Very shortly he returned with an extra revolver and ammunition belt strapped about his waist.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Quite ready,” replied the girl.
“Then come and throw yourself limply across my left shoulder,” and Werper knelt to receive her.
“There,” he said, as he rose to his feet. “Now, let your arms, your legs and your head hang limply. Remember that you are dead.”
A moment later the man walked out into the camp, the body of the woman across his shoulder.
A thorn boma had been thrown up about the camp, to discourage the bolder of the hungry carnivora. A couple of sentries paced to and fro in the light of a fire which they kept burning brightly. The nearer of these looked up in surprise as he saw Werper approaching.
“Who are you?” he cried. “What have you there?”
Werper raised the hood of his burnoose that the fellow might see his face.
“This is the body of the woman,” he explained. “Mohammed Beyd has asked me to take it into the jungle, for he cannot bear to look upon the face of her whom he loved, and whom necessity compelled him to slay. He suffers greatly—he is inconsolable. It was with difficulty that I prevented him taking his own life.”