"Well, eat it up, and then we'll be off again. Tell the men I'm pleased with them, and hope they'll do as well all day."

On the way back to the canoe, Tom happened to tread on a pair of large ants crawling on the gra.s.s. He was almost overcome by the stench from their crushed bodies. Then every exposed part of his body was stung by mosquitoes, and his head became enveloped in a swarm of yellowish gnats, which Mbutu called kungu-flies.

"Berrah nice, sah!" he said, as they got into the canoe. "Black man catch kungu, sah! Mash, mash, all one cake. Make little fire; fry cake; eat all up."

Tom ruefully thought of his small stock of biscuits, and in this alternative diet recognized an additional motive for pressing on.

It was a broiling hot afternoon, and as the canoe sped on its way Tom saw scores of crocodiles lying on the bank half out of the water, basking in the sunlight, and digesting their food, their eyelids drowsily drooping, their jaws wide open in a sort of prolonged yawn.

Just above one of these dozing reptiles, a number of storks and cranes and herons stood perched on one leg, regarding the crocodile, Tom fancied, with a contemplative air, more in sorrow than in anger.

Farther on, he was amused to see a young elephant twining its trunk about the neck of a graceful zebra, as in an affectionate embrace. All the afternoon, indeed, he was kept interested by an ever-changing panorama, eye and ear being alike captivated incessantly by something new and strange. He was naturally observant, and many curious details impressed themselves upon his mind without his being conscious of them.

He would have liked to stay and study this new world at his leisure, but the temptation to linger was counteracted by his sense of the urgency of his mission. The only other drawback to his enjoyment was the pain caused by the mosquito bites, which increased as the day wore on.

At sundown, having covered some twenty-two miles, and made, as Tom considered, very satisfactory progress for the day, he ordered the men to run the canoe up a creek that promised well as a halting-place.

After a good supper, they went on sh.o.r.e to find sleeping quarters for themselves, and in a very short time ran up a wattled hut, and built fires round it to keep off lions and other undesirable visitors. Tom wrapt himself in a rug, gave another to Mbutu, and settled himself to sleep in the stern of the canoe. He was kept awake for some time by the bright moonlight, the splashes of fish, quaint creakings and groanings from the trees, the grunt of rhinoceroses, the strange whine and sighing cough of crocodiles, and the inevitable howl of jackals. He fell asleep at last.

Mbutu, meanwhile, sat in the bows, dreamily watching the shimmer of the moonbeams on the water, and pondering on his wonderful luck in the change of masters. He was just dozing off to sleep when he noticed a dark form edging along the bank. A swift glance showed him that it was a crocodile, leaving on its nightly prowl for food. It slid noiselessly into the water, and, thinking that the beast was making for the opposite bank, Mbutu paid no further attention to it. But suddenly he became aware of a small dark object approaching the canoe. There was not a sound nor even a ripple on the water; but one glance was enough to a boy born and bred as Mbutu had been in the African wilds. It was the snout of the crocodile! At the same moment he observed with horror that his master, restless in his sleep, had thrown one arm over the side of the canoe, and that the hideous jaws of the reptile were within a few feet of snapping distance. Quick as thought he stooped, clutched at the rope mooring the canoe to a small overhanging acacia, and pulled with all his strength. The canoe lurched forward, striking heavily against the bulging root of the tree,--and Tom awoke with a start, to see Mbutu smite the crocodile savagely over the head with a paddle.

"What is it?" he said sleepily.

"Sah nearly gobble up. Croc'dile berrah hungry. Arm berrah nice; soon all gone, sah."

Tom shivered.

"You're a brick, Mbutu," he said, "and your head's screwed on right.

But for you!--ugh! it's horrid to think of!"

"Uncle, sah--" began Mbutu.

"Yes, yes; tell me all about him another time. Call up the crew. They must take turns at watching; and tell them to do it thoroughly."

No further hazards marred Tom's rest. In the morning, while Mbutu was preparing their simple breakfast, Tom strolled up the reddish hillside above the river to survey his surroundings, carrying the field-gla.s.s presented to him by Father Cheva.s.se. At this spot the larger trees were absent, and the country around was for the most part flat and marshy, the dark-green broken here and there by patches of gaudy blossom and red clay soil. The hill commanded a view of the river for some two or three miles, but Tom could see little but reeds, the stream itself, indeed, being scarcely perceptible as it wound in and out among the aquatic vegetation. Some distance, however, in the direction from which the canoe had come, there was a stretch of about a quarter of a mile of clear water, looking like a blue lake amid the green, and on this Tom's eye rested. Suddenly he saw a cloud rise up from the water, which he instantly judged to be a huge flock of water-fowl. Then a dark object appeared, slowly crossing the surface of the patch of blue towards him.

"Some hippo out catching the early worm," said Tom to himself, smiling afterwards as the inaptness of the phrase struck him. He raised the gla.s.s to his eyes. "No, it's not a hippo; it's a canoe! By Jove! what if it's the dago!"

While he was still gazing at it, the canoe came within the circle of papyrus, and disappeared from view. Seeing another clear stretch on the near side of this clump of reeds, Tom called to Mbutu to run up the hill. It was important to know whether they were indeed pursued. Not that Tom was alarmed--he felt himself a match on even terms for any Portuguese,--but he preferred not to be taken by surprise, whatever happened. The canoe emerged from the reeds just as Mbutu reached the top of the hill. He looked in the direction Tom pointed, and with his naked eye at once descried the canoe. The next moment he declared excitedly:

"Dago man in canoe!"

"Bosh!" said Tom, to test him. "You have dago on the brain, I'm afraid."

"White man all say bosh!" returned the boy. "No bosh! no bosh! Dago man in canoe all same!"

Again the canoe vanished, and both observers watched tensely for its reappearance. Twenty minutes elapsed; then it glided into view again.

It was now no more than a mile away.

"Sah, see!" cried Mbutu. "Dago sure nuff."

"You are right, Mbutu. We are being followed. We needn't get fl.u.s.tered, but we must start at once, and eat our breakfast as we go."

Hurrying down the hill, he ordered the crew on board, and loosed the rope. In another minute the canoe was bounding like a racer rapidly up-stream.

"The dago has not yet seen us, at any rate," said Tom, "and we may get clear away without being observed at all if the men put their backs into it."

"No, sah! Birds fly up; tell dago canoe in front. Dago know all same."

"Then it's a question of speed, eh? Well, we've the lighter canoe; crew four and pa.s.sengers two. He has the heavier canoe; crew eight and pa.s.senger one. We shall get through where he would stick in the mud; though the water seems to have a fair depth here, worse luck. Well, Mbutu, we're not going to be overhauled; tell the men there's kiboko after them; that'll make them hurry."

The crew paddled away swiftly, and began to sing. Tom was relieved to find that words and tune were changed at last, but after a few bars he peremptorily stopped them.

"The dago will hear them," he said, "and it will be just as well for us not to let him know our whereabouts. Tell them another story, Mbutu."

Tom sat rigidly in the stern, wondering how the Portuguese had got on their track. The course of events since he had been turned back by Tom's crew twenty-four hours before was as follows. He had paddled down-stream till he reached the place where Tom had embarked, and then sent one of his men to the village to find out what was going on there.

The man returned, bringing the news that the white man had left. Furious at being so easily outwitted, the Portuguese had then gone up himself, seized the first negro he came upon, and demanded information about Tom's route. This the negro, obeying the instructions of his chief, given to the whole village, at first refused; whereupon the Portuguese tied him to a tree and thrashed him till the poor wretch, in sheer desperation, told all he knew. Without wasting another moment the Portuguese started in pursuit, enraged at having lost five hours through so simple a trick. Pressing his men, he arrived within five miles of Tom before dark, and starting again before sunrise, he had by seven o'clock crept up to within a mile of his quarry, as Tom had fortunately discovered.

Tom knew nothing of all this, except that the Portuguese was close on his heels. As his crew bent themselves to their task, he sat reviewing the situation. He had this advantage over the Portuguese, that, having seen the pursuer while himself unseen, he could ply his men with a stronger, because more actual, incentive to speed. But he had no idea how much farther they had yet to paddle before they reached Lake Mazingo, and though two of the natives had performed the journey before, their ideas of distance were vague. If many miles remained to be covered, and the chase resolved itself into a prolonged race, Tom saw clearly enough that the Portuguese was bound to win, for, having the larger crew, he could divide his men into relays. Given even chances, then, Tom recognized the impossibility of outdistancing the pursuer.

There remained two alternative courses: either to beach the canoe at once and take to the woods, or to attempt some ruse. A moment's reflection showed him that the first was unwise, for it would mean finding a way laboriously through unknown forest, necessarily at a slow pace, and the result might be that before he could overtake the expedition the mischief would be done. As to the second alternative, Tom racked his brains for a trick likely to succeed in throwing the Portuguese off the scent; but the only thing that suggested itself was to run his canoe up some deep creek, and remain in hiding there until the larger canoe had pa.s.sed and might be deemed out of harm's way. On second thoughts Tom gave this up also. Failure to sight the canoe he was chasing, and the sudden cessation of disturbance among the water-fowl ahead, might arouse suspicion in the pursuer's mind, and provoke him to search the creeks; and even supposing it did not, Tom's own progress after the larger canoe had gone by would have to be regulated so cautiously that in this case also precious time would be lost. Reviewing all these points, Tom came to the conclusion that his best plan was to hold on as he was going as long as he could, and then trust to the accidents of the chase to make his way clear.

On they went, then, for mile after mile. The sun was now high, and the willing negroes were panting and perspiring freely. Mbutu in the bows kept a sharp eye on the winding river behind, but so far had not caught so much as a glimpse of the pursuing craft. About ten o'clock, when the crew were patently flagging, the head-man spoke rapidly to Mbutu, dropping his paddle for a moment, and pointing eagerly ahead.

"What does he say?" asked Tom, observing this.

"Him say ribber make bow, sah," said Mbutu, describing an arc in the air. "Ribber go round hill; way ober hill soon, much soon. Canoe stop, master walk ober."

Tom was at first somewhat perplexed at this vague statement, but by questioning the men he learnt that the canoe was approaching a great bend in the river, which wound about the base of a hill some two hundred feet high, thickly covered with scrub. The distance round the hill by the river was about a mile and a half, while overland across the hill it was little more than three-quarters of a mile. Mbutu explained this by comparing the curving stream to a bent bow, and the hill path to the bow-string. Tom at once saw that if the Portuguese were close on their heels, and chanced to know of the short cut, he might disembark half his crew, cross the hill, and possibly arrive at the farther end of the arc before Tom's canoe. In any case, if he were armed, as the natives had declared, there was little chance of escaping with a whole skin, or even of escaping at all.

Tom did not take long to make up his mind what to do. The canoe was already approaching the bend, and he saw the hill looming up to the right, covered with purple and dark-green scrub.

"Mbutu," he said, "you take the head-man's paddle. He and I will go across the hill and watch for the enemy. The rest of you will paddle with all your might round the bend, and wait for me at the other end of it. I shall then know exactly what we have to expect."

"All right, sah!" returned Mbutu. "Me paddle well too much."

The men cleverly ran the canoe alongside a moss-covered rock, and Tom sprang out, followed by the man who had given the information. Tired as he was, the native started to run at Tom's bidding, and picked his way deftly through what from the riverside looked impenetrable scrub, Tom sprinting behind with never a pause till they reached the top. There they stooped behind a low, dense bush, and scanned the horizon. From this point of vantage the whole of the shining river could be seen, save where a knoll or bluff intercepted portions of it. Tom looked eagerly in the direction whence he had come. Not more than a minute after he had reached the hill-top the nose of the long canoe shot into sight.

Tom scanned it through his field-gla.s.s. The crew were going strong, but there was nothing to show whether the Portuguese had sighted the fleeing canoe. Tom was relieved to see that he had increased his lead slightly since the morning. On came the graceful craft; four minutes pa.s.sed, and the silent watchers saw that it was making for the bank.

"The dago, or one of his men, knows of this short cut, then," said Tom to himself. "I wonder if we left any footprints on the rock."

But the canoe grounded some distance on the farther side of Tom's landing-place. The Portuguese jumped ash.o.r.e, followed by four of his crew, all armed with rifles. They began the ascent, not so nimbly as Tom and his companion, and without discovering any traces of earlier pedestrians. Tom gave an anxious glance at the river. His canoe was still a quarter of a mile from the spot which he had already marked for rejoining it. The other canoe was rounding the bend, going rather less rapidly. A glance to the left showed him the Portuguese and his men advancing steadily through the scrub. It was time to be off. Signing to his man to lead the way, Tom plunged after him downhill. It was even rougher going than on the other side. Scrambling here and sliding there, at the imminent risk of breaking his neck, or at least spraining an ankle, Tom pelted along after his nimble guide, and arrived breathless at the water's edge, his clothes torn and his hands scratched by the scrub and thorn. His canoe arrived a few moments later, and, wading quickly through the shallows, Tom and the Muganda clambered on board.

At that instant the still air was cleft by two sharp cracks, and two bullets whizzed past, dropping harmlessly into the water. Tom looked up and saw the Portuguese, clearly in a wild state of excitement, pounding down the hill with his four negroes. Tom's crew, exultant at having so successfully escaped, raised their l.u.s.ty voices in the war-chant of their tribe, hurling defiance at the baffled pursuers. Tom sternly bade them cease, pointing to the quarter of a mile of clear water which they had still to traverse before they reached the shelter of a new clump of reeds. Again came the crack! crack! of rifles, but the Portuguese and his men were out of breath, and their fire was wild. One bullet hit the side of the canoe. A splinter flew up, striking one of the crew in the fleshy forearm and making a nasty gash. In a moment Tom tore a strip from one of his bundles of calico, and, recalling his experience of ambulance work in the cadet corps at school, swiftly bound up the wound.

He then ordered Mbutu to take the wounded man's paddle, and turned to watch the doings of the enemy.

But he was already out of sight. The larger canoe, now hidden by the reeds, had just reached the horn of the curve, where the Portuguese was awaiting it. He was in a towering pa.s.sion, and heaped unmeasured abuse on his luckless crew for failing to overtake their expected prey. By the time he and his men were afloat again, Tom's canoe was fully a mile and a half in advance, and out of sight.

It was now past mid-day. The heat was terrible, and there had been no time for a meal since starting. Tom had nibbled a few biscuits and drunk a little water, and his crew had munched some of their ground-nuts and cheese, relieving each other in pairs for a few minutes at a time.

Tom did not dare to allow them to stop paddling altogether, for the pursuing crew could divide into larger relays, and he guessed that, having once sighted him, the Portuguese would give his men no respite until they overtook him. He wondered how long his own men's marvellous staying-power would hold out. Watching them anxiously, he saw with concern that, as the afternoon wore on, their strokes became less certain and put less and less way on the canoe. Mbutu, willing lad, relieved the others in turn at intervals, but, though he had said that he could "paddle well too much", it was obvious that he was out of training, as well as muscularly less hardy than the stalwart negroes.

About five o'clock Mbutu, again in his old place in the bow, cried suddenly: