“It won’t do to stop here long,” said Denis. “We must up and away; the sooner we set off, the sooner we shall find water. Come along, rouse up, Gozo; you will be better moving along than lying still.”
The Kaffir thus incited to exertion got on his feet. The party set off, the dogs dragging themselves after their masters, for their instinct told them that there would be no safety for them alone. On and on they went, Denis and Percy doing their best to keep up each other’s spirits. Poor Gozo, however, complained more and more. He had drawn his hunger belt tighter and tighter round his waist, until it looked as if it would cut him in two. His throat, he said, felt as if a hot iron had been run down it; yet, encouraged by Denis, he staggered on. It was too evident that he was growing weaker and weaker, and he declared a last that he could not carry his gun.
“But without it you will not be able to defend yourself, should we be attacked by a lion or lioness,” said Denis.
“No matter: I must die then,” answered Gozo.
“Well, if I carry your gun, will you come on?” asked Denis.
“I’ll try, master, I’ll try,” answered the black as Denis took the gun.
“I must help you to carry it,” said Percy. “I cannot do much to assist the fellow along, but I hope that his weakness is more fanciful than real, and that now he is relieved from the weight of his gun he will move on more briskly.”
For a short distance Gozo staggered on faster than he had done for some time previously, but again his feet moved slower and slower, until coming to a tree he begged that he might lie down under it in the shade and rest.
“But rest means delay, and every minute we are becoming more and more thirsty,” said Denis.
Still Gozo insisted on lying down, and Denis and Percy had to agree to his doing so. As they could not leave him, they sat down by his side.