While one of the Birwas cut strips of flesh from the gnu and spitted them on skewers, the other placed more wood on the fire and coaxed it into a blaze. The grilling operation in progress the fire-tender ran to the canoe to return with a couple of small gourds of water, some dried berries somewhat resembling coffee beans and a flat cake of mealie bread.
Von Gobendorff soon discovered that the natives had been serving in the German outpost at G'henge, a position overrun and captured by a Sikh battalion about three months previously. They had, they declared, been very well treated by their new masters.
The fugitive smiled grimly, immediately wincing as the movement of the facial muscles gave him a thrill of pain. It was evident, he reasoned, that the Birwas had mistaken him for an officer of the British forces.
Hardly able to wait until the meal was prepared von Gobendorff turned to and ate with avidity, washing down the food with copious draughts of hot and far from palatable beverage. Having refreshed he ordered the blacks to hide all traces of his bivouac and made them carry him to the canoe. He realised how imperative it was that he should cover his tracks, and by no means the least important measure was to prevent any prints of his veldt schoen being discovered on the moist marshland on the river bank.
"Take me to Kossa," ordered von Gobendorff, naming a small military post on the Kiwa about thirty miles down the river, and at a point where the stream made a semi-circular bend before running in a south-westerly direction to join the Rovuma.
For the first time the Birwas demurred.
"There are strong rapids a little distance down stream," declared one. "We are not skilled in working a canoe. Can we not take you across to our village, where there are plenty of men who will paddle you to Kossa?"
"My word," said von Gobendorff, "is law."
To add greater emphasis to his words he produced his automatic pistol. The argument was conclusive. With every indication of fear the two natives pushed off, and seizing the paddles they propelled the unwieldy craft down stream.
Compared with his previous mode of travelling the Hun found the journey bordering almost upon the luxurious. He would have preferred a cushion, a double helmet and a sun-umbrella with a canopy thrown in, but reflecting that he was fortunate in being able to tackle the Kiwa without having to resort to swimming, he endured the glare with comparative equanimity.