CHAPTER XXIV.
AS FROM THE DEAD.
"There, there, Holmes. Do you quite intend to maim a chap for life, or what?" exclaimed Laurence, liberating, with an effort, his hand from the other's wringing grasp. "And Hazon, too? In truth, life is full of surprises. How are you, Hazon?"
"So so," was the reply, as Hazon, who had been biding the evaporation of his younger friend's effusiveness, now came forward. But his handshake was characteristic of the man, for it was as though they had parted only last week, and that but temporarily.
"And is it really you yourself, old chap?" rattled on Holmes. "It's for all the world as if you had risen from the dead. Why, we never expected to set eyes on you again in life—did we, Hazon?"
"Not much," assented that worthy laconically.
"Well, I can say the same as regards yourselves," rejoined Laurence. "What in the world made them give you quarter?"
"Don't know," answered Hazon. "We managed to get together, back to back, we two, and were fighting like cats. Holmes got a shot on the head with a club that sent him down, and I got stuck full of assegais till I couldn't see. The next thing I knew was that we were being carted along in the middle of a big impi—Heaven knew where. One thing, we were both alive—alive and kicking, too. As soon as we were able to walk they assegaied our bearers, and—made us walk."