“What devil’s noise is that?” sang out a voice they recognized as that of the Belgian officer.

A sharp order was given, the paddles ceased, and the canoe, looming long and black on the water, drifted towards the Okapi.

“I have heard that cry before,” said a rasping voice.  “Be ready with your weapons.  Allah the merciful may yet deliver those we seek.”

“What would they be doing here inshore?” asked the Belgian.

“They would be here because it is here they would not expect us to search.  I think I see something gleam.”

In the water by the shore there was a faint splash, and again the jackal whined.

Mr. Hume pressed his hand on Compton’s shoulder, forcing him into the well; and he did the same by Venning.

“Surely,” said the Belgian, “it is something.  Shall we call in the other canoes, and guard the place till daylight?”

“I will have them now,” said Hassan, with fury.

“They will not look on another sun;” and he gave the order to his men to kill when they closed in.  “It is they who let free the thief of the forest—­the dog Muata.”

“You lie, O woman stealer; Muata freed himself;” and out of the water, out of the blackness, came the voice, without warning, “Muata is here, by your side, man-thief.”

The Arab fired, and the flash from his discharged rifle flamed into the water, into which he peered with features convulsed.

“Kill him!” he yelled.

“Muata!” cried the paddlers.  “Haw!  To the shore, to the shore, or we perish!  The water-wolf, he!”

“Yavuma!” cried the voice from the water; and the canoe heeled over as the chief rose under the sharp bow.  “Yavuma!”—­he wrenched a paddle from one of the men and hurled it at the Arab.  The crank craft rolled as some of the excited men in the stem tried to use their spears.  “Yavuma!”—­this time with a triumphant whoop, and the canoe turned over!

With a couple of powerful strokes the swimmer had his hand on the Okapi.

“O great one,” he cried, “Muata is come to work and to watch—­to be your shield and your spear.”

Mr. Hume reached out a strong hand and pulled the chief on board.

Muata gave a low cry, and with a frightened whimper the jackal shot out from the bank and lighted on the deck.  Then the Okapi slid out silently into the river.

“By Jenkins!” gasped Venning.

“It beats all,” laughed Compton.  “Well done, Muata.”

As the capsized crew struggled to the shore they yelled abuse and threats, but their power for mischief had gone with the loss of their weapons.  Some of them went off down the bank shouting for the canoes that had gone on, and others made their way to the fire; but Mr. Hume and Muata took a spell at the levers, heedless of the noise made, and under their powerful arms the boat was soon far out in the waste of waters—­safe, at any rate, for that night.