At the moment the mystified explorers were discussing the strange
appearance and actions of the white men, more than twenty of the
athletic barbarians issued as stealthily as phantoms from the trail
leading from the forest and crouched along the edge of the timber.

Their silence added impressiveness to the singular scene and prevented
their movements being observed except by Bippo, who was so terrified
that he could only tremble and point at them.

They were partly hidden by the shadow which put out a short distance
from the fringe of the wood, but there could be no doubt of their
hostile intentions. They assumed the form of a line, somewhat after
the manner of the combatants in the square of the native village. This
was to give free play to their arms in flinging their javelins.

The occasion was one in which the fate of the explorers depended upon
their promptness and bravery. Anything like timidity or hesitation
meant sure destruction, and the whites knew it.

"Into the boat!" commanded Ashman, addressing Bippo and his friends.

The words were like an electric shock to the helpers, who instantly
clambered into the canoe and lay flat behind the luggage, where they
were safe from the poisoned missiles that would soon be flying through
the air.

Those natives, with their crude weapons, were only incumbrances in a
crisis like the present.