As he spoke he began to fill his pipe, keeping his eyes averted from the coming prahus, and then struck a match and lit up, calmly sending forth great clouds of smoke, before turning to watch the nearest boat, which was coming with a rush.
"They'll run us down, Rob," whispered Beecher huskily.
"No, they won't," was the calm reply. "They couldn't come here at all; the water's too shallow. Row well, don't they?" he continued, watching the prahu critically.
"Oh, how should I know?" cried Beecher.
"Look then," said Hollins coolly. "Why, they've got two brass pop-guns in their bows—Lelahs, don't they call them?"
"Look here, Rob," said Beecher hoarsely; "what's the good of going on like that? We must make a running fight of it. I'm going to present my two barrels at these fellows of ours, and tell them to row for their lives. It will be all down stream now."
"You're going to do nothing of the sort, my lad," growled Hollins. "We have not come to fight. It would only mean throwing away our lives. At the first menace on your part these brown beggars would chance the crocs and go overboard to swim to the nearest prahu. We must brazen it out. Funk means failure, so cucumbers must be red-hot pokers to the coolness we've got to show."
Almost as he spoke the prahu that was descending the stream crowded with men and bristling with razor-edged spears, was suddenly checked, the rowers then uttering a shout and backing water in obedience to a sharp tap on a gong.
So well was this managed that the light vessel was brought up where the channel ran deep, a dozen yards from the officers' boat, and kept there by means of bamboo poles thrust down fore and aft.