“Canoes,” he said; “a great many.”

If they did not find the outlet soon they would be sighted.  Muata and his mother spoke a few words rapidly, and then he signalled to the crew to enter the reeds.  This done, and the boat screened, he slipped into the water and disappeared shorewards.  For some time he was away, during which the flotilla of canoes came into view like a flock of ducks, still so far off that the boys could not hear the sound of paddles.  Presently Muata splashed back, and, towing the boat, made across a barrier of reeds that had been banked up, forming a sort of natural breakwater, and most effectually hiding the mouth of the stream he sought.  Mr. Hume was awakened, and the entire crew, taking to the water, managed to hoist the boat over the barrier.  This done, they climbed on board again, and were soon in the mouth of a dark river, almost overhung by great trees.

“That is well done,” said Muata.  “Now we can sleep, great one; for the other river runs far from this, so that Hassan’s men will not hear us.”

They were soon asleep.  Even the chief’s wife stretched herself out with the jackal at her feet, and the two boys were left in sole charge.  They had been toughened by the rough-and-tumble of their strange experiences, and inured to the brooding silence and dark avenues of the forest; but they entered into a scene that tried their nerves.  The trees closed in as they advanced, and very soon they entered a leafy tunnel, lit up by a faint light that barely showed up the slimy banks, covered by a network of snake-like roots.  The little waves churned up by the screw splashed softly upon the roots, making the only sound that disturbed the sombre silence of the place.  So low was the leafy roof at places that branches rustled on the awning.

“Fix up the big lantern in the bows, old man,” said Compton, who was facing up-stream.  “There is not light enough to steer by.  Better sit up there with the bill-hook while I work the levers.”

Venning went forward, and soon a shaft of light pierced the gloom.

For a mile or more they threaded this tunnel, and not a sign of life was there the whole way.  When they emerged from the darkness into comparative space and light, the boys wiped their faces, which were clammy with moisture.

“A few more experiences like that, Dick, and we cross the river for good.”

“Eh?”

“Why, man, it’s the Styx.  It has given me the shivers.”

“Quinine,” said Compton; and they dosed one another there and then.  “I say, I’d give the whole five hundred miles square of this forest for one little glade in Epping.”

“Bother!”

“Of all the squirmy, snaky, gloomy, airless, sunless, moist, decaying masses of misery, I think this is the worst.”

“It is, Dick; it is.  There’s not a butterfly even.”

“Thunder!  It’s raining fire!  No; it’s an ant S It’s raining ants, by gum!”