"Zwengi?" repeated Critch, puzzled.
"Him vera bad," declared Mbopo. "Him big, much fight. Mbopo no like."
"Must be a tribe they're at war with," said Burt. He took up the rifle and turned to the chief. "Him kill Zwengi."
"Mwanzi kill Zwengi?" asked Mbopo of Critch, plainly putting all his faith in the latter's prowess. Critch laughed and nodded. Mbopo turned and spoke joyfully to his men, who instantly lost their uneasy appearance and sprang aboard with a shout of delight.
"It's up to you," grinned Burt, and Critch nodded soberly.
"Plain bluff again," he said. "If we are held up, those bows o' the dwarfs ought to get in good work, an' your three cartridges'll help a whole lot unless the Zwengi have guns. If they have, it's all up, I guess."
"The Makua can't be so very far off now," replied Burt. "The river's getting bigger and bigger, and the current's swifter. S'pose we could rig up any kind of breastwork on the rafts?"
"Better not waste time trying," dissented Critch. "I'm afraid of making them top-heavy. Well, let's be off. We ought to hit the Makua pretty quick now. If we don't meet Cap'n Mac I expect Mbopo'll be sore. That's what's worrying me right now."
It was worrying Burt too, but he jumped aboard his raft and cast loose without giving vent to his fears. He realized only too well that the Zwengi might have canoes, and if they were discovered and pursued their only hope was to beat off the enemy.
For several hours they swept along the rapidly widening river without any sign of a foe. Toward noon the stream swept around in a great bend, and as Burt stared ahead he caught a wild shout from Critch.