“Well, boys,” said Sir James, “I would rather give up the expedition at once and make our way back, than have such horrors as this occurring. Here, what does this mean?” he continued, for Mak came forward with his little companion, both looking joyous and jubilant, Mak talking away and putting in a word of English now and then—words which constituted “come,” “show,” and “gun.”
“Oh, that’s plain enough, father,” cried Mark. “They have got the gun.”
The little party followed the two blacks at once, and to their great surprise they were led into the temple square and across it till they were near to the big wall. Then both the doctor and Sir James stopped short.
“This is too horrible,” said Sir James angrily. “Come back, boys. They want to show us where they buried that unfortunate prowler.”
“I am glad of that,” whispered Dean. “What horrible wretches these blacks are!”
“Ugh! Yes,” whispered back Mark, with a shudder. “Come along. I shall begin to hate myself for having been so friendly with them.”
The two blacks stood looking at one another in amazement, as they saw the others moving away. But directly after Mak literally bounded before them and began waving his hands as if trying to drive back a flock of sheep.
“No go away!” he shouted. “No go. Gun! Gun! Gun!” And he pointed to the loose heap of sand and stones that had been piled over the old burial place.
“What’s that?” said the doctor. “Gun?”
“Gun! Gun! Gun!” shouted Mak excitedly, and the little pigmy bounded on before them to the heap and began signing to them, pointing down the while.