Mavovo appeared, his massive frame silhouetted against the blackness.
“Watcher-by-Night, the night is done,” he said. “If they come at all, the enemy should soon be here.”
Saluting, he too passed away into the dark, and presently I heard the sounds of spear-blades striking together and of rifles being cocked.
I went to Stephen and woke him. He sat up yawning, muttered something about greenhouses; then remembering, said:
“Are those Arabs coming? We are in for a fight at last. Jolly, old fellow, isn’t it?”
“You are a jolly old fool!” I answered inconsequently; and marched off in a rage.
My mind was uneasy about this inexperienced young man. If anything should happen to him, what should I say to his father? Well, in that event, it was probable that something would happen to me too. Very possibly we should both be dead in an hour. Certainly I had no intention of allowing myself to be taken alive by those slaving devils. Hassan’s remarks about fires and ant-heaps and the sun were too vividly impressed upon my memory.
In another five minutes everybody was up, though it required kicks to rouse most of the bearers from their slumbers. They, poor men, were accustomed to the presence of Death and did not suffer him to disturb their sleep. Still I noted that they muttered together and seemed alarmed.
“If they show signs of treachery, you must kill them,” I said to Mavovo, who nodded in his grave, silent fashion.
Only we left the rescued slave-woman and her child plunged in the stupor of exhaustion in a corner of the camp. What was the use of disturbing her?