“‘John Every.’

“‘Great heavens!’ I gasped.  ‘Every!—­why, it must be my old friend.’  The girl, or rather the woman Maiwa, pointed to the other side of the leaf, where there was more writing.  It ran thus—­’I have just heard that the white man is called Macumazahn.  If so, it must be my friend Quatermain.  Pray Heaven it is, for I know he won’t desert an old chum in such a fix as I am.  It isn’t that I’m afraid of dying, I don’t care if I die, but I want to get a chance at Wambe first.’

“‘No, old boy,’ thought I to myself, ’it isn’t likely that I am going to leave you there while there is a chance of getting you out.  I have played fox before now—­there’s still a double or two left in me.  I must make a plan, that’s all.  And then there’s that stockade of tusks.  I am not going to leave that either.’  Then I spoke to the woman.

“‘You are called Maiwa?’

“‘It is so.’

“‘You are the daughter of Nala and the wife of Wambe?’

“‘It is so.’

“‘You fly from Wambe to Nala?’

“‘I do.’

“’Why do you fly?  Stay, I would give an order,’—­and calling to Gobo, I ordered him to get the men ready for instant departure.  The woman, who, as I have said, was quite young and very handsome, put her hand into a little pouch made of antelope hide which she wore fastened round the waist, and to my horror drew from it the withered hand of a child, which evidently had been carefully dried in the smoke.

“‘I fly for this cause,’ she answered, holding the poor little hand towards me.  ’See now, I bore a child.  Wambe was its father, and for eighteen months the child lived and I loved it.  But Wambe loves not his children; he kills them all.  He fears lest they should grow up to slay one so wicked, and he would have killed this child also, but I begged its life.  One day, some soldiers passing the hut saw the child and saluted him, calling him the “chief who soon shall be.”  Wambe heard, and was mad.  He smote the babe, and it wept.  Then he said that it should weep for good cause.  Among the things that he had stolen from the white men whom he slew is a trap that will hold lions.  So strong is the trap that four men must stand on it, two on either side, before it can be opened.’”

Here old Quatermain broke off suddenly.

“Look here, you fellows,” he said, “I can’t bear to go on with this part of the story, because I never could stand either seeing or talking of the sufferings of children.  You can guess what that devil did, and what the poor mother was forced to witness.  Would you believe it, she told me the tale without a tremor, in the most matter-of-fact way.  Only I noticed that her eyelid quivered all the time.

“‘Well,’ I said, as unconcernedly as though I had been talking of the death of a lamb, though inwardly I was sick with horror and boiling with rage, ’and what do you mean to do about the matter, Maiwa, wife of Wambe?’