Recovering my axe, which had been wrenched from my hand, I crept forward and opened the curtain-like rugs or blankets, I do not know which they were, that covered Inez. I heard her stir at once. The movement had wakened her, since captives sleep lightly.
“Make no noise, Inez,” I whispered. “It is I, Allan Quatermain, come to rescue you. Slip out and follow me; do you understand?”
“Yes, quite,” she whispered back and began to rise.
At this moment a blood-curdling yell seemed to fill earth and heaven, a yell at the memory of which even now I feel faint, although I am writing years after its echoes died away.
I may as well say at once that it came from Janee who, awaking suddenly, had perceived against the background of the sky, Hans standing over her, looking like a yellow devil with a long knife in his hand, which she thought was about to be used to murder her.
So, lacking self-restraint, she screamed in the most lusty fashion, for her lungs were excellent, and—the game was up.
Instantly every man sleeping round the fire leapt to his feet and rushed in the direction of the echoes of Janee’s yell. It was impossible to get Inez free of her tent arrangement or to do anything, except whisper to her,
“Feign sleep and know nothing. We will follow you. Your father is with us.”
Then I bolted back into the bushes, which Hans had reached already.
A minute or two later when we were clear of the hubbub and nearing our own camp, Hans remarked to me sententiously,