“Not at all, Quatermain, for unless one or the other of them changes her course that is just what she must do within the next hour or so, and I jolly well hope she will.  I haven’t forgiven that beast, Delgado, the trick he tried to play on us by slipping away with our goods, to say nothing of those poor devils of slaves.  Pass the coffee, will you?”

For the next ten minutes we ate in silence, for Stephen had an excellent appetite and was hungry after his morning climb.

Just as we finished our meal Hassan appeared, looking even more villainous than he had done the previous day.  I saw also that he was in a truculent mood, induced perhaps by the headache from which he was evidently suffering as a result of his potations.  Or perhaps the fact that the Maria had got safe away with the slaves, as he imagined unobserved by us, was the cause of the change of his demeanour.  A third alternative may have been that he intended to murder us during the previous night and found no safe opportunity of carrying out his amiable scheme.

We saluted him courteously, but without salaaming in reply he asked me bluntly through Sammy when we intended to be gone, as such “Christian dogs defiled his house,” which he wanted for himself.

I answered, as soon as the twenty bearers whom he had promised us appeared, but not before.

“You lie,” he said.  “I never promised you bearers; I have none here.”

“Do you mean that you shipped them all away in the Maria with the slaves last night?” I asked, sweetly.

My reader, have you ever taken note of the appearance and proceedings of a tom-cat of established age and morose disposition when a little dog suddenly disturbs it on the prowl?  Have you observed how it contorts itself into arched but unnatural shapes, how it swells visibly to almost twice its normal size, how its hair stands up and its eyes flash, and the stream of unmentionable language that proceeds from its open mouth?  If so, you will have a very good idea of the effect produced upon Hassan by this remark of mine.  The fellow looked as though he were going to burst with rage.  He rolled about, his bloodshot eyes seemed to protrude, he cursed us horribly, he put his hand upon the hilt of the great knife he wore, and finally he did what the tom-cat does, he spat.

Now, Stephen was standing with me, looking as cool as a cucumber and very much amused, and being, as it chanced, a little nearer to Hassan than I was, received the full benefit of this rude proceeding.  My word! didn’t it wake him up.  He said something strong, and the next second flew at the half-breed like a tiger, landing him a beauty straight upon the nose.  Back staggered Hassan, drawing his knife as he did so, but Stephen’s left in the eye caused him to drop it, as he dropped himself.  I pounced upon the knife, and since it was too late to interfere, for the mischief had been done, let things take their course and held back the Zulus who had rushed up at the noise.