d we did not.

They had come out for a secret purpose that seemed to have to do with
the abduction of a certain young white woman for reasons connected
with their tribal statecraft or ritual, which is the kind of thing that
happens not infrequently among obscure and ancient African tribes. Well,
they had abducted their young woman and were in sight of safety and
success in their objects, whatever these might be. For what possible
reason, then, could they desire to risk a fight with the outraged
friends and relatives of that young woman?

It was true that they outnumbered us and therefore had a good chance
of victory, but on the other hand, they must know that it would be very
dearly won, and if it were not won, that we should retake their captive,
so that all their trouble would have been for nothing. Further they must
be as exhausted and travel-worn as we were ourselves and in no condition
to face a desperate battle.

The problem was beyond me and I gave it up with the reflection that
either this threatened attack was a mere feint to delay us, or that
behind it was something mysterious, such as a determination to prevent
us at all hazards from discovering the secrets of that mountain
stronghold.

When I put the riddle to Hans, who was lying next to me, he was ready
with another solution.

"They are men-eaters, Baas," he said, "and being hungry, wish to eat us
before they get to their own land where doubtless they are not allowed
to eat each other."

"Do you think so," I answered, "when we are so thin?" and I surveyed
Hans' scraggy form in the moonlight.

"Oh! yes, Baas, we should be quite good boiled--like old hens, Baas.
Also it is the nature of cannibals to prefer thin man to fat beef. The
devil that is in them gives them that taste, Baas, just as he makes me
like gin, or you turn your head to look at pretty women, as those Zulus
say you always did in their country, especially at a certain witch who
was named Mameena and whom you kissed before everybody----"

Here I turned my head to look at Hans, proposing to smite him with
words, or physically, since to have this Mameena myth, of which I have
detailed the origin in the book called _Child of Storm_, re-arise out
of his hideous little mouth was too much. But before I could get out a
syllable he held up his finger and whispered,

"Hush! the dawn breaks and they come. I hear them."

I listened intently but could distinguish nothing. Only straining my
eyes,