The lightning still continued, jumping like fire-light; and Max was able to make out the dark eyes and the pointed beard of Cæsar.
The Portuguese was aided by an Arab. The struggle that ensued was no more than an affair of seconds. Max, though he fought with the strength that comes of desperation, was overpowered from the first, and presently he was thrown violently to the ground. There his hands were tied fast behind his back. Cæsar was heard to laugh.
"Get up," said he, and then ran on in his broken English: "You must think me a fool, if I do not keep a sentry by night over the richest of my possessions. Come, follow me."
He led the way across the bridge, and Max had no alternative but to obey him. The Arab, rifle in hand, brought up the rear.
They passed around the eastern shore of the lake, walking on the crisp sand in which their boots sank to the ankles. Max saw the kraal wherein the man's slaves were asleep; and a few minutes afterwards they came to the stockade. Cæsar led the way into his hut--the hut in which Crouch and he had played cards some weeks before. He told Max to sit down upon a chair, and placed himself on the other side of the room, with his loaded revolver ready to his hand.
"If you endeavour to escape," said he, "I shoot. I advise you to remain still, and listen to what I have to say."
Max looked about him. As far as he could see there was no method of escape. His wrists had been bound securely.
"In the first place," said Cæsar, "I would like to know for what reason you have meddled in my affairs."
"You are a slave-dealer," said Max.
"That may, or may not, be true."