“Then are the men he has with him his own?”

“Yes.”

“From German East?”

“Yes.”

“What orders did he give you besides to tell these lies about German conquest?”

“None.

“Pass me that whip!” ordered Fred. There was no whip, but the Baganda could not know that.

“He gave the same order to all of us,” he yelled.  “We are to stay out a month or five weeks unless we meet white men.  If we meet white men we are to discover the white men’s plans by talking with their servants, and then hurry to him and report.”

“Ah!  How many other spies has he out in this direction?”

“None.”

“Why don’t you pass me that whip when I ask for it?” demanded Fred.

“None!  None!  None, bwana!  I am the only man in this direction!  He has sent them north, south, east and west, but I am the only one down here.”

“He has a lot more to tell yet,” said Coutlass.  “Let me put hot irons on his feet!”

Fred demurred.  “He couldn’t march with us if we did that!” he said with a perfectly straight face.

“Who cares whether or not he marches!” answered Coutlass.  “To tell all he knows is his business!  Wait while I heat the iron!”

The Baganda began to scream again, babbling that he knew no more.  He assured us that Schillingschen had set the closest watch along the old caravan route, and toward his own rear in the direction of Kisumu, whence officials might come on chance errands.

“All right,” said Fred.  “Truss him up tight and keep him prisoner among our men in their hut.”

“Our men are likely to get drunk tonight,” warned Will.

“Let me watch him!” urged Coutlass.  “Leave me with him alone!”

To the Greek’s disgust we decided to trust the prisoner with our own men, and to keep very careful watch on them, threatening them with loss of all their pay if they dared get drunk and lose him—­a threat they accepted at its full face value, but resented because of Brown’s and the Greek’s behavior the night before.  They begged to get a little drunk—­to get half as drunk as Brown had been—­half as drunk as Coutlass had been—­not drunk at all, but just to drink a little.  We were adamant, and Brown added to their resentment by preaching them a sermon in their own tongue on the importance of being respectful toward white folk.

Kazimoto came in toward dark, foot-weary, but primed with news, and most of what he had to say confirmed the Baganda’s story.  Schillingschen, he said, was making for Mount Elgon in very leisurely stages, letting his loaded donkeys graze their way along, and spending hours of his time in questioning natives along the way on every subject under the sun.