ould be treated with every kindness. They answered through the
two Mazitu that they had nowhere to go, and did not wish to fall again
into the power of Hassan, of whom they spoke literally with shudders,
pointing the while to their scarred backs and the marks of the slave
yokes upon their necks. Their protestations seemed and indeed proved to
be sincere, but of this of course we could not then be sure.

As I was engaged at sunrise in making certain that the donkeys had not
strayed and generally that all was well, I noted through the thin mist
a little white object, which at first I thought was a small bird sitting
on an upright stick about fifty yards from the camp. I went towards it
and discovered that it was not a bird but a folded piece of paper stuck
in a cleft wand, such as natives often use for the carrying of letters.
I opened the paper and with great difficulty, for the writing within was
bad Portuguese, read as follows:

"English Devils.--Do not think that you have escaped me. I know
where you are going, and if you live through the journey it will
be but to die at my hands after all. I tell you that I have at my
command three hundred brave men armed with guns who worship Allah
and thirst for the blood of Christian dogs. With these I will
follow, and if you fall into my hands alive, you shall learn what
it is to die by fire or pinned over ant-heaps in the sun. Let us
see if your English man-of-war will help you then, or your false
God either. Misfortune go with you, white-skinned robbers of
honest men!"

This pleasing epistle was unsigned, but its anonymous author was not
hard to identify. I showed it to Stephen who was so infuriated at its
contents that he managed to dab some ammonia with which he was treating
his mosquito bites into his eye. When at length the pain was soothed by
bathing, we concocted this answer:

"Murderer, known among men as Hassan-ben-Mohammed--Truly we sinned
in not hanging you when you were in our power. Oh! wolf who grows
fat upon the blood of the innocent, this is a fault that we shall
not commit again. Your death is near to you and we believe at our
hands. Come with all your villains whenever you will. The more
there are of them the better we shall be pleased, who would rather
rid the world of many fiends than of a few,

"Till we meet again, Allan Quatermain,
Stephen