He came close to the window, but at that moment the engine gave a final scream and really started.  Passengers yelled farewells.  The engine’s apoplectic coughs divided the din into spasms, and there came a great bellowing from the ticket office.  He could not speak softly and be heard at all.  Louder he had to speak, and then louder, ending almost with a shout.

“The best way to Elgon is by way of Kisumu and Mumias, whatever anybody else may tell you.  And if you find the stuff, or any of it,” (he was running beside the train now)—­“be in no hurry to advertise the fact!  Go and make terms first with government—­then—­after you’ve made terms—­tell ’em you’ve found it!  Find the stuff—­make terms—­then produce what you’ve found!  Get my meaning?  Good-by, all.  Good luck!”

We left him behind then, wiping the sweat from his wrinkled, freckled forehead, gazing after us as if we had all been lifelong friends of his.  He made no distinction between us and Fred, but was equally anxious to serve us all.

“If that man isn’t white, who is?” demanded Will, and then there was new interest.

We had left the ticket office far behind, but the train was moving slowly and there was still a good length of platform before our car would be clear of the station altogether.  We heard a roar like a bull’s from behind, and a dozen men—­white, black and yellow—­came careering down the platform carrying guns, baggage, bedding, and all the paraphernalia that travelers in Africa affect.

First in the van was Georges Coutlass, showing a fine turn of speed but tripping on a bed-sheet at every other step, with his uncased rifle in one hand, his hat in the other, an empty bandolier over one shoulder and a bag slung by a strap swinging out behind him.  He made a leap for the second-class compartment in front of us, and landed on all fours on the platform.  We opened the door of our compartment to watch him better.

Once on the platform he threw his rifle into the compartment and braced himself to catch the things his stampeding followers hurled after him—­caught them deftly and tossed them in, yelling instructions in Greek, Kiswahili, Arabic, English, and two or three other languages.  It may be that the engineer looked back and saw what was happening (or perhaps the guard signaled with the cord that passed through eyeholes the whole length of the train) for though we did not slow down we gained no speed until all his belongings had been hurled, and caught, and flung inside.  Then came his traveling companions—­caught by one hand and dragged on their knees up the steps.  They were heavy men, but he snatched all three in like a boy pulling chestnuts from the fire.