“He won’t be the last!” snapped zu Pfeiffer with a twitch of the left sentry moustache. “Saunders, [pg 180] possibly. If so he should be here shortly to report. Well?”
“The King and the few men left with him are in hiding, Excellence, in dense forest. They are demoralized and quarrel among themselves. Many are coming to surrender, for they say that you, Excellence, have eaten their god.”
“Ach!” said zu Pfeiffer with satisfaction. “What did I tell you, sergeant?”
“Your Excellence was correct in every respect.”
“Um! Pity I can’t spare a company. That would settle them before they have a chance to reorganize. Ach, but they haven’t the sense, the animals, to do that.… Parade, sergeant.”
Schultz saluted.
“Ready, Excellence.”
Zu Pfeiffer rose, took up his gold-mounted sjambok, and the two walked around the big marquee to the front where between the orderly lines of huts those askaris not on duty were drawn up for inspection. The sergeant barked. Bayonets flashed as they presented arms. Another bark and they ported arms. Zu Pfeiffer walked down the line inspecting buttons, bolts, and rifles as meticulously as he had lighted his cigar. The fifteenth barrel he thrust away petulantly and flicked the askari’s face with his sjambok. The muscles of the man’s face twitched as the blow came and the eyes bulged, but he did not flinch.
“Twenty-five, sergeant!”
“Excellence!”