“Stop! stay!” cried Peterkin hastily. “I didn’t mean a war-yell; I meant a yell of—of peace.”
“Me no hab a yell ob peace,” said Makarooroo, with a look of perplexity.
“I should not suppose you had,” observed Jack, with a quiet laugh, as he dipped his paddle more energetically than ever into the stream.—“The fact is, Peterkin, that we shall have to go in for a long chase. There is no doubt about it. I see that there are at least four men in their canoe, and if one of them is Mbango, as we have reason to believe, a stout and expert arm guides them. But ho! give way! ‘never venture, never win.’”
With that we all plied our paddles with our utmost might. The chase soon became very exciting. Ere long it became evident that the crews of the two canoes were pretty equally matched, for we did not, apparently, diminish the distance between us by a single inch during the next half-hour.
“What if it turns out not to be Mbango and his party after all?” suggested Peterkin, who wielded his light paddle with admirable effect.
Jack, who sat in the bow, replied that in that case we should have to make the best apology and explanation we could to the niggers, and console ourselves with the consciousness of having done our best.
For some time the rapid dip of our paddles and the rush of our canoe through the water were the only sounds that were heard. Then Peterkin spoke again. He could never keep silence for any great length of time.
“I say, Jack, we’ll never do it. If we had only another man, or even a boy.” (Peterkin glanced at Njamie’s little son, who lay sound asleep at the bottom of the boat.) “No, he won’t do; we might as well ask a mosquito to help us.”
“I say, lads, isn’t one of the crew of that canoe a woman?” said Jack, looking over his shoulder, but not ceasing for an instant to ply his paddle.
“Can’t tell,” answered Peterkin.—“What say you, Mak?”