"Quite good," agreed the section commander of the patrol. "Over we go; the horses will have to swim."
Borrowing a couple of canoes the pursuers stepped into the cumbersome craft, four men in each had their loaded rifles ready to fire at any hippos that might attack the horses; the others, grasping the reins of the well-trained animals, guided them across.
The passage of the Kiwa—which was here about one hundred and twenty yards in breadth—was performed without mishap, in spite of the fact that the current ran at a speed of two knots, for the spot where the crossing was effected was two miles below the rapids that had all but claimed von Gobendorff as a victim.
Just as the second canoe was running aground one of the natives uttered a cry of surprise, and pointed to a water-logged dug-out drifting broadside on down stream. It was a prize well worth having, and without waiting to put Wilmshurst and the rest of the passengers ashore the blacks paddled out and secured the derelict.
"Golly, sah!" exclaimed the Haussa sergeant. "Him canoe have one-time man alive. Now him dead as mutton."
Lying on the bottom of the canoe with his head raised above the water was a native. As the rescuing craft ran alongside the man opened his eyes.
The call of humanity having a prior claim to the importance of the pursuit Wilmshurst and the Rhodesians rendered all the aid in their power to revive the badly-wounded man. Examination showed that he had been shot at close range by a small-bore high velocity bullet. The missile had scraped his right ear, and entering at the shoulder had emerged just above the third rib. It was a nasty wound, but with ordinary attention it ought not to prove fatal.
Finding that he was being well treated the injured man recovered sufficiently to explain what had occurred. There was no mistaking the description of his assailant—also another crime had been added to the list against Ulrich von Gobendorff, that of attempted murder.
"So the blighter is making for Twashi," remarked Wilmshurst, consulting his field service map. "That's well up in the Karewenda Hills. We may head him off even yet."
Mounting, the patrol, their energies quickened by the evidence of this latest Hunnish atrocity, set off at a gallop across the comparatively open country betwixt the Kiwa and the base of the Karewenda Hills. Woe betide von Gobendorff should he be spotted by one of the lynx-eyed Rhodesians.