Night descended over the scene. The camp-fires of the enemy could be distinguished through the darkness; but that signified nothing.
Morning found our adventurers still undisturbed. To all appearance Moselekatse’s warriors, yielding to despair, had returned to their chief, to suffer the punishment that would certainly follow from their permitting themselves to be defeated.
This was the belief of the white hunters, who now earnestly urged Macora to make no further delay, but hasten on towards his countrymen.
This advice the chief positively refused to follow. He admitted the superiority of his allies in the arts of hunting and even war, but in a knowledge of the character of Moselekatse and his warriors he knew himself to be their superior. He was now in a position where he and his people might successfully sustain themselves, and he disliked leaving it, lest they should fall into some ambuscade of the enemy. Had he not had reasons for expecting assistance, the case might have been different, but confident that aid would be immediately sent to him, he thought it better to remain where they were.
Believing that there was a possibility of the chief being in the right, Groot Willem and his companions of course consented to remain; not, however, without stipulations.
If within thirty-six hours there was no appearance of either friends or enemies, Macora promised that he would continue the march towards his country.