Saturday the 7th day of October, we broke up camp, to the great regret of the meat-loving, gormandizing Wangwana.  They delegated Bombay early in the morning to speak to me, and entreat of me to stop one day longer.  It was ever the case; they had always an unconquerable aversion to work, when in presence of meat.  Bombay was well scolded for bearing any such request to me after two days’ rest, during which time they had been filled to repletion with meat.  And Bombay was by no means in the best of humour; flesh-pots full of meat were more to his taste than a constant tramping, and its consequent fatigues.  I saw his face settle into sulky ugliness, and his great nether lip hanging down limp, which meant as if expressed in so many words, “Well, get them to move yourself, you wicked hard man!  I shall not help you.”

An ominous silence followed my order to the kirangozi to sound the horn, and the usual singing and chanting were not heard.  The men turned sullenly to their bales, and Asmani, the gigantic guide, our fundi, was heard grumblingly to say he was sorry he had engaged to guide me to the Tanganika.  However, they started, though reluctantly.  I stayed behind with my gunbearers, to drive the stragglers on.  In about half an hour I sighted the caravan at a dead stop, with the bales thrown on the ground, and the men standing in groups conversing angrily and excitedly.

Taking my double-barrelled gun from Selim’s shoulder, I selected a dozen charges of buck-shot, and slipping two of them into the barrels, and adjusting my revolvers in order for handy work, I walked on towards them.  I noticed that the men seized their guns, as I advanced.  When within thirty yards of the groups, I discovered the heads of two men appear above an anthill on my left, with the barrels of their guns carelessly pointed toward the road.

I halted, threw the barrel of my gun into the hollow of the left hand, and then, taking a deliberate aim at them, threatened to blow their heads off if they did not come forward to talk to me.  These two men were, gigantic Asmani and his sworn companion Mabruki, the guides of Sheikh bin Nasib.  As it was dangerous not to comply with such an order, they presently came, but, keeping my eye on Asmani, I saw him move his fingers to the trigger of his gun, and bring his gun to a “ready.”  Again I lifted my gun, and threatened him with instant death, if he did not drop his gun.

Asmani came on in a sidelong way with a smirking smile on his face, but in his eyes shone the lurid light of murder, as plainly as ever it shone in a villain’s eyes.  Mabruki sneaked to my rear, deliberately putting powder in the pan of his musket, but sweeping the gun sharply round, I planted the muzzle of it at about two feet from his wicked-looking face, and ordered him to drop his gun instantly.  He let it fall from his hand quickly, and giving him a vigorous poke in the breast with my gun, which sent him reeling