The boys' plight was evidently a terrible one.
Their clothes were ripped and torn and Billy's shirt scarcely covered his body; which was a mass of cuts and scratches. A great cloud of mosquitoes hung about the canoe, clearly maddening its occupants with their myriads of tiny stings. The faces of both the young navigators were drawn and lined with anxiety as they paddled ahead in the turbulent current.
"See," cried Sikaso harshly, as the picture faded, "do the white boys still doubt?"
"No, no!" cried Harry. "Show us more, Sikaso."
The Krooman cast more of the magic powder into the dying fire and again a thick pillar of smoke curled upward.
His low crooning chant then began once more.
As before the picture did not assume shape at once but swam, as it were, slowly into view. This time the surroundings had changed. There was a look of agonized terror on the faces of all the occupants of the canoe as she seemed to be literally hurled forward upon a current that ran as swiftly as a mill race.
The frail craft rocked terribly and once or twice she shipped some water that Lathrop instantly bailed out with a shallow earthen dish.
Frank could almost hear the roar of the water as he gazed in silent fascination on the mysterious pictures of the smoke.
And now the apprehension on the faces of the occupants of the canoe was agonizing to watch. Once Frank saw the old man arise as if to cast himself into the water rather than face what lay ahead, but Lathrop instantly drew him back.