“Was it by accident or design, Compton, that you led them into the shallows?”

“I saw we could not reach the shelter of the island, and was feeling bad, when I caught a ripple on the water to the right.  I edged the Okapi on after the first ball shot was fired, and as we drew nearer I was sure there was a long sandbank.  When I made that sharp turn as the second shot was fired, I could see the outline of the bank just under water, and turned to avoid it.”

“It was a mercy you altered our course just at that moment, Compton.”

“Wasn’t it?  It was touch and go.  We stood to be run down or knocked into smithereens in another minute;” and Venning shook Compton’s hand.

“Did you see them go over like ninepins,” laughed Compton, “when they struck?  But I’m not claiming any credit, you know.  If it had not been for Mr. Hume——­”

“We all did our share,” said the hunter, “and we have every cause to be thankful; but we must not imagine that the chase is over.”

CHAPTER VII

THE THOUSAND ISLANDS

They shoved off again, and Compton, being the least tired, took the sculls and pushed on slowly in search of an anchorage for the night.  They passed many likely places, but Mr. Hume had one objection or another to them, and the spot that finally satisfied him was a small wooded island flanked by others of larger size, and so placed that if they were menaced from any side there would be an opening for escape in the opposite direction.  The channel into which they steered was so narrow that the branches of the trees joined overhead, and when they tied up, the Okapi was completely hidden.  Before forcing their way into the leafy tunnel, they had taken down the awning, but now, after having broken away many branches, they refixed the canvas roof and drew the mosquito-curtains round, after which they sought out and killed all the insect pests that remained within the nets.  There was no danger in showing a light, and accordingly the lantern was hung amidships, the spirit-lamp lit, to prepare a nourishing and at the same time “filling” soup.  They made a hearty meal, got into warmer clothing, oiled the rifle-barrels, arranged their rugs, and prepared for the night, which came on them with a rush, heralded by the noise of birds seeking their accustomed roosting-places.  Such an uproar the boys had not before heard.  It seemed as if the Zoological Gardens had emptied its noisiest inhabitants.  Parrots flew across the river, every one talking at the top of its voice, while colonies of ibis croaked out the news of the day in gruff, discordant notes; cranes flying laboriously, with long legs trailing, emitted their deep “honks;” frogs lifted up their voices from out the reeds, and at intervals came the booming cry of the shovel-beaked bittern, and the harsh, baboon-like bark of the green-crested toucan.  The noise of the home-going of the winged multitudes ceased as the night drew its black mantle over the river.