peeding down upon them. They had, for the most part, never
seen a launch before, and those who had, had probably never seen one in
full flight. Yet they did not flinch. They stood in their boats, and
such a shout of triumph went up that the woods rang and rang again.
Then their guns opened with a vengeance, and a perfect storm of missiles
hurtled towards the launch. They did not stop her. She did not seem to
notice the bullets splashing on either hand and tumbling on her deck.
The launch had got out of hand, and as if she were tired of life and
roused to desperation by the pressure of steam which she carried, she
went on her mad course, rushing down to doom and destruction.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.

"That stoking bar, Johnnie! Quick! For your life!"

Dick could not wait to explain, for the situation was one which demanded
instant action. When he had recovered from his amazement at the result
of the unlucky shot from the forest, and had seen that the tiller was
broken, he had no time to reflect that but for the movement which he had
made a moment before he would have been killed by the very bullet which
had wrought the mischief. Action, instant and effectual, was required,
and his eye had at once sought for a substitute. Suddenly he remembered
the iron bar used for stoking the fire, and as he shouted for it he
prepared to place it in position. With a bound he was on the deck right
aft, and kicking the butt of the fractured shaft from behind, shot it
out of its socket. Then he gripped the rudder post and twisted it with
all his strength, contriving to head the launch for the centre of the
stream. Two or three seconds later the native was beside him, and as
Dick held the post the bar was pushed into the socket.

"Hab um now! Get over oder side plenty quick. Put um over, massa."

Dick did so, with a heave which again caused the launch to roll till
water spurted through her scuppers, while the two aboard crouched on the
deck and held on for their lives. Then he set her on a new course,
turning her head diagonally across the stream.

"Get to the rifle," he said sharply. "And first lay mine here so that I
can grip them. That's right. Crouch in your engine well so as to avoid
the bullets. Do you hear? Go!"

Johnnie's eyes had asked a question. He had as good as said to his
master when the caution to sit in the engine well had been given, "And
what massa do? He not crouch. Plent