Slade handed a weapon. "There you are. That's a double 12-bore hammer gun, and both barrels are cylinders. It's an early Holland and was a swell tool in its day, which was some time ago."
"Thank you very much. I hope I shan't have to use it, but it'll feel comfortable under my arm. When you've lived most of your life in the country, you miss going out with a gun. Well, now, I'll say good-by."
"Wait a minute till we've called up your boy. I'll shout from the veranda."
"Don't, please," said Carter, remembering that on all previous occasions when trouble foreboded White-Man's-Trouble disappeared. He did not wish to call Laura's attention more than necessary to the risks of the journey. "I'd far rather go alone."
"Oh, Carter," said the voice of the Krooboy from the darkness outside, "then you plenty-much dam fool. I say I lib for come with you to Malla-Nulla. You no fit to go by your lone."
They looked out through the lit doorway and saw the yellows of White-Man's-Trouble's eyes, and the gleam of his teeth, which latter were eclipsed when he finished his speech, leaving the eyes alone to tell of his whereabouts.
"Now, that's a real stout boy of yours, Carter," the trader said. "Hi you, come in. You fit for a peg?"
"I fit for a bottle," said White-Man's-Trouble, who looked nipped and gray when he stood up in the lamplight. Poor fellow, he thought he was going to certain death with perhaps torture as an addition, but when it came to a pinch, and the white man led, he screwed up his pluck to follow.
So at last the pair of them set off quietly into the shadows. Two handshakes were all the farewell, but there was a soft something in Laura's eyes that sent queer thrills down George Carter's spine. Slade himself saw them through the outer line of the sentries, and warned those enthusiasts not to fire on them should they presently return; and a dozen yards away from those sentries, they melted into the warm blackness of the African night.
Up on the veranda of the factory Laura Slade leaned over the rail and listened to the beating of her own heart. She strained her eyes and she strained her ears along the line of mysterious phosphorescence which marked the beach, but no trace or hint did she get of how it fared with the man she loved. Once only during that watch did she hear a sound which she took to be a distant gunshot, and then, din, din, as though two other shots followed it. Then the roar of the surf and the night noises of Africa closed in again, and for safety or hurt Carter had passed beyond her reach.