The chief was carrying Willem’s roer, and from his behaviour he seemed preparing for an opportunity to use it. At intervals he brought it to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel.
“Ask them where we are being taken, Congo,” said Hendrik.
The Kaffir spoke to one of the natives who was near him, but only received a grunt in reply.
“He don’t know where we go,” said Congo, interpreting the gruff answer to his question, “but I know.”
“Where?”
“We go to die.”
“Congo!” exclaimed Willem, “ask after Sindo. He may do something to save us, or he may not. There can be no harm in trying. If not, we may get him into some trouble for his ingratitude. I should feel a satisfaction in that.”
In compliance with his master’s command, Congo inquired for Sindo. The chief heard the inquiry and immediately ordered a halt, and put several questions to his followers.
“The chief just like you, baas Willem,” said Congo. “He too want know where Sindo am.”
The procession was delayed while the parley was going on. After it had ended, the chief and another rode back to the village;—they were now about half a mile distant from it. The prisoners, with their guards remained upon the spot. The chief was absent nearly an hour, when he returned seemingly in a great rage. By his angry talking, every one was made aware of the fact. Congo listened attentively to what he said.