“I watched him disappear into the dark, wondering at his mood. Hardly had I regained my seat when a pistol shot rang out. He had blown the top of his head off.
“That night I buried him in the soft ooze near the spring, covering him so the hyenas could not reach his body.
“The next morning my men arrived, carrying the stranger. He had been plucky and had insisted on walking a little, and the party arrived earlier than I expected. When he had thanked me for what I had done, he began an inspection of my rude dwelling and the smaller lean-to, even peering into the huts connected with my bungalow—new in his experience.
“‘And you are all alone except for your black men?’ he asked in an eager tone.
“‘No, I have Mr. Judson with me. He is away this week—and a young Belgian officer—and—I—’
“‘Yes, I remember Mr. Judson,’ he interrupted. ‘I met him at the landing below. I should have taken his advice and joined him. And the young officer—has he been long with you?’
“‘About two months.’
“‘He is the same man who left some of his luggage at the landing below, is he not?’
“‘Yes, I think so,’ I answered.
“‘A young man with light curly hair and upturned mustache, very strong, quick in his movements, shows his teeth when he speaks—very white teeth—’