hey had
passed sank low astern, he swept the river for sign of the pursuing
launch.

"By Jove!" he muttered, with a start.

"Well?"

"She has shifted her course. I can see the white of her hull right
under the trees on the south bank."

"She must have gained a lot, then," grunted Mr. Hume, "if you can
see her hull."

"She's making out again. Perhaps she put in to speak a native
village, and maybe they have not seen us; we are low in the water."

"They'll see us soon enough. Tell me when she passes the island we
just left."

"She's making across. No, she's turning. Ah, now she's pointing
straight for us. I can see several people in her bows."

"Now turn your glasses on the islands ahead."

Venning turned round, and looked up-stream.

"Is the launch nearer than the islands?"

"I can see a stork standing on the edge of the water. The first of
the islands is nearest." He turned again to watch the launch.
"There is more smoke--they are stoking up."

The launch was unquestionably coming up hand over hand, and it was
not long before Venning could see the foam at her bows, and the flag
of the Congo Free State flying at her stern. Then he saw a ball of
smoke.

"She is firing!" he yelled.

Compton never took his eyes off the little cluster of reeds ahead
that marked the first of the thousand islands.

"Keep her going!" he shouted.

Mr. Hume smiled grimly, for he was doing the work of two men.

"They are loading the gun!" cried Venning. "Oh, if I only could
help!" He buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, then picked up the
sculls, and fell to rowing with fierce energy. "The smoke!" he
cried. Then, a moment later, "What's that noise?" as a menacing
sound with a shrieking whistle to it smote on his ears.

There was no need for an answer. The shot struck the water about a
hundred yards short, and skipped by, wide of the Okapi, but still
too near to be pleasant.

"Keep on!" shouted Compton, fiercely.

The levers clanked furiously, and Venning, who had suspended his
sculling under the menace of the shot, tugged again at his work.

The steam-whistle of the launch sounded a series of sharp, jerky
calls, followed by the firing of a Mauser bullet. Venning's heart
was pumping blood at express speed under the violence of his
efforts, and his eyes in a wild stare were fixed on the approaching
craft, which had now brought its living freight within recognizable
distance. He could distinguish the two Belgian officers an