Towards evening the next day, instead of the chief, who was expected, Masiko made his appearance. Martin was thankful to have a Christian at such a time with him.
Martin had chosen a spot under a wide-spreading tree for his father’s grave, and Masiko, who had brought some presents to repay the natives, had it dug.
Here the white trader was buried by his orphan son and his two dark-skinned Christian friends.
Kibo had gone back to the village to order Kanenge’s people to prepare for their departure that night, he having received intelligence that a party of their enemies were on the move and approaching the neighbourhood.
Darkness had set in, yet Martin was unwilling to leave the spot till, assisted by Masiko, he had covered the grave over with a thick roof of branches to prevent its being disturbed by savage animals.
He was thus engaged when loud shrieks and cries from the village reached their ears. His impulse was to hasten towards it to find Kibo, that they might, if the placed was attacked, escape together.
“Don’t go,” exclaimed Masiko, grasping Martin’s hand; “you cannot help him, and will be killed or taken prisoner with the rest.”
At that instant several figures were observed rushing towards them.
“Come,” exclaimed Masiko, dragging Martin forward in the direction the waggon had taken. “The enemy will not dare to attack our party armed with guns, and if we can reach them we shall be safe.”
Martin, though anxious to discover his friend, could not help feeling that it would be unwise to return to the village, probably already in the hands of the enemy. He therefore hastened on with his faithful companion, trusting that they would outstrip the foe. He could only hope that Kibo had made his escape, and that he would rejoin them at the waggon. This it was probably the object of the marauding party to have surprised.