Tom did not take long to make up his mind what to do. The canoe was already approaching the bend, and he saw the hill looming up to the right, covered with purple and dark-green scrub.
"Mbutu," he said, "you take the head-man's paddle. He and I will go across the hill and watch for the enemy. The rest of you will paddle with all your might round the bend, and wait for me at the other end of it. I shall then know exactly what we have to expect."
"All right, sah!" returned Mbutu. "Me paddle well too much."
The men cleverly ran the canoe alongside a moss-covered rock, and Tom sprang out, followed by the man who had given the information. Tired as he was, the native started to run at Tom's bidding, and picked his way deftly through what from the riverside looked impenetrable scrub, Tom sprinting behind with never a pause till they reached the top. There they stooped behind a low, dense bush, and scanned the horizon. From this point of vantage the whole of the shining river could be seen, save where a knoll or bluff intercepted portions of it. Tom looked eagerly in the direction whence he had come. Not more than a minute after he had reached the hill-top the nose of the long canoe shot into sight. Tom scanned it through his field-glass. The crew were going strong, but there was nothing to show whether the Portuguese had sighted the fleeing canoe. Tom was relieved to see that he had increased his lead slightly since the morning. On came the graceful craft; four minutes passed, and the silent watchers saw that it was making for the bank.
"The dago, or one of his men, knows of this short cut, then," said Tom to himself. "I wonder if we left any footprints on the rock."
But the canoe grounded some distance on the farther side of Tom's landing-place. The Portuguese jumped ashore, followed by four of his crew, all armed with rifles. They began the ascent, not so nimbly as Tom and his companion, and without discovering any traces of earlier pedestrians. Tom gave an anxious glance at the river. His canoe was still a quarter of a mile from the spot which he had already marked for rejoining it. The other canoe was rounding the bend, going rather less rapidly. A glance to the left showed him the Portuguese and his men advancing steadily through the scrub. It was time to be off. Signing to his man to lead the way, Tom plunged after him downhill. It was even rougher going than on the other side. Scrambling here and sliding there, at the imminent risk of breaking his neck, or at least spraining an ankle, Tom pelted along after his nimble guide, and arrived breathless at the water's edge, his clothes torn and his hands scratched by the scrub and thorn. His canoe arrived a few moments later, and, wading quickly through the shallows, Tom and the Muganda clambered on board.
At that instant the still air was cleft by two sharp cracks, and two bullets whizzed past, dropping harmlessly into the water. Tom looked up and saw the Portuguese, clearly in a wild state of excitement, pounding down the hill with his four negroes. Tom's crew, exultant at having so successfully escaped, raised their lusty voices in the war-chant of their tribe, hurling defiance at the baffled pursuers. Tom sternly bade them cease, pointing to the quarter of a mile of clear water which they had still to traverse before they reached the shelter of a new clump of reeds. Again came the crack! crack! of rifles, but the Portuguese and his men were out of breath, and their fire was wild. One bullet hit the side of the canoe. A splinter flew up, striking one of the crew in the fleshy forearm and making a nasty gash. In a moment Tom tore a strip from one of his bundles of calico, and, recalling his experience of ambulance work in the cadet corps at school, swiftly bound up the wound. He then ordered Mbutu to take the wounded man's paddle, and turned to watch the doings of the enemy.
But he was already out of sight. The larger canoe, now hidden by the reeds, had just reached the horn of the curve, where the Portuguese was awaiting it. He was in a towering passion, and heaped unmeasured abuse on his luckless crew for failing to overtake their expected prey. By the time he and his men were afloat again, Tom's canoe was fully a mile and a half in advance, and out of sight.
It was now past mid-day. The heat was terrible, and there had been no time for a meal since starting. Tom had nibbled a few biscuits and drunk a little water, and his crew had munched some of their ground-nuts and cheese, relieving each other in pairs for a few minutes at a time. Tom did not dare to allow them to stop paddling altogether, for the pursuing crew could divide into larger relays, and he guessed that, having once sighted him, the Portuguese would give his men no respite until they overtook him. He wondered how long his own men's marvellous staying-power would hold out. Watching them anxiously, he saw with concern that, as the afternoon wore on, their strokes became less certain and put less and less way on the canoe. Mbutu, willing lad, relieved the others in turn at intervals, but, though he had said that he could "paddle well too much", it was obvious that he was out of training, as well as muscularly less hardy than the stalwart negroes.
About five o'clock Mbutu, again in his old place in the bow, cried suddenly: