Near the fire were seated the two Europeans, and in a semicircle round them the fifteen Amatonga warriors who had been their guides. Further down the stream, at a bend of the river, the walls of a brick building were visible, some ten miles away.
A perfect jungle of forest swept up almost to the spot where the group were seated, the tamarind and acacia trees growing to the river bank, covered with creeping plants, such as the convolvulus, the jasmine, the deadly nightshade, all festooned from tree to tree, while the wild guava, the pomegranate, and many a sweet-scented bush pushed upwards their luxuriant undergrowth. The bees were humming among the sweetly-scented flowers of the dholicos, and the rushing sound of the river, as it took its way to the sea past the fort of Senna, was music to the ears of the two travellers.
“Give them their due, Wyzinski, and let us be rid of them; I hate the very look of an Amatonga,” exclaimed Hughes.
The group of savages sat round, staring at the two with a steady, concentrated gaze, their long assegais raised in the air, “Matumba,” said the powerful, but stunted brave, who had been in command of the party, speaking with difficulty the Zulu tongue, “Matumba has done his duty, let the chiefs do theirs. Yonder are the walls of their brethren’s fort.”
The missionary did not at once reply, but pushing the promised arms towards the speaker, took from his belt his revolver, discharging its barrels into the air, handed it to the Amatonga.
“This is now Umhleswa’s property, and thus the white man fulfils his promise.”
“We are left with our two rifles and one revolver between us,” remarked Hughes. “If ever I get the chance of paying off these thieves, won’t I?”
Matumba took the arm, and, turning to his men, distributed the rifles among them. A sharp conversation followed, unintelligible to the Europeans, save that the Amatonga pointed several times to the two remaining rifles.
“The white men,” resumed Matumba, once more turning to them, “are near their friends. They have no need of their guns, the Amatonga are far from their kraal. Let them give the two guns, which are now useless.”
“Never, Matumba,” exclaimed Wyzinski, springing to his feet and cocking both barrels of his piece. “Look out, Hughes, they mean mischief. We have kept our word, Amatonga. Keep yours.”