We paddled to another rocky island—­one that had trees on it, and rested through the heat of the day when we had killed all the snakes that had forestalled us in the shade.  There, after again eating hippo-tongue unseasoned and ungarnished, we held a council of war, and Fred produced the map that Rebecca stole from Coutlass.

“If we make for a township now—­Kisumu is the nearest—­about five and twenty miles away,” said Fred, “we can give ourselves the pleasure of surprising Schillingschen, and of course we can get a square meal and some clothes and soap and so on—­incidentally perhaps some rifles and ammunition.  But we can’t prove a thing against Schillingschen, and he has enough pull with British officials to make things deuced unpleasant for us, for a time at least.  Consider the other side of it.  Suppose we don’t make for a station.  Schillingschen reports us dead.  Nobody looks for us—­unless perhaps out on the lake for a hat or some scrap of clothing by way of corroborative evidence.  Suppose we paddle out of this gulf and take to shore somewhere along the north end of the lake.  We’ve no food, no tents, only one gun, next to no ammunition, nothing but money and a purpose.  We don’t know what chance we have of getting supplies, and particularly rifles, without letting any one know where we are, but we do know we’ve a clear field and a straight mark for Elgon, where rumor says—­and Courtney said—­and Schillingschen thinks—­and this map says the ivory ought to be!  The odds are against us—­climate —­starvation—­wild beasts—­savages—­last and not least, the government, if they ever get wind of our being beyond bounds.  Are we willing to take the chance, or are we not?”

We talked it over for an hour, Coutlass listening all ears to most of what we said, although we drove him to the farthest limit of the shade trees.  We were in two minds whether or not it mattered if he listened, and made the usual two-minds hash of it.  Finally we put it to a vote, letting Brown have a voice with the rest of us.  He was in favor of anything that offered prospect of a gamble; and we remembered the letter in code we had given the missionary to mail to Monty.  We had told him in that that we should make tracks for Elgon, and we all voted the same way.

“In other words” grinned Fred, “we’re perfect idiots, and ready and willing to prove it!  Good!  If you fellows had voted the other way I’d have gone forward to Elgon alone!”

It was then that Georges Coutlass took a hand in the game again.  He came striding through the trees with something of his old swagger, and sat down among us with an air.

“Count me in!” he demanded.

“D’you mean in the lake?” suggested Fred.

“In on the trip to Mount Elgon!”

“We’ve had nearly enough of you!” Fred answered.  “I know what’s coming!  If you don’t come with us you’ll tell tales?  Blackmail, eh?  Well, it won’t work!  We’ll set you ashore on the mainland, and if you dare show yourself to Schillingschen or any British official, we’ll run that risk cheerfully!”