"Sure I'd feel more at home wid me shillelagh!" he muttered as he went away. Mr. Martindale turned to the negro.
"Now you, Nando, lead the way."
The man's eyes opened wide with fear.
"Me plenty sick in eyes, sah," he stammered. "Me only see small small. Boy Samba him eyes berrah fine and good, see plenty quick, massa; he show way."
"I don't care who shows the way," said Mr. Martindale, too much preoccupied with his hunting rifle and ammunition to notice the inconsistency between Nando's statement and the story he had already told. Nando called to Samba and told him what was required, and the party set off, the boy going ahead with Pat, Mr. Martindale and Jack following with their rifles, and Nando in great trepidation bringing up the rear.
Mr. Martindale puffed and panted as he scaled the bluff, and breathed very hard as he followed Samba down the rough descent to the brink of the river. When they came to comparatively level ground they halted.
"How far now?" asked Mr. Martindale, in a whisper.
"Small small, massa," replied Nando.
"Well, Jack, when we come near these precious canoes we'll fire both barrels one slick after the other, then reload."
"And go at them with a rush, uncle?"