'I emptied my magazine on a croc last night,' he confessed. 'I thought I had another handful in my shooting jacket.'
'Then bluff him with the empty gun. If you can frighten the Indian, the natives will turn.'
But if Dick was a bluffer, his was not the brand that pulls off forlorn hopes. His belief in the avarice of the Indians who colonise Africa suggested an easier plan. Holding out his purse, he shouted promises of lavish reward, if the Indian would take them off.
The offer made to the crew might have had effect. Their simple minds were free from hostility or mistrust. But in the dominant heart of the Hindoo, vengeance, and doubt that promises would be honoured, displaced cupidity.
He gave the order to paddle.
Too late Dick ran to the loads and snatched his gun. The dinghy had drawn out into the lake. 'Stop,' shouted Dick, 'or I'll fire.' His words recalled to Norah's brain the games of her childhood, and in spite of her anxiety she had to smother a smile.
The Indian stopped laughing and crouched in the bottom of the boat, urging speed on the paddlers. He put his faith in the increasing range and the mist which still covered the water. For some seconds after every one had recognised the pretence Dick stood, gun at shoulder, theatrical, ridiculous. Then with an oath he dropped the Mauser.
Already remote, the Indian's laugh rang out above the là! ... là! ... là! ... of the paddlers, half chant, half grunt of exertion.
Then distance enveloped the sounds.
The position was desperate. Without ammunition or stores of food, life was impossible on shore. Between shore and steamer the water teemed with crocodiles. They had no boat or the materials to build one. No help could be expected from the land, no rescue for many days from the lake. When at last the relief party came, it was doubtful if there would even be bones for them to find....