"I wish I had had the luck to hit that rascal," said Max, "instead of one of the Arabs."
Crouch grunted as he lit his pipe.
"When I shoot that man," said he, "I don't want it to be due to luck. Nothing's too bad for a slave-dealer, if that's what he is--which I doubt."
It was then that they were joined by the Fan whom they had left with Edward. He presented a note to Crouch, written in pencil on a leaf torn from a note-book.
"How goes it?" was all it said.
Crouch scribbled a reply: "He's gone to bed. But remain at your post till daybreak."
Sunrise brought their vigil to an end. No sign of the Portuguese was to be seen; and presently news was brought to the village by a man who had been setting traps in the forest, and who had known nothing of the alarm. This man stated that he had seen Cæsar returning to Makanda, followed by two Arabs, who carried the body of a third.
The delight of the natives exceeded anything that Max Harden had ever seen in his life. They beat their wooden drums, and sang and danced in jubilation. They realized that, at last, after two years of oppression, the yoke of the Fire-gods had been lifted from their shoulders. They regarded Crouch and his companions as angels who had dropped from the skies to deliver them from bondage.
That evening the three Englishmen held a council of war. They regretted that Cæsar had learnt of their return to the valley. But that was inevitable; they had been in duty bound to help the natives. Though the mystery of Makanda was by no means solved, they had, at least, an inkling of the truth. The explosion they had heard in the valley was undoubtedly the blasting of rock; and there was no question that it was for this purpose that Cæsar required the services of slaves. That explained why he had been unwilling for either the Europeans or the Fans to leave the stockade. The kraal, fenced around by high palisades, and guarded by Arab slave-drivers, contained the slave gangs; and who can say what cruelty was perpetrated therein? The slave trade had been abolished; but at that time, in the heart of Africa, it still flourished in all its blackest colours, with utter disregard for the equality of all men, who--whatever the colour of their skin may be--are equal in the sight of God. Edward Harden was a man in whose big heart a sense of justice burned like a living flame. When he considered the innate cruelty of the Portuguese, who was willing to enslave even women and little children, his wrath rose within him and the blood flew to his face. He felt that he could not rest until the fortress of Makanda had been taken, the slaves set free, and Cæsar brought to his account.
Still, Edward was no fool. He knew well enough that it would be madness for three of them to endeavour to attack a defensive position held by a determined man and, at least, half a dozen Arabs. It was then that they decided to arm M'Wané and his Fans. They had with them six rifles and a shot-gun; a great quantity of reserve ammunition had been left at the camp on Observation Creek. Crouch and Max undertook to teach the Fans to shoot; whilst Edward, with a party of villagers, made his way back to the camp in the jungle, to bring up all their supplies.