“Um? Yes,” came, accompanied by a nod.
“And you’ve killed him with your assagai?” I said, with a shudder, as I glanced at where three of the deadly weapons lay at the side of my rough couch, across his shield.
“Um? No. Nearly kill Joeboy.”
“Ah!” I cried, with a curious feeling of relief.
“Joeboy run after him all away among the Doppies; when they shoot, Joeboy lie down, and then follow um till he see um. Then he shoot, and—look here.”
Joeboy held up his left arm, smiling, and I saw that it was roughly tied up with a piece of coarse homespun.
“He wounded you?”
“Um? Yes. Shot pistol, and make hole here.”
“And he got away unhurt?”
“Um? Yes; this time,” said the black. “Next time Joeboy make hole froo um somewhere. Hate um.”