So it was that one of the two Kikuyus who had crossed the river at the old camp site the previous day again was selected. And as soon as daylight came, he set out.
The boys with Matse and their bearers watched from the island. They had been up since before dawn. On the other shore they could see the Kikuyus congregated in a chattering group, while Mr. Hampton directed operations and Niellsen could be seen at his motion picture camera, prepared to photograph any dramatic incidents as they occurred.
The Kikuyu, a rangy fellow more than six feet in height, swam strongly until well into the current. Then he let himself drift in order to estimate its strength. Satisfied that if he headed directly for the island, he would be borne beyond it and into the rapids below, he then could be seen to head straight across stream.
Even then, however, the swift current carried him along at such a rate as to make it unlikely he would reach the island.
Bob shook his head, voicing the thought in all their minds.
“He’ll have to swim up stream or he’ll never make it.”
Evidently, the swimmer was of the same opinion. For the next moment the watchers on both the river bank and the island could see him alter his course and assume a direction calculated to carry him across the river on a long upstream slant except for the effect upon his progress of the current.
The boys watched his head, black and round, cleaving the sunlit water, and noted with commendation the steady rise and fall of his arms in an overhead stroke that gave powerful impetus to his lithe body.
“I believe he’ll make it all right,” said Bob, after a moment.
Closer and closer drew the swimmer. And now the boys saw a long thin line of rope trailing through the water behind him. It was tied about his waist and was being paid out by other Negroes who were following down stream along the right bank. A narrow shelf of land, free of underbrush, lay between the river and the bluffs behind, affording them sufficient footing.