I replied by another question.  “Is there any chance of our being rescued by your people?”

He shook his head.  “None.  What we have seen to-day is but a small part of the army of the Black Kendah, one regiment of foot and one of horse, that are always ready.  By to-morrow thousands will be gathered, many more than we can hope to deal with in the open and still less in their strongholds, also Harut will believe that we are dead.  Unless the Child saves us we shall be left to our fate.”

“Then it seems that we are indeed in a pit, as that black brute of a king puts it, Marut, and if he does what he says and rushes us at sundown, everyone of us will be killed.  Also I am thirsty already and there is nothing to drink.  But will this king keep his word?  There are other ways of dying besides by steel.”

“I think that he will keep his word, but as that messenger said, he will not add to his word.  Choose now, for see, they are beginning to hedge us round.”

“What do you say, men?” I asked of the three who had remained with us.

“We say, Lord, that we are in the hands of the Child, though we wish now that we had died with our brothers,” answered their spokesman fatalistically.

So after Marut and I had consulted together for a little as to the form of his reply, he beckoned to the messenger and said: 

“We accept the offer of Simba, although it would be easy for this lord to kill him now where he stands, namely, to yield ourselves as prisoners on his oath that no harm shall come to us.  For know that if harm does come, the vengeance will be terrible.  Now in proof of his good faith, let Simba draw near and drink the cup of peace with us, for we thirst.”

“Not so,” said the messenger, “for then that white lord might kill him with his tube.  Give me the tube and Simba shall come.”

“Take it,” I said magnanimously, handing him the rifle, which he received in a very gingerly fashion.  After all, I reflected, there is nothing much more useless than a rifle without ammunition.

Off he went holding the weapon at arm’s length, and presently Simba himself, accompanied by some of his men, one of whom carried a skin of water and another a large cup hollowed from an elephant’s tusk, rode up to us.  This Simba was a fine and rather terrifying person with a large moustache and a chin shaved except for a little tuft of hair which he wore at its point like an Italian.  His eyes were big and dark, frank-looking, yet now and again with sinister expression in the corners of them.  He was not nearly so black as most of his followers; probably in bygone generations his blood had been crossed with that of the White Kendah.  He wore his hair long without any head-dress, held in place by a band of gold which I suppose represented a crown.  On his forehead was a large white scar, probably received in some battle.  Such was his appearance.