The two tents we had brought with us to the lake were pitched not far
away and looked quite pretty and peaceful there in the sunlight.
Hans, who was watching me out of the corner of his eye, ran to me with
a large pannikin of hot coffee which Sammy had made ready against my
awakening; for they knew that my sleep was, or had become of a natural
order. I drank it to the last drop, and in all my life never did I
enjoy anything more. Then while I began upon some pieces of the
toasted meat, I asked him what had happened.
"Not much, Baas," he answered, "except that we are alive, who should
be dead. The Maam and the Missie are still asleep in that tent, or at
least the Maam is, for the Missie is helping Dogeetah, her father, to
nurse Baas Stephen, who has an ugly wound. The Pongos have gone and I
think will not return, for they have had enough of the white man's
guns. The Mazitu have buried those of their dead whom they could
recover, and have sent their wounded, of whom there were only six,
back to Beza Town on litters.
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