By this time it was quite light.
Wrenshaw took up his glasses again and examined his visitors. They were an ugly looking lot and quite naked. He presently became aware that there was something strange about them; what was it? Oh, of course, contrary to their custom, they carried no assegais. Well, that, at any rate, was a good sign.
Then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. Marking time, obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. On second thoughts Wrenshaw rejected that explanation. He kept his glasses fixed on the foremost man. The fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. He shifted his glasses. By Jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or stiff in the right leg.
It was the gunbearer who solved the mystery.
"Morena."
"Well?"
"Why do the Barushu carry their assegais in their toes to-day?"
"Why, indeed?"
So the devils meant trouble after all. Stalking him, were they? He would make some of 'em smart for this.
The white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy on the table. He glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder like a miniature notice-board.