“We are not man-hunters,” said Mr. Hume.  “We will, however, hang about till evening, so that they may think we have no suspicions, and then in the dusk we will push on.”

“Wow!” said the chief.  “My plan would be to land above, to creep down and take them unprepared.”

“And the canoes from the other side would steal across and cut you off.  No; we will leave them.”

“The canoes from the other side,” said Compton, starting up.  “I rather think I saw one shoot into that island—­the big one with the palm-tree in the centre.”

“All right,” said the hunter, quickly.  “Don’t look that way; take in the sail.  If they are there, we don’t want to draw their attack now.  Get out the sculls, Venning, and keep her towards the sandbank ahead.  Just keep her moving.”

The sail rattled down, and the Okapi lazily moved nearer the shore, leaving about a mile of water between her and the island, towards which Mr. Hume, lying flat, was directing his glasses.  The others were looking ostentatiously shorewards.

“You are right, Compton; canoes are gathering under that island.”

“Congela,” said the chief, “there is a man watching us from the land.”

“Signal to him,” said Mr. Hume.  “You see, what we want is to keep those canoes where they are till night; and they probably won’t move till they have a signal from their friends ashore.”

Muata called out, and a man who was skulking behind a bush stepped out.

“Why do you watch, my friend?”

“O chiefs,” shouted the man, “all goes well.  The men will be here at nightfall, and the fire will be lit to guide you.”

“It is good,” said Muata.  “We will wait.”

The man stood for some time watching, then went into the bush, and the crew of the Okapi, to divert suspicion, got out fishing-lines and fished; but all the time Mr. Hume, lying under the awning, watched the distant island, which shielded an unknown number of their watchful foes.

“Woo!” said Muata, “the great one was right; and Muata is still a boy.  Haw!  Truly, if we had landed, our journey would have ended here.”

“Suppose the canoes dash out before dark?” said Venning.

“Then we will make a run for it.”

It was a long, long afternoon.  Anxiously they waited for the sun to set, and the boys marked the slow creeping of the shadows over the river thrown by the ridge on the south bank, and anxiously Mr. Hume watched the island and the broad sweep ahead—­for the danger was ahead.  If the enemy had taken precautions to send a portion of the fleet up-river, they stood a chance of being intercepted.

At last the hour had come.  The sky was turning grey, the shadows reached right across, and the evening wind was rustling the leaves.  The Okapi began to move.  She crept away from the shore, and then turned again with her bows to the bank.  So she waited a few minutes while the darkness deepened, then, as a flame broke out on land, the sail was run up; she came round once more with her bows up-stream, and slipped along.  Looking back, they saw the fire spring up at the appointed landing-place, and, listening intently, they caught the crackling of the burning wood.