Kobo assented, and Frank coming up at that moment with his last heap of reeds, the four, by their united exertions, launched their handiwork, which was found to float very well. The guns, with the rest of the baggage, were then put on board; some long poles selected to serve as paddles, or puntpoles, as occasion might require; and the adventurers prepared to commence their voyage as soon as Nick joined them.
This he did almost immediately afterwards, but in breathless haste and alarm.
“Get on to the raft and push off,” he cried, as soon as he was able to command his voice. “The Bechuanas are after us, with that scoundrel Maomo at their head.”
He was obeyed with the utmost promptitude. In two minutes they had pushed from the shore and were beginning to catch the current, when the truth of Gilbert’s words was proved by a headlong rush of Bechuanas to the riverside, made in the hope of arresting the progress of the raft. They darted their assegais after the travellers, and cast long lassoes of leather; some of them even rushed into the water, trying to seize the logs with their hands.
“Stoop down!” shouted Kobo; “they shoot arrows.” All five threw themselves on their faces among the reeds, just in time to allow a flight of arrows to pass over them and bespatter the surface of the river beyond.
“Ah, you catch that,” cried Kobo, as he drew his bowstring in answer, and saw his arrow quivering in the neck of the rainmaker. “You no cure that, Maomo—you clever doctor, but no cure that! Him dead,” he continued, complacently addressing his companions, “him dead in half an hour. Poison quite fresh and good!”
“Unhappy wretch!” exclaimed the missionary, as he watched the Bechuanas gather in dismay round their fallen prophet. “I have no doubt you speak the truth, Kobo; and the impostor drew his fate upon himself. But it is a fearful ending! When will the light of God’s truth shine in this benighted land?”
“Yes, Kobo speak truth,” said the guide, answering the only part of De Walden’s speech which he understood. “Kobo speak truth—Maomo dead for certain—he suffer bad pain too. Ah, they carry him away. No trouble us more.”
The raft was by this time in the central channel of the river, sweeping rapidly down towards the island. In about half an hour this was reached; and Kobo steering it towards a spot where several willows stretched out into the stream, contrived to lodge it securely between two of them. The party then landed, and carried all their goods on shore; after which Kobo directed them to haul the raft also on to the bank, and hide it carefully among the long grass and rushes.
“People no come that way,” he said, pointing down the river; “large deep falls, and no come from that bank—rocks too steep and high. But may come from other bank, or same way as we, from further down. Sometimes Basutos hunt ‘’potmus,’ as white man call him.”