"But I'll tell you all about it," he said, "and where the mine is, so that, if these fellows do me in, you can get the stones. They shan't have them. You know where the Gwai River runs into the Zambesi?"
"Well, it's not quite so far down—Listen! Did you hear that?"
"No, what?"
"That calling for help. There it is again."
We went to the tent door and looked towards the river. In midstream we could see a canoe bottom up. One white man was sitting astride at one end, and there was a native at the other. A second white man was swimming for the bank.
I ran down to the landing stage, calling my canoe boys as I went. For the moment I forgot all about my visitor. There was a white man in the water and, scamp though he undoubtedly was, I couldn't let him drown.
My boys and I got him ashore. It was the thickset one. His fat, unhealthy-looking companion was floating down the river astride the upturned canoe.
After landing the one, I sent my boys back for the other. They had had a thorough wetting and the city-bred fellow was very much scared.
I had their clothes dried and then sent them back to their camp in my own canoe. It appears that an angry hippopotamus attacked them.