When they had gone the Swazis led us to a kraal about two miles from the river, sending on a runner with orders to make huts and food ready for us.  It was just as much as we could do to reach it, for we were all utterly worn out, as were the horses.  Still we did get there at last, the hot sun warming us as we went.  Arrived at the kraal I helped Heda and Kaatje from the cart—­the former could scarcely walk, poor dear—­and into the guest hut which seemed clean, where food of a sort and fur karosses were brought to them in which to wrap themselves while their clothes dried.

Leaving them in charge of two old women, I went to see to Anscombe, who as yet could not do much for himself, also to the outspanning of the horses which were put into a cattle kraal, where they lay down at once without attempting to eat the green forage which was given to them.  After this I gave our goods into the charge of the kraal-head, a nice old fellow whom I had never met before, and he led Anscombe to another hut close to that where the women were.  Here we drank some maas, that is curdled milk, ate a little mutton, though we were too fatigued to be very hungry, and stripping off our wet clothes, threw them out into the sun to dry.

“That was a close shave,” said Anscombe as he wrapped up in the kaross.

“Very,” I answered.  “So close that I think you must have been started in life with an extra strong guardian angel well accustomed to native ways.”

“Yes,” he replied, “and, old fellow, I believe that on earth he goes by the name of Allan Quatermain.”

After this I remember no more, for I went to sleep, and so remained for about twenty-four hours.  This was not wonderful, seeing that for two days and nights practically I had not rested, during which time I went through much fatigue and many emotions.

When at length I did wake up, the first thing I saw was Anscombe already dressed, engaged in cleaning my clothes with a brush from his toilet case.  I remember thinking how smart and incongruous that dressing-bag, made appropriately enough of crocodile hide, looked in this Kaffir hut with its silver-topped bottles and its ivory-handled razors.

“Time to get up, Sir.  Bath ready, Sir,” he said in his jolly, drawling voice, pointing to a calabash full of hot water.  “Hope you slept as well as I did, Sir.”

“You appear to have recovered your spirits,” I remarked as I rose and began to wash myself.

“Yes, Sir, and why not?  Heda is quite well, for I have seen her.  These Swazis are very good people, and as Kaatje understands their language, bring us all we want.  Our troubles seem to be done with.  Old Marnham is dead, and doubtless cremated; Rodd is dead and, let us hope, in heaven; the Basutos have melted away, the morning is fine and warm and a whole kid is cooking for breakfast.”

“I wish there were two, for I am ravenous,” I remarked.