In spite of their utmost efforts they continued to float down inch by inch.
Which was the proper channel? It was a puzzling problem on which perhaps hung life and death. There was no time for consideration, and under the circumstances Guy adopted the only possible course.
“Head the canoe straight for the center of the rock and let her drift,” he cried. “The current shall decide for us.”
This was instantly done and they drifted with perfect accuracy straight for the splitting point in the stream.
For a moment it looked as though they would be flung against the rocks and upset, but as the canoe reached the turning-point it trembled an instant in the balance and then darted headlong into the channel to the right.
“A good omen,” cried the colonel. “The river Juba lies on our right. This must be the proper channel.”
It was a very narrow channel, at all events, and a very swift one, too, for the rocky walls on either side were almost close enough to touch with the paddles, and they were moving at a dizzy rate of speed.
“There are rapids below us,” said Forbes. “I can hear them dimly.”
Melton’s hearing was unusually acute, for as yet the rest could hear nothing, but in a few seconds the distant roar was audible to all, and it grew ominously louder with every second.
They grasped the sides of the canoe in anxious suspense—for it was useless to paddle—and the angry waters were almost in sight, when Sir Arthur dropped his torch, and instantly they were plunged in total darkness.