"And do you, too, go back?" he asked.

The chief shook his head, and smiled.

"My men and I will stand by the White Wizard," he answered. "A Fan holds to his word."

Crouch slapped the chief upon the back, and then went on to explain to the boys that if they helped with the portage, they would not be asked to embark on the Hidden River, but could return to Date Palm Island.

After some discussion, they agreed to this; and as much time had already been wasted, Harden and Crouch decided not to start until daybreak the following day.

According to Edward Harden's diary, the portage lasted two weeks and three days. They were obliged to force their way through virgin forest.

It was frequently necessary to cut down with axes and billhooks the tangled undergrowth and creepers that wove themselves amid the trunks of the trees, in order to make room for the canoe to pa.s.s. Some days they did not cover more than a mile, though they were working from dawn to sunset. But towards the end of the journey the pa.s.sage became easier, by reason of the fact that they found a watercourse, which they followed, until they finally came forth into the sunlight at Hippo Pool.

When they first looked upon it, it was as if, indeed, there were an air of mystery in the valley of the Hidden River. The silence that reigned upon its surface was intense. The atmosphere seemed several degrees hotter even than the forest. The name Hippo Pool was given because, immediately on their arrival, Edward Harden, who was leading, shot a hippopotamus which he found asleep upon the bank. They were glad enough of the meat for the natives, who would require provisions on their journey back to the Kasai.

The next morning the Loango boys left in a body. They were glad enough to be off. And soon afterwards the canoe shot out from the bank.

Their progress was painfully slow. M'Wane and his four followers worked continually with the paddles, a.s.sisted in turn by Harden and his nephew.

As for Crouch, he was always the look-out man. His only eye was quick and keen as that of a falcon.

Hour by hour they toiled into the Unknown, until the sweat poured from their faces and their hands were blistered in the sun; and the blisters would not heal, because of the insects that followed in a crowd. The jungle grew more magnificent and wild as the river narrowed. The character of the trees changed, and of the undergrowth--all became more luxuriant, more profuse, until they found themselves in a land where Nature was something fantastic and superb.

It was on the third day after they had set out from Hippo Pool that they turned an angle of the river, and came on a sudden into a cup-shaped valley where there was but little vegetation. A circle of granite hills stood all around them, and in the centre on either side of the river was a plain of sand. Crouch turned in the bows and pointed to something ahead, and at that moment the sharp crack of a rifle echoed in the stillness, and a bullet sped into the water a few inches from the bows of the canoe.

CHAPTER V--THE STOCKADE

As the bullet cut into the water Crouch sprang upright in the canoe. His thin form trembled with eagerness. The man was like a cat, inasmuch as he was charged with electricity. Under his great pith helmet the few hairs which he possessed stood upright on his head. Edward Harden leaned forward and picked up his rifle, which he now held at the ready.

By reason of the fact that the river had suddenly widened into a kind of miniature lake, the current was not so swift. Hence, though M'Wane and his Fans ceased to paddle, the canoe shot onward by dint of the velocity at which they had been travelling. Every moment brought them nearer and nearer to the danger that lay ahead.

In order to relate what followed, it is necessary to describe the scene.

We have said that the wild, impenetrable jungle had ceased abruptly, and they found themselves surrounded by granite hills, in the centre of which lay a plain of glaring sand. To their left, about a hundred paces from the edge of the river, was a circular stockade. A fence had been constructed of sharp-pointed stakes, each about eight feet in height.

There was but a single entrance into this stockade--a narrow gate, not more than three feet across, which faced the river. Up-stream, to the south, the granite hills closed in from either bank, so that the river flowed through a gorge which at this distance seemed particularly precipitous and narrow. Midway between the stockade and the gorge was a kraal, or large native village, surrounded by a palisade. Within the palisade could be seen the roofs of several native huts, and at the entrance, seated cross-legged on the ground, was the white figure of an Arab who wore the turban and flowing robes by which his race is distinguished, from the deserts of Bokhara to the Gold Coast. Before the stockade, standing at the water's edge, was the figure of a European dressed in a white duck suit. He was a tall, thin man with a black, pointed beard, and a large sombrero hat. Between his lips was a cigarette, and in his hands he held a rifle, from the muzzle of which was issuing a thin trail of smoke.

As the canoe approached, this man grew vastly excited, and stepped into the river, until the water had risen to his knees. There, he again lifted his rifle to his shoulder.

"Put that down!" cried Crouch. "You're a dead man if you fire."

The man obeyed reluctantly, and at that moment a second European came running from the entrance of the stockade. He was a little man, of about the same build as Crouch, but very round in the back, and with a complexion so yellow that he might have been a Chinese.

The man with the beard seemed very agitated. He gesticulated wildly, and, holding his rifle in his left hand, pointed down-stream with his right. He was by no means easy to understand, since his p.r.o.nunciation of English was faulty, and he never troubled to take his cigarette from between his lips.

"Get back!" he cried. "Go back again! You have no business here."

"Why not?" asked Crouch.

"Because this river is mine."

"By what right?"

"By right of conquest. I refuse to allow you to land."

The canoe was now only a few yards from the bank. The second man--the small man with the yellow face--turned and ran back into the stockade, evidently to fetch his rifle.

"I'm afraid," said Crouch, "with your permission or without, we intend to come ash.o.r.e."

Again the b.u.t.t of the man's rifle flew to his shoulder.

"Another yard," said he, "and I shoot you dead."

He closed an eye, and took careful aim. His sights were directed straight at Crouch's heart. At that range--even had he been the worst shot in the world--he could scarcely have missed.

Crouch was never seen to move. With his face screwed, and his great chin thrust forward, his only eye fixed in the midst of the black beard of the man who dared him to approach, he looked a very figure of defiance.

The crack of a rifle--a loud shout--and then a peal of laughter. Crouch had thrown back his head and was laughing as a school-boy does, with one hand thrust in a trousers pocket. Edward Harden, seated in the stern seat, with elbows upon his knees, held his rifle to his shoulder, and from the muzzle a little puff of smoke was rising in the air. It was the man with the black beard who had let out the shout, in anger and surprise. The cigarette had been cut away from between his lips, and Harden's bullet had struck the b.u.t.t of his rifle, to send it flying from his hands into the water. He stood there, knee-deep in the river, pa.s.sionate, foiled and disarmed. It was Edward Harden's quiet voice that now came to his ears.

"Hands up!" said he.

Slowly, with his black eyes ablaze, the man lifted his arms above his head. A moment later, Crouch had sprung ash.o.r.e.

The little sea-captain hastened to the entrance of the stockade, and, as he reached it, the second man came running out, with a rifle in his hands. He was running so quickly that he was unable to check himself, and, almost before he knew it, his rifle had been taken from him. He pulled up with a jerk, and, turning, looked into the face of Captain Crouch.

"I must introduce myself," said the captain. "My name's Crouch. Maybe you've heard of me?"

The man nodded his head. It appears he had not yet sufficiently recovered from his surprise to be able to speak.

"By Christopher!" cried Crouch, on a sudden. "I know you! We've met before--five years ago in St. Paul de Loanda. You're a half-caste Portuguese, of the name of de Costa, who had a trade-station at the mouth of the Ogowe. So you remember me?"

The little yellow man puckered up his face and bowed.

"I think," said he, with an almost perfect English accent--"I think one's knowledge of the Coast would be very limited, if one had never heard of Captain Crouch."

Crouch placed his hand upon his heart and made a mimic bow.

"May I return the compliment?" said he. "I've heard men speak of de Costa from Sierra Leone to Walfish Bay, and never once have I heard anything said that was good."

At that the half-caste caught his under-lip in his teeth, and shot Crouch a glance in which was fear, mistrust and anger. The sea-captain did not appear to notice it, for he went on in the easiest manner in the world.

"And who's your friend?" he asked, indicating the tall man with the black beard, who was now approaching with Edward Harden and Max.

"My friend," said he, "is a countryman of mine, a Portuguese, who has a.s.sumed the name of Caesar." The half-caste had evidently not forgotten the insult which Crouch had hurled in his teeth; for now his demeanour changed, and he laughed. "If Captain Crouch finds it necessary to meddle in our affairs," said he, "I think he will find his equal in Mister Caesar."

Crouch paid no more attention to him than he would have done to a mosquito; and before the man had finished speaking, he had turned his back upon him, and held out a hand to the Portuguese.

"I trust," said he, "you've expressed your grat.i.tude to Ted Harden, who, instead of taking your life, preferred to extinguish your cigarette."

"I have already done so," said Caesar, with a smile. "I hope to explain matters later. The mistake was natural enough."