Then, getting up, half stunned, from the gra.s.s, he extended his arms towards Harry.

"Kill me," he said, "kill me, but not thus. Kill me with the English sword, for if I go back to my people without my prisoner, they will kill me with fire."

"Come to think of it, my good fellow," said Harry, "there need be no killing in the matter. You can't go back. Come with me. The tables are turned: _you_ shall now be the slave, _I_ the master. I will be good and kind to you if you are faithful; if not, I will let the daylight into you."

The reply of the savage was affecting enough. He bowed himself to the earth first; then, still on his knees, took Harry's right hand and bent his head until his brow touched it.

"That will do, my good fellow. I don't care for palaver, you know. But let us have action. Now you shall prove how far you are willing to serve me. Go back to your fellows, a rascally crew they are, and fetch another rifle and more ammunition, and just a little provisions if you can."

The Somali knew what he meant, even if he did not understand precisely all that was said.

He was up and away in a moment.

Harry Milvaine waited and listened. He thought the time would never pa.s.s. Would the Somali be true or be treacherous? He might rouse his sleeping companions, and, while he was still standing here in the broad staring light of the moon, stealthily surround and re-capture him.

The very thought made him change his ground. He drew himself away under the shade of some mimosa trees and waited there.

At last a single figure, armed with a rifle and carrying a bag, drew up in the clearing that Harry had left, and looked about him in some surprise. It was Harry's ex-foe.

Harry soon joined him.

"You have stayed long," he said.

"I have plenty of ammunition, something to eat, and the rifle, and--"

"Well, and what else?"

"Nothing else," said the Indian, showing a row of teeth like alabaster; "I have floated all the rest of the ammunition down stream."

"You are clever, but hark! did you not hear some sound? I believe they are stirring."

"No, no, that was a lion miles away."

"Come, then, lead on."

"Which way?"

"West. They are sure to think I have gone in the direction of the coast."

"Come, then."

And away went Nanungamanoo. And by daybreak they were many, many miles from the camp of Mahmoud.

Book 3--CHAPTER THREE.

A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES--A MYSTERIOUS PACK, AND A MYSTERIOUS APPEARANCE.

Danger sharpens one's wits. It makes the old young again, and the young old--in judgment.

Harry was no fool from the commencement, and he now reasoned rightly enough, that Mahmoud with his savage caravan, as soon as he missed the runaways, would naturally conclude that they had gone back towards the coast.

This, however, was precisely the thing that Harry had no present intention of doing. And why? it may be asked. Ought he not to be glad of the freedom he had once more obtained, and make the best of his way to some friendly village or town by the sea-sh.o.r.e? Perhaps; but then Harry was a wayward youth. He was wayward and headstrong, but on this occasion I think he had right on his side.

"I cannot and will not return," he said to himself, "without making some effort to find my poor fellows--if, indeed, they be still alive.

Besides, this is a strange and a lovely land, and there are strange adventures to be met with. I must see a little of it while I am here."

You will notice, reader, that hope was already throwing its glamour over the poor lad's mind. He dearly loved nature, but while being dragged away as a prisoner, although some parts of the country through which he pa.s.sed had been charming enough, he could not bear to gaze on their beauty while _he_ was a slave.

Flowers grew in abundance on many parts of the plains; they grew in patches, in beds of gorgeous colour, here, there, and everywhere--pale blue, dark blue, yellow, crimson, and modest brown; they carpetted the ground, and even trailed up over and beautified the stunted scrub bushes. As Burns hath it, these flowers--

"Sprang wanton to be pressed."

At another time their sunlit glory would have dazzled him, now they had seemed to mock him in his misery, and he had crushed them under foot.

Great birds sailed majestically and slowly overhead, or flew with that lazy indifference peculiar to some of the African species, ascending some distance, then letting themselves fall again, putting no more exertion into the action of flight than was absolutely necessary, but sauntering along through the air, as it were. Never mind, they were happy, and Harry had hated them because they were so happy--and free.

Long after the caravan had left the coast, sea-birds even came floating round them.

"Come away, Harry!" they seemed to scream. "Come away--away--away!"

They were happy too. Oh, he had thought, if he could only be as free, and had their lithesome, lissom wings!

Monster b.u.t.terflies like painted fans, browns, vermilions, and ultramarines hovered indolently over the flowers. How _they_ appeared to enjoy the sunshine!

Even the bronzy green or black beetles that moved about among the gra.s.s or over the bare patches of ground had something to do, something to engross their minds, thoroughly to the exclusion of every other consideration in life.

As for the lovely sea-green lizards with broad arrows of crimson on their shoulders, they simply squatted, panting, on stones, or lay along reed-stalks, making the very most of life and sunshine; while as for the giant cicadas, their happiness considerably interfered with the business of their little lives, because they were so very, very, _very_ happy that they had to stop about every two minutes to sing.

But now, why Harry was free and as happy as any of them--at present, at all events.

As he trudged along in the moonlight he could not help making a little joke to himself.

"Go back!" he said, half aloud. "No, Scotchmen never go back."

Well, then, Mahmoud, after retreating for some distance towards the coast, would no doubt resume his journey. Of this Harry felt sure enough, because Nanungamanoo told his new master, before they had gone very far that night, that the Arab priest was on his way to a far distant country, quite unknown to any other trader, there to purchase a gang of slaves from a king, who would sell his people for fire-water.

"The scoundrels!" said Harry.

"Yes, sahib."

"Both I mean; both king and priest. I'd tie them neck to neck and drown them as one drowns kittens."

"Yes, sahib."

"And no one else knows of this territory?"

"No white man, sahib."

"The villain! A little nest of his own that he robs periodically. A happy hunting-ground all to himself. So you think Mahmoud will shortly come on this way?"