No
answer was given; only the soldiers put their hands upon our shoulders
and thrust us along.
"This is a nice business," I whispered to Stephen.
"Oh! it doesn't matter," he answered. "There are lots more guns in the
huts. I am told that these Mazitus are dreadfully afraid of bullets.
So all we have to do is just to break out and shoot our way through
them, for of course they will run when we begin to fire."
I looked at him but did not answer, for to tell the truth I felt in no
mood for argument.
Presently we arrived at our quarters, where the soldiers left us, to
camp outside. Full of his warlike plan, Stephen went at once to the
hut in which the slavers' guns had been stored with our own spare
rifles and all the ammunition. I saw him emerge looking very blank
indeed and asked him what was the matter.
"Matter!" he answered in a voice that for once really was full of
dismay. "The matter is that those Mazitu have stolen all the guns and
all the ammunition. There's not enough powder left to make a blue
devil.
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