Where there had been a bare stretch of water white under the sun between two islands a quarter of a mile off, there appeared a long canoe, with a tall spearman standing in the bows, and a full crew behind.
The man in the bows looked straight down the channel to their lair, where in the narrow cut the Okapi lay hidden behind a screen of leaves.

Then he moved his hand to the right, and the canoe, silently, without a ripple almost, skirted the island on that side, into whose reedy sides the men darted their glances.

Again the hand was moved, and the long boat crept across to the island on the left, which was swept by the sharp suspicious eyes of the natives.

Again the bowman directed his gaze into the narrow opening, and this time he looked long.

There was one small island to pass, and if the canoe kept on the north side, it would have to come right into the hiding- place; if it kept to the south, it would reappear at the end of the passage by which the Okapi had entered.
In either case, the danger of discovery seemed certain.