“Allemachte! you remind me of someone, young man.  I know.  It is of that damned English boy who beat me at the goose shooting, and made me quarrel with Oom [uncle] Retief, the jackanapes that Marie was so fond of.  Well, whoever you are, you can’t be he, thank God.”

“You are mistaken, Heer Pereira,” I answered.  “I am that same damned young English jackanapes, Allan Quatermain by name, who beat you at shooting.  But if you take my advice, you will thank God for something else, namely, that your life has been saved.”

“Who saved it?” he asked.

“If you want to know, I did; I have been nursing you these three days.”

“You, Allan Quatermain!  Now, that is strange, for certainly I would not have saved yours,” and he laughed a little, then turned over and went to sleep.

From that time forward his recovery was rapid, and two days later we began our journey back to Marais’s camp, the convalescent Pereira being carried in a litter by the four natives.  It was a task at which they grumbled a good deal, for the load was heavy over rough ground, and whenever they stumbled or shook him he cursed at them.  So much did he curse, indeed, that at length one of the Zulus, a man with a rough temper, said that if it were not for the Inkoos, meaning myself, he would put his assegai through him, and let the vultures carry him.  After this Pereira grew much more polite.  When the bearers became exhausted we set him on the pack-ox, which two of us led, while the other two supported him on either side.  It was in this fashion that at last we arrived at the camp one evening.

Here the Vrouw Prinsloo was the first to greet us.  We found her standing in the game path which we were following, quite a quarter of a mile from the wagons, with her hands set upon her broad hips and her feet apart.  Her attitude was so defiant, and had about it such an air of premeditation, that I cannot help thinking she had got wind of our return, perhaps from having seen the smoke of our last fires, and was watching for us.  Also, her greeting was warm.

“Ah! here you come, Hernan Pereira,” she cried, “riding on an ox, while better men walk.  Well, now, I want a chat with you.  How came it that you went off in the night, taking the only horse and all the powder?”

“I went to get help for you,” he replied sulkily.

“Did you, did you, indeed!  Well, it seems that it was you who wanted the help, after all.  What do you mean to pay the Heer Allan Quatermain for saving your life, for I am sure he has done so?  You have got no goods left, although you were always boasting about your riches; they are now at the bottom of a river, so it will have to be in love and service.”

He muttered something about my wanting no payment for a Christian act.