And then, slowly there filtered into Werper’s consciousness an explanation of the havoc that had been wrought in that peaceful valley since last his eyes had rested upon it—Achmet Zek had been there!
Basuli and his warriors had noted the devastation the moment they had come in sight of the farm. Now they hastened on toward it talking excitedly among themselves in animated speculation upon the cause and meaning of the catastrophe.
When, at last they crossed the trampled garden and stood before the charred ruins of their master’s bungalow, their greatest fears became convictions in the light of the evidence about them.
Remnants of human dead, half devoured by prowling hyenas and others of the carnivora which infested the region, lay rotting upon the ground, and among the corpses remained sufficient remnants of their clothing and ornaments to make clear to Basuli the frightful story of the disaster that had befallen his master’s house.
“The Arabs,” he said, as his men clustered about him.
The Waziri gazed about in mute rage for several minutes. Everywhere they encountered only further evidence of the ruthlessness of the cruel enemy that had come during the Great Bwana’s absence and laid waste his property.
“What did they with ‘Lady’?” asked one of the blacks.
They had always called Lady Greystoke thus.
“The women they would have taken with them,” said Basuli. “Our women and his.”
A giant black raised his spear above his head, and gave voice to a savage cry of rage and hate. The others followed his example. Basuli silenced them with a gesture.