hills.




CHAPTER III.


"Stoppa! Backa!" cried the native pilot to the European engineer.

The bluff bows of the stern-wheeler had squelched into the soft brown
mud, and the current had swept the boat alongside the bank. The long
gangway was thrown across, and the six tall soldiers of the Soudanese
escort filed along it, their light-blue gold-trimmed zouave uniforms,
and their jaunty yellow and red forage-caps, showing up bravely in the
clear morning light. Above them, on the top of the bank, was ranged the
line of donkeys, and the air was full of the clamour of the boys.
In shrill strident voices each was crying out the virtues of his own
beast, and abusing that of his neighbour.

Colonel Cochrane and Mr. Belmont stood together in the bows, each
wearing the broad white puggareed hat of the tourist. Miss Adams and
her niece leaned against the rail beside them.

"Sorry your wife isn't coming, Belmont," said the Colonel.

"I think she had a touch of the sun yesterday. Her head aches very
badly."

His voice was strong and thick like his figure.