the stillest hour of
the twenty-four. In such a silence the least sound would travel almost
any distance, and there was a sound travelling over the water to him.
It was nothing but a thud repeated with singular regularity; but to his
practised ears it conveyed much. He knew that a boat was approaching,
as yet hidden by some distant curve in the river. The thud was caused by
the contact of six paddles with the gunwale of the canoe as the paddlers
withdrew them from the water.

Victor Durnovo rose again and brought from the boat a second rifle,
which he laid beside the double-barrelled Reilly which was never more
than a yard away from him, waking or sleeping. Then he waited. He knew
that no boat could reach the bank without his full permission, for every
rower would be dead before they got within a hundred yards of his rifle.
He was probably the best rifle-shot but one in that country--and the
other, the very best, happened to be in the approaching canoe.

After the space of ten minutes the boat came in sight--a long black form
on the still waters. It was too far away for him to distinguish anything
beyond the fact that it was a native boat.

"Eight hundred yards," muttered Durnovo over the sight of his rifle.

He looked upon this river as his own, and he knew the native of
equatorial Africa. Therefore he dropped a bullet into the water, under
the bow of the canoe, at eight hundred yards.

A moment later there was a sound which can only be written "P-ttt"
between his legs, and he had to wipe a shower of dust from his eyes. A
puff of blue smoke rose slowly over the boat and a sharp report broke
the silence a second time.

Then Victor Durnovo leapt to his feet and waved his hat in the air. From
the canoe there was an answering greeting, and the man on the bank went
to the water's edge, still carrying the rifle from which he was never
parted.

Durnovo was the first to speak when the boat came within hail.

"Very sorry," he shouted. "Thought you were a native boat. Must
establish a funk--get in the first shot, you know."

"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, wh