“When I do I’ll give you a signal so that you may be sure not to fire at me.
“Your best plan will be to call any one to a halt who approaches, and if he doesn’t say Kimberley, shoot him down; if he says Kimberley, you can know that it is me.”
The guards told him that they understood, and Trim accordingly left the cavern. He went down the slope to the spot where he had heard the two shots.
There he found the bodies of two whites. One was dead, and the other, the man whom he had wounded was dying from a second wound inflicted by his companion.
“Give me something to drink,” this man groaned as he saw Trim.
Trim placed a flask of liquor to the man’s lips immediately. It revived him to a considerable extent, but Trim could see that he had not long to live.
“I suppose you’re the plucky American detective?” this man muttered. “I’m glad to set eyes on you before I die.”
“What do you know about me?” asked Trim.
“I know all that Jem Miller could tell,” was the faint reply. “He came out to join us, and told such tremendous stories of what you could do that all the blacks were scared half to death.
“They were still more frightened when shortly after Miller came a couple of fellows that belonged to the Massais tribe arrived with still more stories.