Five minutes almost had passed since the first shot came, when the banks were hardly visible. But the dawn comes quickly in the tropics. The day was full upon them now, and, looking up, Jim could perceive the mass of tangled undergrowth beneath the forest trees, while right by the edge of the water were a number of dusky figures. If he could have had any reasonable doubt that they were natives Tomkins speedily helped him to a decision. For the man was a first-class marksman, and now that the light was strong enough he began to make good use of his rifle. As Jim stared at the bank, one of the dusky figures turned and scrambled towards the jungle. But it seemed that the man had already been hit; for suddenly he swerved and almost tumbled. Then he faced round again, and stood unsteadily leaning on his weapon. The next instant a terrible shout escaped him; the native, for a dusky individual it was without question, dropped his weapon and thrust both arms high into the air. Then he seemed to crumple up entirely, and, falling forward, rolled with a loud splash into the river. Within a second a comrade had followed him to the same destination, dispatched thither by the policeman's unerring rifle. Bang! Bang! From a long length of the bank splashes of smoke came, and once more bullets sped towards the launch. Jim heard their thudding, and even noted the various queer sounds they made, the dull blow of one striking her broadside, the cheep of another which merely grazed her rail, and then the nasty screaming of a missile which hit the anchor chain, and, being deflected in its course, rose almost vertically, and later on brought a shower of leaves from the trees beyond. But that was not all. Two bullets at least passed with a peculiar whizz, and went on into the jungle on the other bank, as if they had been driven with greater force than all the rest. "Revolvers!" exclaimed our hero at once. "Tomkins, I think there were two revolver shots then. Eh?" The man nodded; he had hardly time to speak. "Guess so," he said abruptly. "Revolvers--those villains we're after. They've set a whole crowd on to us." "Then the sooner we are out of their reach the better. See here," cried Jim; "try to find out where those particular ruffians have got to and pepper them. Sam, get to the wheel; we'll make over to the far bank; that'll bother them." The motor buzzed and roared as he switched his levers forward, while the water pump gathered such power from the momentum that the pressure within the jackets increased wonderfully. Ching, despite all his efforts and all his cunning, could no longer seal that rent made by the bullet. True, he reduced the leakage wonderfully; but from all round the margin a spray of hot water swept broadcast, quickly drenching our hero to the skin. It was a trifle, however: Jim congratulated himself that he was not likely to be scalded.