Matterson repressed another groan and made no answer.
Blood was running from a great gash above his ear and across his cheek, which we hastened to bind to the best of our ability, and he lay down on the floor with his head on his hand.
"I'm on the sick list," he said at last, "but I've had water, and if those black sons of hell have not poisoned the spring, I'll call it quits."
Matterson's face was a ghastly sight, and already blood had reddened the strip of sacking round his head; but I believe there was not a man of us who would not have taken his wound to have got his chance at water.
"If only we could catch a king," Gleazen remarked thoughtfully. "That's the way to end a war in Africa. Catch us a king and make peace on him."
"That's one way surely to end a war," said O'Hara, darkly, "but not this war."
"And why not this war?"
"Because," said O'Hara, "Bull built the house on a king's grave. It's the spirits that are offended."
Gleazen laughed unkindly.