With a quick turn of his broad blade the bowman urged the canoe's bows diagonally against the mass of timber. Caught by the full force of the current the dug-out swung round, crashed against the tree and, listing, was immediately swamped by the inrush of water.
Von Gobendorff leapt to safety. With cat-like agility he swarmed up the inclined bank. Here he stood and waited, watching the efforts of the two natives to save themselves.
The bowman had succeeded in getting astride the massive log and was endeavouring to extricate his companion from the peril that threatened him, for the other had been thrown out of the canoe and was pinned between the tree and the side of the water-logged craft.
In spite of the Birwa's most strenuous efforts the trapped man was unable to extricate himself from the vice-like grip, for edges of the jagged hole in the canoe's side were pressing hard against his thigh, while the canoe itself, forced against the tree-trunk by the swiftly-running current, could not be moved in spite of the combined efforts of the two blacks.
A third man would have made all the difference. The trapped Birwa raised his eyes appealingly to the white man, but von Gobendorff stirred not so much as a little finger.
The Hun, having no further use for the natives, was merely awaiting the catastrophe that would effectually cover his tracks. Without the need of further aid from the Birwas he was now within measurable distance of the Karewenda Hills. Another six hours ought to find him in at least the temporary shelter of the German fortified post of Twashi.
With a sardonic expression on his face von Gobendorff waited and watched. For a full five minutes the grim struggle was maintained. The trapped Birwa's strength was fast failing. Already greatly exhausted by his strenuous work with the paddle he was rapidly collapsing under the strain.
Suddenly he relaxed his grip. The water-logged canoe dipped, and was swept under the tree, taking with it the doomed native, whose last despairing cry was drowned in the roar of the rushing river. For a few moments the surviving Birwa remained kneeling on the inclined mass of timber, trembling in every limb, then, slowly and with every sign of temerity he began to make his way up the trunk to dry land.
Raising his pistol the Hun fired straight at the man's head. The Birwa's arms collapsed, he fell at full length upon the rounded mass of timber, and, slipping sideways, toppled inertly into the foaming torrent.
"Hamba gachle!" exclaimed von Gobendorff, using a Zulu expression that he had picked up in his many and diverse wanderings through South and Central Africa. "Dead men tell no tales, and you were in my way."