"What are you making, Kobo?" inquired Nick, after contemplating his proceeding for some minutes with much interest. "Make raft, cover it with reeds, and launch it on river. It carry us to island yonder." He pointed as he spoke to a group of trees, growing apparently in the middle of the river's channel, at the distance of perhaps a mile. "There we rest, find plenty of food, fruit, and fish too. Then I go to look for Basuto people, and tell them 'bout white men." "Cover the raft with reeds? Hadn't we better go and cut some, then?" suggested Warley; "or, rather, hadn't. Nick and Frank better go and gather them, while I help you to tie the logs." "Very good. They two take axe, one cut reeds, other bring them in armfuls." Mr De Walden did not awake from the sleep into which he had fallen immediately on reaching the bank, until the raft was nearly completed. He understood at once the purpose for which it was constructed. "It will bear us safely enough, no doubt," he said, "and we shall find abundance of food on the island; but will not the Bechuanas suspect the place of our retreat, and follow us?" "Bechuanas not venture on Yellow River," said Kobo; "besides, if they make raft, we shoot them from island, as easy as so many sheep. Kobo kill them all with bow and arrow--say nothing of guns." "That is true," said De Walden; "and besides we could use our own raft to escape to the opposite shore before they came up. Well, we had better push the raft into the stream, hadn't we? It seems to be finished; and there is no wisdom in staying here longer than can be helped." Kobo assented, and Frank coming up at that moment with his last heap of reeds, the four, by their united exertions, launched their handiwork, which was found to float very well. The guns, with the rest of the baggage, were then put on board; some long poles selected to serve as paddles, or puntpoles, as occasion might require; and the adventurers prepared to commence their voyage as soon as Nick joined them. This he did almost immediately afterwards, but in breathless haste and alarm. "Get on to the raft and push off," he cried, as soon as he was able to command his voice. "The Bechuanas are after us, with that scoundrel Maomo at their head." He was obeyed with the utmost promptitude. In two minutes they had pushed from the shore and were beginning to catch the current, when the truth of Gilbert's words was proved by a headlong rush of Bechuanas to the riverside, made in the hope of arresting the progress of the raft. They darted their assegais after the travellers, and cast long lassoes of leather; some of them even rushed into the water, trying to seize the logs with their hands. "Stoop down!" shouted Kobo; "they shoot arrows." All five threw themselves on their faces among the reeds, just in time to allow a flight of arrows to pass over them and bespatter the surface of the river beyond.