They would reach the shelter of the trees in another minute, but one dark form was before all the rest, and was nearing on the guide when Harry fired.
It was a random shot, but the savage fell: the first man that Harry had killed in Africa, and he felt grieved, but still it was in self-defence.
They found themselves in a ravine, and crossed the stream at a place where, from the noise it made among the stones, they could tell it was not deep.
Now the road lay along this glen—such road as it was—but the fugitives went straight on up the mountain side. The hills here were fully three thousand feet high, but they reached the top at last, and felt safe, for far down beneath them, but well up the glen, they heard the shouts of the chief’s people and knew they were off the scent. Then the storm came on, and such a storm! From hill to hill and from rock to rock the thunder rattled and reverberated, while as for the lightning the whole world seemed to be on fire.
Down below them in the forest the scene was singularly grand, for by the light of the flashes they could see each moment the giant tree-tops stand out as clear and distinctly as at midday. Anon they would find themselves blinded or dazzled for a moment, everything about them being either a dark bright blue, dotted with sparks, or a blood-red or crimson.
The very hills on which they stood appeared to shake beneath their feet.
Then came the rain; it descended in streams, and made every one shiver, so ice-cold was it.
But in less than an hour this strange but fearful storm had passed away on the wings of a moaning wind, and the stars shone forth.
They found a cave in which to rest that night, and next day continued the journey through the forest.
To his change of raiment, despite the modest demands of many a savage chief or king, Harry had resolutely stuck, so he did not suffer from the drenching.