might arrive there. In point of fact, after leaving the Houssa the butterfly had led him towards the southeast, and as the stream took a sharp bend to the north a little distance above the camp, he was many miles farther from it than he expected. This stream was one of the upper tributaries of the Gaboon. After walking for two hours the character of the forest changed. The high trees were farther apart, and a thick undergrowth began to make its appearance, frequently causing him to make long detours and preventing his following the line he had marked out for himself. This caused him much uneasiness, for he knew that he had passed across no such country on his way from the camp, and the thought that he might experience great difficulties in recovering it, now began to press upon him. CHAPTER XI: A HOSTILE TRIBE Every step that he went the ground grew softer and more swampy, and he at length determined to push on no farther in this direction, but turning to his left to try and gain higher ground, and then to continue on the line he had marked out for himself.