Unfortunately, however, a local
gunsmith to whom I sent it to have the lock cleaned, re-browned it and
scraped and varnished the stock, etc., without authority, making it
look almost new again. I preferred it in its worn and scratched
condition.
To return: the sound of the shot, like that of John Peel's horn,
aroused Hans from his sleep. He thrust his head between my legs and
saw Komba fall.
"Oh! beautiful, Baas, beautiful!" he said faintly. "I am sure that the
ghost of your reverend father cannot kill his enemies more nicely down
there among the Fires. Beautiful!" and the silly old fellow fell to
kissing my boots, or what remained of them, after which I gave him the
last of the brandy.
This quite brought him to himself again, especially when he was free
from that filthy skin and had washed his head and hands.
The effect of the death of Komba upon the Pongos was very strange. All
the other canoes clustered round that in which he lay. Then, after a
hurried consultation, they hauled down their sails and paddled back to
the wharf.
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