"They are loading the gun!" cried Venning. "Oh, if I only could
help!" He buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, then picked up the
sculls, and fell to rowing with fierce energy. "The smoke!" he
cried. Then, a moment later, "What's that noise?" as a menacing
sound with a shrieking whistle to it smote on his ears.

There was no need for an answer. The shot struck the water about a
hundred yards short, and skipped by, wide of the Okapi, but still
too near to be pleasant.

"Keep on!" shouted Compton, fiercely.

The levers clanked furiously, and Venning, who had suspended his
sculling under the menace of the shot, tugged again at his work.

The steam-whistle of the launch sounded a series of sharp, jerky
calls, followed by the firing of a Mauser bullet. Venning's heart
was pumping blood at express speed under the violence of his
efforts, and his eyes in a wild stare were fixed on the approaching
craft, which had now brought its living freight within recognizable
distance. He could distinguish the two Belgian officers and the
swart face of the Arab chief, Hassan. He could see the men with
rifles, aiming, as it seemed, straight at him, and then he ducked
his head as he saw the smoke once more belch from the seven-pounder.
At the same moment he was nearly capsized by the sudden swerve of
the Okapi, as she almost turned on her keel. The shot struck the
water so close that the spray drenched them. Compton looked round
and shouted aloud--