ew friend, he arrived at Tarrangolle, one of the principal
places in the Latooka country, a hundred miles from Gondokoro, which,
though out of his direct route, would, he hoped, enable him with greater
ease finally to reach Unyoro, the territory of Kamrasi.

In the mean time, however, several of his men had deserted and joined
Mahomet Her. He had warned them that they would repent of their folly.
His warnings were curiously fulfilled.

News soon arrived that Mahomet Her, with a party of a hundred and ten
armed men, in addition to three hundred natives, had made a razzia upon
a certain village among the mountains for slaves and cattle. Having
succeeded in the village and capturing a number of slaves, as they were
re-ascending the mountain to obtain a herd of cattle they had heard of,
they were attacked by a large body of Latookas, lying in ambush among
the rocks on the mountain side.

In vain the Turks fought; every bullet aimed at a Latooka struck a rock,
while rocks, stones, and lances were hurled at them from all sides and
from above. Compelled to retreat, they were seized with a panic, and
took to flight.

Hemmed in by their foes, who showered lances and stones on their heads,
they fled down the rocky and perpendicular ravines. Mistaking their
road, they came to a precipice from which there was no retreat.

The screaming and yelling savages closed round them. All was useless;
not an enemy could they shoot, while the savages thrust them forward
with wild yells to the very verge of a precipice five hundred feet high.
Over it they were driven, hurled to destruction by the mass of Latookas
pressing onward. A few fought to the last; but all were at length
forced over the edge of the cliff, and met the just reward of their
atrocities. No quarter had been given, and upwards of two hundred of
the natives who had joined the slave-hunters in the attack, had fallen
with them.

Mahomet Her had not accompanied his party, and escaped, though utterly
ruined.

The result of this catastrophe was highly beneficial to Mr Baker.

"Where are the men who deserted me?" he asked of those who still
remained with him.

Without speaking, they brought two of his guns covered with clotted
blood mixed with sand. Their owners' names were known to him by the
marks on the stocks. He mentioned them.

"Are they all dead?" he asked.

"All dead," the men replied.

"Food for the vultures," he observed. "Better for them had they