the river curved round to right or left, opening out into some fresh
bend of its serpentine course, but there was no alteration in their rate
of speed.

"It can't last very much longer, though," said Briscoe. "Why, we're
going along just like two corks in a gully."

"Yes," said Brace, who had been watching the movements of a troop of
monkeys passing along through the trees on their left. "It's all very
well now, but if this is to go on after dark we are bound to come to
grief."

"No," said Briscoe drily. "The skipper won't risk it. He'll pick his
place and run us in among the tree-trunks before sunset. He's a dry old
chap, but the longer I'm with him the safer I feel."

The American was quite right, for just when the sun was disappearing
behind the trees their leader took advantage of a whirling eddy at a
bend of the stream, called upon the men to pull with all their might,
and, steering himself; he deftly ran the boat right into the gloom
amongst the enormous tree-trunks, where the water was running fast, but
it was comparative stillness after the torrent-like rush in the open
river.

Here they moored the boats for the night, and, after partaking of a
much-needed meal, sleep once more came with the intense darkness, all
but the watch resting as calmly as if the sound of many waters lulled
them through the night.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

A QUESTION OF SUPPLIES.

The morning came bright and clear, and the boats were pushed off once
more out of the oppressive gloom of the water-floored forest into the
sunny brightness of the river, by which they were again swept on hour
after hour.

It was when the question of supplies was beginning to assume a serious
aspect about midday that there was a change in the monotonous windings
of the river, which suddenly forked, and, the branch to the left seeming
the more open, the boats were guided into that.

They were carried along here as swiftly as ever for a few miles, and
then the branch divided again and again, till they seemed to be passing
through a very network of smaller rivers, their last change being into
one whose banks, though well wooded, presented a marked change, for in
place of flooded forest the banks displayed steep cliffs dotted with
verdure, and in whose cracks grand trees towered up; while, after
passing for miles through what rapidly grew into the likeness of a
mountain defile, the helpless party had the satisfaction of finding that
the current