It was no business of our heroes, however. They rushed onwards through the _melee_, and in a very short time had reached and shouldered their boat. One hour after, the din of the conflict was muffled in the distance, miles away, and Kenneth and his companions were safe on the river. They were not free yet, however. Swiftly down the river they sped, racing onwards at all hazards. Daylight found them far away, but not safe. All the country they passed through gave token of the march into the interior of the Logobo men. The villages by the banks were fire-blackened ruins, swollen corpses floated here and there, and half-charred spars. A week of fearful toil and anxiety, during which they had more adventures and hair-breadth escapes than I could describe in a goodly volume, brought them to the edge of the Logobo land. And here redoubled caution was needed. They could not rush it, as they had done the other part of the river. They must resort to their old tactics of hiding by day and pursuing their way adown the unknown river in the silence of night. But three days of this work had almost set them free. It was the very last day of their hiding, and near sunset. They had determined to start early, and were longing for six o'clock and speedy darkness. Lower and lower went the sun. Already the gloom of the short twilight was settling down on the still forest, and beasts of prey were beginning to wake up, and yawn--and a fearful sound it is to listen to--when suddenly into the clearing where they stood strutted a Logobo savage in war array. The yell he gave awakened a thousand others on every side. The whole forest was alive with savages apparently. "Ping, ping," from Archie's revolver, and down dropped the Logobo warrior. "Quick, men, quick," cried Kenneth, "to boat, to boat!" Ah! none too soon; hardly had they launched their frail craft and embarked, ere a flight of spears came from the bush, and poor Essequibo fell. The gathering darkness favoured them, and they were soon beyond the reach of danger. Two hours after, the moon had risen; its rays brightened the woods and rocks and sparkled on the river. Poor Keebo lay in the bottom of the boat across Zona's knee, his face upturned to the sky. His life was ebbing fast away. Near him knelt Kenneth, holding his cold hand. "I'se goin', good-bye," murmured the dying lad. "I'se goin' to de land--ob sunshine. I see poor mudder soon." "Keebo," said Kenneth, "you know me?" "Ess, dear Massa Kennie." "Now, say after me. O Lord!" "`O Lor'!'" "Receive poor Keebo's soul." "`Poor Keebo's soul.'" "For the blessed Jesu's sake." "`De bressed Jesu's sake.'" There was just one little painful quiver of the limbs, then a gentle soughing sigh, and--Keebo was gone. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. CAMP-LIFE IN THE FAR WEST.