“Don’t be an ass, Brown!”

Fred knocked the rifle up.  Will took it away and returned it to the corner.

“All very easy for you men to take high moral ground and all that sort of rot,” Brown grumbled.  “It’s my cattle he took!  It’s me be’s ruined!  What do I care if the Germans hang me?  Let me have a crack at him—­just one!”

“Use your fists all you care to!” grinned Will.

But Brown was no match for the Greek without weapons—­very likely no match for him with them.  Coutlass sat still and grinned, while Brown remained in the back of the tent, glaring.

“Bah!” sneered Coutlass.  “Of what use is being sulky?  I found cattle in a village.  How should I know whose cattle they were?  Why blame me?  The Masai got the cattle, not I!  They took them from me, and they’d have taken them from you just the same!  You lost nothing by my lifting them first!  Gassharamminy!  By blazes!  We’re all in the same boat!  Let’s be friendly, and treat one another like gentlemen!  We’re all in the power of the Germans, unless we can think of a way to escape!  I and my party are under arrest.  So will you be by to-morrow!  I shall tell a tale to-morrow that will keep you by the heels for a month at least while they investigate!  Wait and see!”

“Get out of this tent!” growled Fred in the dead-level voice he uses when he means to brook no refusal.

“Presently!”

Fred made a spring at him, but Coutlass was on his feet with the speed of a cat, and just outside the tent in time to avoid the swing of Fred’s fist.  He withdrew about two yards and stood there grinning maliciously.

“You’ll be glad to make terms with me by this time to-morrow!” he boasted.  “By James, you’ll be glad to have me for a friend!  Listen, you fools!  Make terms with me now; let us all go together and unearth that Tippoo Tib ivory, and I can arrange with these Germans to let us go away!  Otherwise, you shall see how long you stop here!  By the Twelve Apostles!  You shall rot in a German jail until your joints creak!”

His Greek friend and the Goanese, supposing him in trouble perhaps, came and stood in line with him.  Very comfortless they looked, and of the three only Coutlass had courage of a kind.

“They stole the cattle on the British side of the border,” Will said sotto voice.  “No earthly use threatening them with German law.”

“Keep away from our camp,” Fred Ordered them, “or take the consequences!  Mr. Brown here is in no mood for pleasantries!”

“That drunkard Brown?” roared Coutlass.  “He is in no mood for—­oh, haw-hah-hee-ho-ha-ha-ha-ha!  Drunkard Brown of Lumbwa wants to avenge himself, and his friends won’t let him!  Oh, isn’t that a joke!  Oh, ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-ha-ho-ho!”

His two companions made a trio of it, yelling with stage laughter like disgusting animals.  Fred took a short quick step forward.  Will followed, and Brown reached for the rifle again.  But I stopped all three of them.