may tell your superiors," Fred answered, rising, "that if they
care to make us a reasonable offer, I don't say we won't do business!"

Schubert leered.

"To-morrow will be too late!" he repeated.

It was Fred's turn to shrug shoulders, and he did it inimitably,
turning his back on Schubert and helping Will support me to the door.
The feldwebel stood grinning while I held to the doorpost and they
dragged Brown to his feet. He made no offer to help us in any way at
all, nor did any of the sergeants.

There was no getting action from Brown. He was as dead to the world as
a piece of wood, and there being no other obvious solution of the
problem, Will hoisted him upon his back and carried him, he snoring,
all the way home to camp. Fred hoisted and carried me, for the pain of
my wound when I tried to walk was unbearable.

We reached camp abreast and were challenged by the sentries, who made a
great show of standing guard. They took Brown and threw him on the bed
in his own tent--accepted Fred's offer of silver money--and departed,
marching up-street in their heavy, iron-bound military boots with the
swing and swagger only the Nubian in all the world knows just how to
get away with.

I lay on the bed in Fred's tent, and then Kazimoto came to us, hugely
troubled about something, stirring the embers of the fire before the
tent and arranging the lantern so that its rays would betray any
eavesdropper. He searched all the shadows thoroughly, prodding into
them with a stick, before he unburdened his mind.

"Those askaris were not put here to guard our tents," he told us. (The
really good native servant when speaking of his master's property
always says our, and never your.) "As soon as you were gone the Greeks
and the Goa came. They and the askaris questioned me. It was a trick!
You were drawn away on purpose! One by one--two by two--they
questioned us all, but particularly me."

"What about?" Fred demanded.

"About our business. Why are we here. What will we do. What do we
know. What do I know about you. What do you know about me. Why do I
serve you. How did I come to take service with you. To what place
will we travel next, and when. How much money have we with us. Have
we friends or acquaintances in Muanza. Do you, bwana, carry any
letters in your pockets. Of what do you speak when you suppose no man
is listening. Bwana, my heart is very sad in me! Those Greeks tell
lies, and the Germans stir t