"All right," replied one of the Europeans in the approaching craft,
with a courteous wave of the hand, "no harm done."

There were two white men and six blacks in the long and clumsy boat.
One of the Europeans lay in the bows while the other was stretched
at his ease in the stern, reclining on the canvas of a neatly folded
tent. The last-named was evidently the leader of the little
expedition, while the manner and attitude of the man in the bows
suggested the servitude of a disciplined soldier slightly relaxed by
abnormal circumstances.

"Who fired that shot?" inquired Durnovo, when there was no longer
any necessity to shout.

"Joseph," replied the man in the stern of the boat, indicating his
companion. "Was it a near thing?"

"About as near as I care about--it threw up the dust between my
legs."

The man called Joseph grinned. Nature had given him liberally of
the wherewithal for indulgence in that relaxation, and Durnovo
smiled rather constrainedly. Joseph was grabbing at the long reedy
grass, bringing the canoe to a standstill, and it was some moments
before his extensive mouth submitted to control.

"I presume you are Mr. Durnovo," said the man in the stern of the
boat, rising leisurely from his recumbent position and speaking with
a courteous savoir-faire which seemed slightly out of place in the
wilds of Central Africa. He was a tall man with a small