We posted two sentries to lie with their eyes on the level of the rim and guard against surprise.  But there was so little to watch, except kites wheeling overhead everlastingly, that they went to sleep; and we were so bored, and so sure of our hiding-place and Schillingschen’s unsuspicion that we did not notice them.  I myself fell asleep toward five o’clock, and when I awoke the sun was so low in the west that our hollow lay in deep gloom.

Fred was lying on his elbow, sucking an unfilled, unlighted pipe.  Will lay on his side, too, with back toward both of us, ruminating.  Coutlass and Brown were both asleep, but Coutlass awoke as I rolled over and struck him with my heel.  Nearly all the porters were snoring.

It was a sharp exclamation from the Greek that caused me to sit up and face due westward.  The others lay as they were.  It was the gloom in our hollow—­the velvety shadows in which we lay with granite boulders scattered between us, and no alertness on our part that saved that day, although Coutlass acted instantly and creditably, once awake.

Schillingschen stood there looking down on us, with his feet planted squarely on the rim of the hollow, and Mauser rifle under one arm.  His great splay beard flowed sidewise in the evening wind.  One hand he held over his eyes, trying to make out details in the dark, as stupid as we were.  He stood with his back to the setting sun, exposing himself without any thought of the risk he ran, his huge, filled-out head refusing stubbornly to take in the truth of what had happened.  Once convinced, the Prussian mind is not readily unconvinced.  He had assured himself long ago that our party was at the bottom of Victoria Nyanza.

The second he did make out details he was swift to act, but that was already too late, although he did not know it at the moment.  He threw up his rifle and laughed—­a great deep guffaw from the stomach, that awoke every one.

“So, so!” he gloated.  “So Mr. Oakes and his fellow escaped convicts are alive after all!  Ha-ha-ho-ho!  So you followed me all this way, only to forget that kites are curious!  A fine comfortless journey you must have had, too!  There were twenty kites wheeling over you.  I counted, and wondered.  Curiosity drove me to come and see.  The first man who moves a finger, Mr. Oakes, will die that instant!  Let your rifle lie where it is!”

It would be no use pretending the man had not courage, at all events of the sort that glories in the upper hand of a fight.  He chuckled, and reveled in our predicament, taking in, now that his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness of our hollow, the utter lack of comforts or provisions, and enjoying our disappointment.  He certainly knew himself master of the situation.

“I suspect you have a man of mine down there with you!” he announced presently.  “Is not that my Baganda?  Is he gagged?  Is he bound?  Loose him, Mr. Oakes, at once!” I say at once!  Otherwise you die now!”