"Here, lord," he said, "is my fine magic. With this wood I can do many miracles, such as making sick men strong and the strong weak."
Bones heard the canoes bump against the side of the boat, but his mind was occupied with curiosity.
"Thus do I make my magic, Tibbetti," droned Wafa.
He held the knife by the haft in the right hand, and the chip of wood in his left. The point of the knife was towards the white man's heart.
"Bones!" screamed the girl.
Bones jumped aside and struck out as the man lunged. His nobbly fist caught Wafa under the jaw, and the man stumbled and fell. At the same instant there was a yell from the lower deck, the sound of scuffling, and a shot.
Bones jumped for the girl, thrust her into the cabin, sliding the steel door behind him. His two revolvers hung at the head of his bunk, and he slipped them out, gave a glance to see whether they were loaded, and pushed the door.
"Shut the door after me," he breathed.
The bridge deck was deserted, and Bones raced down the ladder to the iron deck. Two Houssas and half a dozen natives lay dead or dying. The remainder of the soldiers were fighting desperately with whatever weapons they found to their hands—for, with characteristic carefulness, they had laid their rifles away in oil, lest the river air rust them—and, save for the sentry, who used a rifle common to all, they were unarmed.
"O dogs!" roared Bones.