By this time Hamet’s efforts had sent the boat four hundred yards above the last prahu, and as he grew more distant, his strokes grew quicker and less cautious, till it was wonderful what speed one pair of arms kept up.
And now for the first time Mr Braine leant forward to the man and whispered: “Well done; but you are taking us farther from safety.”
“No,” said Hamet, quietly. “Up the river. Hide. Some night creep down. Back to Dindong.”
“Yes. I see,” said Mr Braine. “He is right.”
Silence was preserved once more, and Hamet kept on so close in-shore that the overhanging boughs swept the thatched roof of the boat. Then all at once he thrust down his pole deep into the gravelly sand, and, as it were, anchored the boat.
“Now,” he said, panting with his exertions; “all take oars and row.”
“Yes,” said Mr Braine, eagerly, and the oars were seized; but Hamet uttered a low “hist!” and all listened.
For a few moments English ears failed to catch that which had struck upon the more keen sense of the Malay, but soon enough they could hear beat—beat—beat—beat—the sound of rapidly plied oars, and it was plain that a naga had now come up the river in pursuit.