“I almost wish I were back,” said Good,
with a sigh.
As for myself, I reflected that all’s well that
ends well; but in the course of a long life of shaves,
I never had such shaves as those which I had recently
experienced. The thought of that battle makes
me feel cold all over, and as for our experience in
the treasure chamber—!
Next morning we started on a toilsome trudge across
the desert, having with us a good supply of water
carried by our five guides, and camped that night
in the open, marching again at dawn on the morrow.
By noon of the third day’s journey we could
see the trees of the oasis of which the guides spoke,
and within an hour of sundown we were walking once
more upon grass and listening to the sound of running
water.
FOUND
And now I come to perhaps the strangest adventure
that happened to us in all this strange business,
and one which shows how wonderfully things are brought
about.
I was walking along quietly, some way in front of
the other two, down the banks of the stream which
runs from the oasis till it is swallowed up in the
hungry desert sands, when suddenly I stopped and rubbed
my eyes, as well I might. There, not twenty yards
in front of me, placed in a charming situation, under
the shade of a species of fig-tree, and facing to
the stream, was a cosy hut, built more or less on the
Kafir principle with grass and withes, but having
a full-length door instead of a bee-hole.
“What the dickens,” said I to myself,
“can a hut be doing here?” Even as I said
it the door of the hut opened, and there limped out
of it a white man clothed in skins, and with
an enormous black beard. I thought that I must
have got a touch of the sun. It was impossible.
No hunter ever came to such a place as this.
Certainly no hunter would ever settle in it.
I stared and stared, and so did the other man, and
just at that juncture Sir Henry and Good walked up.
“Look here, you fellows,” I said, “is
that a white man, or am I mad?”
Sir Henry looked, and Good looked, and then all of
a sudden the lame white man with a black beard uttered
a great cry, and began hobbling towards us. When
he was close he fell down in a sort of faint.
With a spring Sir Henry was by his side.
“Great Powers!” he cried, “it
is my brother George!”
At the sound of this disturbance, another figure,
also clad in skins, emerged from the hut, a gun in
his hand, and ran towards us. On seeing me he
too gave a cry.
“Macumazahn,” he halloed, “don’t
you know me, Baas? I’m Jim the hunter.
I lost the note you gave me to give to the Baas, and
we have been here nearly two years.” And
the fellow fell at my feet, and rolled over and over,
weeping for joy.
“You careless scoundrel!” I said; “you
ought to be well sjambocked” —that
is, hided.
