fter quitting the scene of the curious
hunt described in the last chapter, we descried the fugitives descending
the river about a quarter of a mile ahead of us.

Unhappily we made a stupid mistake at this time. Instead of waiting
until we were near enough to be recognised, we shouted to our friends
the moment we saw their canoe. I cannot say that we knew them to be our
friends, but we had every reason to suppose so. The result of our shout
was that they supposed us to be enemies, and paddled away as if for
their lives. It was in vain that we tried to show by signs that we were
not enemies.

"Yell!" cried Peterkin, turning to Makarooroo, who sat close behind him.

Our guide opened his huge mouth, and gave utterance to a yell that might
well have struck terror into the heart of Mars himself.

"Stop! stay!" cried Peterkin hastily. "I didn't mean a war-yell; I
meant a yell of--of _peace_."

"Me no hab a yell ob peace," said Makarooroo, with a look of perplexity.

"I should not suppose you had," observed Jack, with a quiet laugh, as he
dipped his paddle more energetically than ever into the stream.--"The
fact is, Peterkin, that we shall have to go in for a long chase. There
is no doubt about it. I see that there are at least four men in their
canoe, and if one of them is Mbango, as we have reason to believe, a
stout and expert arm guides them. But ho! give way! `never venture,
never win.'"

With that we all plied our paddles with our utmost might. The chase
soon became very exciting. Ere long it became evident that the crews of
the two canoes were pretty equally matched, for we did not, apparently,
diminish the distance between us by a single inch during the next
half-hour.

"What if it turns out not to be Mbango and his party after all?"
suggested Peterkin, who wielded his light paddle with admirable effect.

Jack, who sat in the bow, replied that in that case we should have to
make the best apology and explanation we could to the niggers, and
console ourselves with the consciousness of having done our best.

For some time the rapid dip of our paddles and the rush of our canoe
through the water were the only sounds that were heard. Then Peterkin
spoke again. He could never keep silence for any great length of time.

"I say, Jack, we'll never do it. If we had only another man, or even a
boy." (Peterkin glanced at Njamie's little son, who lay sound asleep at
the bottom of the boat.) "No, he won't do;