the sight of Schillingschen's distant campfire with a great
pot resting on stones in the midst of it whetted appetite for white
man's food. They and I were for supping as soon as possible from the
German's provender, and sleeping under his canvas roof.

But Fred and Will insisted on caution, claiming reasonably that
surprise would be infinitely easier after dark. It was unlikely that
Schillingschen would post any sentries, and not much matter if he did.
His knowledge of natives and natural air of authority made him quite
safe among any but the wildest, and these were a comparatively peaceful
folk. In all probability he would sit and read by candle light, with
his boys all snoring a hundred yards away. There was no making Fred
and Will see the virtue of my contention that a sudden attack while his
boys were scattered all about among the villages would be just as
likely to succeed; so we settled down to wait where we were with what
patience we could summon.

It was a miserable, hungry business, under a blazing hot sky, packed
tightly together among men who objected to our smell as strongly as we
to theirs. It is the fixed opinion of all black people that the white
man smells like "bad water"; and no word seems discoverable that will
quite return the compliment. That afternoon was reminiscent of the
long days on the dhow, when nobody could move without disturbing
everybody else, and we all breathed the same hot mixed stench over and
over.

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 s