“But the men did not hurt them?” interposed Mark.
“No, sir,” replied the sergeant. “They did not mind being taken a bit. Began laughing and wanted to go on dancing; but our men were a bit too wild. You see, sir, their blood was up after the fight.”
“But you are sure they are not hurt?” cried Mark.
“Oh, yes, sir; quite sure, sir.”
“They are our friends, Captain Lawton. The big one is your Illaka whom you found for us.”
“Oh, that accounts for it,” said the captain. “Fetch him here, sergeant.”
“And the little one too, sir?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Mark. “He is a pigmy chief. They have saved our lives again and again, Captain Lawton.”
“And thought nothing of risking their own,” put in Dean.
In a few minutes the sergeant was back with the two so-called prisoners, who no sooner caught sight of the boys than failing the spears, which had been taken from them, they flung up their hands and began a dance of triumph which would have gone on for long enough if Mark and Dean had not stopped them, when Mak drew himself up stiffly and made an imitation military salute to the captain, and the pigmy snatched off his gold band and feathers, dropped on all fours, and began rubbing first one cheek and then the other against Mark’s feet, just like a cat, as the boy afterwards said.