Stasch controlled the pain in his jaw and answered with difficulty:
“All right; let us halt. The night will bring relief.”
“It will bring death,” whispered the young negro. The negroes threw down the burdens, but they did not lie down immediately, as the fever, which had thickened their blood, was now at its height. Their hearts and the pulses in hands and feet beat so heavily that it seemed they must burst. The skin on their bodies, dry and shriveled, began to itch. In their bones they felt an intense restlessness, and a fiery heat seemed to consume their throats and intestines. Many walked restlessly up and down between the piles of baggage. By the rays of the dying sun, others, farther away, could be seen, following each other among the parched bushes until their strength was utterly exhausted. Then one by one they fell to the ground, not resting quietly, but twitching more spasmodically than before. Kali sat down, in Turkish fashion, next to Stasch and Nell, with his mouth open and gasping for air. Between breaths he begged beseechingly:
“Bwana Kubwa, water!”
Stasch looked at him with a glassy stare and was silent.
“Bwana Kubwa, water!”
And after a while:
“Kali die——”
Therefore Mea, who for some reason was able to bear the thirst better than any one else, sat down beside him, and putting her arms around his neck, said in a soft, melodious voice:
“Mea will die along with Kali——”