“Because, though he was once a fierce savage, he has become a faithful Christian, and as such would be ready to sacrifice his own life rather than risk ours when he has promised to serve us.”
“I am afraid the fellows are all much alike,” observed Mr Vincent. “The only way of making them faithful is not to pay them till the journey is over. I only hope he and young Kibo will answer your expectations. For my part, I have found the heathen black men as trustworthy as the whites.”
“Yes, father,” said Martin, “because in too many instances the whites are merely nominal Christians. Mr Warden has shown me the difference between a real and nominal Christian, and it is of the first I speak. All men are fallible, and even in them we cannot hope to find perfection, but still they can be trusted to do their best.”
“Well, well, Martin, when you know more of the world, perhaps you will change your opinion,” remarked the trader in an indifferent tone. “However, water must be found; and as we have still yearly an hour’s daylight, we may even yet reach it if we push on before dark.”
The trader and his son rode on, though their weary steeds did not move as fast as they wished.
“What is that?” exclaimed the elder Vincent, pointing to an object moving among the dry grass some distance ahead. “A lion; we must put a shot into him, or he will be paying the cattle a visit to-night.”
Spurring on his horse, he galloped forward, followed by Martin.
“Don’t fire, father!” cried Martin, “it is a human being.”
Martin was right. They soon discovered that the object they had seen was an old bushwoman, although, but for the scanty clothing which covered her wretchedly thin and diminutive body, she might have been mistaken for some wild animal. She seemed dreadfully frightened, as if expecting instant death. Martin by speaking to the old woman somewhat reassured her.
“Water must be near, and she will know where to find it,” observed his father; “so she must come with us whether she likes it or no, and act as our guide.”