Slowly the sun went down and the night once more descended over the rolling river. Their anxiety would not allow them to sleep, even had they not been hindered by hunger. Of water they had a plentiful supply,—too much of it,—although this was not obtained without some difficulty, as they had to dip it up in one of their powder-flasks, emptied for the purpose.
Another morning dawned, and the sun made his appearance,—again red and fiery,—his beams becoming fiercer as he ascended the cloudless sky.
They had but a few hours more to wait until they might expect the return of the Kaffir; but would he surely come? They knew that travelling in Africa was a very uncertain business. Their present position was proof that some accident might occur to hinder him from reaching the camp.
By this time they were almost certain that some serious misfortune, perhaps death itself, had befallen Hendrik.
As if to confirm them in this belief, just then three large crocodiles were seen swimming around the rock, lingering there, as though they expected ere long to get their sharp teeth into the flesh of those who stood upon it.
The great hunter became angered at the sight. It suggested the probable fate of their companion, as it might, in time, be their own. He seized hold of his roer, and, drawing the damp charge, freshly loaded the gun. Aiming at the eye of one of the hideous monsters, he pulled trigger.
The loud report was followed by a heavy plunging in the water, and the behaviour of the crocodile gave evidence of the correctness of the hunter’s aim.
After springing bodily above the surface, it fell back again, and commenced spinning around, with a velocity that threw showers of spray over those, who stood watching its death-struggles.
Its two companions retreated down the river, and, as the brothers saw them depart, the thoughts of both were dwelling upon the same subject.
Both were thinking of Hendrik! We also must go down stream, and see what has become of him.