"'Z. knocked over a vulture two days ago from carcass of camel. Made him take half, and he promised to go for help. Was too weak and came back. I'm pretty near gone. If you get this, L. S., go kill that rogue for me. Ivory worth while in cache. Feel cold to waist—must be going. Great news for British, eh? Thank God I've lived a decent life, according to my lights.'"
Schoverling's voice died away, and they knew he had reached the end. Without another word the explorer rose to his feet, walked a few paces and stood gazing over the river with his back toward them. Von Hofe, sucking his unlighted pipe, made no secret of the tears that trickled over his dusty blond beard. Charlie and Jack gazed at each other in awed silence, for that last letter was very vivid and very real to them both.
"He ampudaded hiss own hand—ach!" said the big German huskily, at last.
At the words, Schoverling turned and came slowly back to them, his face set and hard. Behind them the Masai were digging the graves under the direction of Akram Das, and the oxen were splashing about in the shallow silver thread of the river.
"Five days by camel—that would mean at least a week or ten days with the wagons," said the explorer quietly, looking at von Hofe. The German met the look and nodded.
"Yess. We shall do as he ordered."
"Do you mean that we are going to Lake Quilqua?" exclaimed Jack eagerly.
"We are, Jack. There is no reason why we should not bring back that rogue. He's just the fellow we're after, as—as poor Mowbray said." His voice shook a little. "If we'd only arrived a day or two sooner!"
"It can't be helped, General," returned Charlie softly. "We could not know that he was here, and we might have done no good anyhow. Those last words of his were fine."
"That letter will be framed, some day," said the explorer, "and it'll hang where every man in the Explorer's Club will be proud of it. What a fine fellow that Arab was, too! I'm heartsick to think that we failed to save him."