"No, I go alone."
"Not widout arms?" exclaimed the negro, laying his hand on his master's shoulder.
"Yes, without arms!" As he spoke he drew the long knife that usually hung at his girdle and flung it down. "Now attend, both of you," he added, with sudden and almost threatening earnestness.
"Do not on any account follow me. I am quite able to take care of myself."
Next moment he glided into the bushes and was gone.
"Can you guess what is the matter with him?" asked Nigel, turning to his companion with a perplexed look.
"Not more nor de man ob de moon. I nebber saw'd 'im like dat before. I t'ink he's go mad! I tell you what—I'll foller him wid a rifle an' knife and two revolvers."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Nigel, laying hold of the negro's wrist with a grip of iron; "when a man like Van der Kemp gives an order it's the duty of inferior men like you and me strictly to obey."
"Well—p'raps you're right, Nadgel," returned Moses calmly. "If you wasn't, I'd knock you into de middle ob nixt week for takin' a grip o' me like dat."
"You'll wish yourself into the middle of next fortnight if you disobey orders," returned our hero, tightening the grip.