From the West came Lafayette Smith and "Gunner" Patrick; from the South, an English big game hunter, Lord Passmore; from the East, Leon Stabutch.
The Russian had been having trouble with his men. They had enlisted with enthusiasm, but their eagerness to proceed had waned as they penetrated more deeply into strange and unknown country. Recently they had talked with men of a village beside which they had camped, and these men had told them terrifying tales of the great band of shiftas, led by a white man, that was terrorizing the country toward which they were marching, killing and raping as they collected slaves to be sold in the north.
Stabutch had halted for the noonday rest upon the southern slopes of the foothills of the Ghenzies. To the north rose the lofty peaks of the main range; to the south, below them, they could see forest and jungle stretching away into the distance; about them were rolling hills, sparsely timbered, and between the hills and the forest an open, grassy plain where herds of antelope and zebra could be seen grazing.
The Russian called his headman to him. "What's the matter with those fellows?" he asked, nodding toward the porters, who were gathered, squatting, in a circle, jabbering in low voices.
"They are afraid, Bwana," replied the black.
"Afraid of what?" demanded Stabutch, though he well knew.
"Afraid of the shiftas, Bwana. Three more deserted last night."
"We didn't need them anyway," snapped Stabutch; "the loads are getting lighter."
"More will run away," said the headman. "They are all afraid."
"They had better be afraid of me," blustered Stabutch. "If any more men desert I'll—I'll—"