“By Jove! you did that splendidly,” said Compton.  “I thought it was all over.”

Venning laughed that little nervous laugh of his.  “I wonder why they gave in like that?”

“We had the drop on then,” said Mr. Hume, grimly; “and we knew our own minds.  Now, then! up with the sail, and, dark or not, we must get on.”

Very smartly and silently the boys hoisted the sail, and as the Okapi beat up they heard a great uproar from the left.  Apparently Hassan was using violent language to the Belgian officer for not having ambushed the “dogs of Englishmen.”  Then several rifle-shots were fired from the canoe, and answered from the people down-stream, who were still searching for their prey.  But the Okapi slipped on, making a musical ripple under her bows, until she beat up under the great wall of woods on the south bank, when she tacked away into the gathering darkness, feeling for the wind.  Down-river was the glare of fires at different spots, where the men had landed from the different canoes; but there was no light ahead through the whole vast width of the river, and they dare not even rig up their own lamp to get what little guidance it could give.  The wind was fitful, and the direct progress was slow, so that when the glow went out of the sky they were still within hearing of the shouting.  Indeed, it seemed that the shouting gained on them, as if the men in Hassan’s boat were keeping their place in the renewed pursuit, and directing other crews as to the line they should take.

Then the sail napped idly against the mast as the wind died down, and as they unstepped the mast before depending on the screw, a fire sprang out right ahead, sending up a tall column of flame that flung its reflection far across the waters.

“We must make out into the islands again,” said Mr. Hume; but, as the boat pointed on the new course, an answering flame sprang up, and then another and another at brief intervals, until from the fire on the bank there was a semicircle of flame from island to island barring their advance.

“There must be an army out,” muttered Venning.

“It is one canoe, but most likely Hassan’s, firing the dried reeds as they pass from island to island.”

“Then the flames will die out soon.”

“Yes, they will die down; but in the mean time other canoes will come up, and if there are men on the shore waiting, they will see us outlined against the reflection.”

Even as he finished there came a shrill cry from the shore, followed by the wild beat of the war-drum, and next by the sound of paddling.

“Shall we make a bolt for it?” asked Compton.

“Not yet,” said the hunter; and he brought the Okapi stem on for the deep shadows under the bank.

The oars moved softly, covered by the noise of the paddling, and the Okapi slipped out of the reflection into the darkness, while the canoes dashed straight on, passing about one hundred yards behind her stem.