wing the force of
the stream, had been swept away past where he should have landed, and
with so big and heavy a boat he might not be able to get back. If this
were the case Pete would escape, and he would have to go back to his
prison.

"No, he would not forsake me," muttered Nic, with a strange glow about
his heart as he thought of the man's fidelity to his cause; and he had
just come to this conclusion when he heard a rustling behind him as of
some creature creeping up. It was forgotten, though, the next moment,
for unmistakably there was the sound of an oar whishing about in the
water, as if someone had it over the stern and, fisherman fashions was
sculling the boat towards the bank.

Then for a moment Nic was doubtful, for the sound ceased.

"It was one of the alligators," he muttered through his teeth, "and the
poor fellow--"

There was a faint chirrup off the river, and once more Nic's heart beat
wildly as he answered the signal. Then the sculling began again, the
rustling was repeated somewhere behind where Nic crouched, and he felt
for the muskets to take them up.

"Whatever it is, I shall be aboard in a moment or two," he thought, with
a strangely wild feeling of exultation; for he heard the oar drawn in,
the head of the boat suddenly appeared close at hand, and it was run
into the muddy, reedy bank a couple of yards away, while Pete leaped
ashore with the painter.

"Now!" cried a loud voice, when, with a rush, half-a-dozen men sprang
upon them from the bed of reeds and a fierce struggle began.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

MAKING FRIENDS OF ENEMIES.

The struggle was very fierce but short. Nic fought his best, and, in
spite of the excitement, wondered at his strength. He was encouraged,
too, by Pete, whom he heard raging and tearing about; and, hard pressed
as he was, he yet had a thought for his companion.

"Never mind me, Master Nic," he shouted. "Zwim for it--the boat. Never
mind me."

Then his voice was smothered, and there was the sound of a heavy fall,
but the struggle went on.

"Hold on!" came the voice of the overseer, giving his orders; and then
that of the settler:

"Give in, you scoundrels!" he raged out. Then fiercely, "Hold their
heads under water, boys, if they don't give in."

"All done now, sah," panted Samson, with his lips close to Nic's head,
for he was across his prisoner's chest, and a couple of the blacks were
holding his legs.

"Yes, we must give up, Master Nic," cri