"Rough luck!" growled Reeves. "I must wing some of them." Ere he picked up a second musket he drew his trusty automatic pistol and opened the magazine. Nine cartridges only remained. Presently one of the negroes laid aside his paddle, and, standing in the bows of the canoe, levelled a huge gun that had once been the property of an elephant hunter. Knowing that the charge might contain slugs, old nails, and a miscellaneous assortment of scrap iron, Reeves, who had no particular antipathy to a respectable bullet, ducked behind the transom of the boat, the lads having already taken refuge on the bottom boards. With a resounding crash the elephant gun went off. Reeves instantly sprang to his feet to return the compliment, but the negro was no longer visible. His antiquated weapon had burst, sending him--a mangled corpse--into the river. In the confusion the fugitives managed to gain a hundred yards; but the pursuers were not to be shaken off by an accident that is a common occurrence where "trade guns" are in general use. On and on they came, until within throwing distance, when a flight of spears was hurled with great precision, five or six being left quivering in the boat. Reeves's reply was a charge of duck shot that put one canoe out of action. The others immediately diverged, and, forming into two lines, attempted to overtake the fugitives' boat on both quarters. Hugh fired with successful results, while Gerald, handing a loaded musket to the correspondent, proceeded to recharge the first weapon. But in spite of the initial success of the encounter the odds were greatly against the white men. With modern weapons the result would have been quickly decided, but the time taken up in reloading the flintlocks gave the blacks an advantage. They were closing again, and spears began to flash over the boat, or to sink deeply into her planking. Reeves realized that the time had come for desperate measures. Grasping his pistol, he fired seven shots in rapid succession into the crowd that manned the nearest canoe. The strange sight of a man literally pouring out a hail of bullets filled the negroes, with terror. Those who escaped the shots leapt overboard and swam for the nearest craft. Again raising his weapon, the correspondent pointed it menacingly at the nearest "dug-out" on the other side. The effect was magical, for those who could swim jumped overboard, while those who could not cowered into the bottom of the canoe. The other canoes maintained a respectful distance, but had no intention of relinquishing the pursuit. So far, good, Reeves thought; but what would happen when night fell? "What's that?" exclaimed Gerald, as in a momentary lull in the shouts of the natives a distant _pop, pop, pop_, was borne to their ears. Hugh and the correspondent listened intently for a few moments. The sound, whatever it might be, was coming nearer and nearer.