with bulging eyes. His
first thought was that they were surprised to find him so bold, but the
next act on their part caused him to gasp with wonder.

With one accord the entire band cast weapons aside and fell face
downward, beating their heads against the rock, just as he had seen
Arabians and Nubians perform in saluting some mighty potentate. The
brown backs remained in that position for a full minute before he could
call his trembling companion to his side.

"What does it mean?" whispered she at last. "Are they dead?"

"They are really there, then? By George, I thought I was dreaming.
Tennys, they are actually doing us homage."

"Then they are harmless," she cried joyously.

"I believe I could go down and cut off their ears without hearing a
protest."

"But you won't, will you?"

"It would be barbarous, totally uncalled for, I'm sure. I can't
understand their warlike appearance, though. Those fellows look as if
they were out for blood."

"Perhaps they are at war with some other tribe and not with the white
people. My hus--Lord Huntingford says they fight among themselves
incessantly."

"That's it. It is a band of foragers, no doubt. But what are we going to
do about it?" Hugh was nonplussed. The brown backs and bobbing heads
still stretched before them in almost comical humbleness.

"It may be a trick."

"It stands us in hand to remain where we are until we know what they
intend to do next."

"I hope they'll get up and go away."

"I guess I'll yell down and ask them what they want."

"I wouldn't, Hugh," she entreated. "If we leave them alone, they may go
away presently." He looked at her and laughed, for he was growing less
uneasy with each passing moment.

"Hey, there!" he yelled. "How are you?"

Slowly the head-bobbing ceased and dark faces were lifted toward the
elevation. For the first time the newcomers saw the beautiful face of
Lady Tennyson. They struggled to their feet, the tall chief stepping
forward with outstretched arms. Then in some wild gibberish he began to
speak, half to the white witnesses, half to the sky and sun.

"What the dickens is he talking about?" murmured the mystified American.
"Perhaps he's asking us to surrender."

"He is either appealing to the sun or praying to the sky," said his
companion.

"I have it!" cried Hugh. "He thinks we are angels." Despite the gravity
of the moment she giggled delightedly.

"Then we may as well sit down and await developments," sh