has directed a marauding force
thither. Evidently they have been defeated by the guardians of Mo, and
the remnant of the force--a strong one, too--are retreating, flying for
their lives."

"How do you know there has been fighting?" I enquired.

"Because I can just detect near the banner two wounded men are being
carried."

"Then we must fight and wipe them out," I said.

"Easier said than done," he answered. "But it means life or death to us."

On they came in single file, nearer every moment, and soon I also could
see the dreaded banner of the Mohammedan sheikh Samory. Near the
flag-bearer were several wounded men being carried in litters, while the
white-robed soldiers carried long rifles and in their sashes were
pistols, and those keen carved knives called _jambiyahs_. At first our
natives, believing that they were friendlies, went forward
enthusiastically, determined to drive them back with banter, there not
being room to pass, but very soon Omar ordered another halt, and turning
towards us, cried in a loud voice in his native tongue:

"Behold, O men of the Dagomba! Yonder are the fighting men of Samory, who
times without number have raided your country, killed your fathers and
sons, and sold your wives and sisters into slavery in Ashanti. They have
endeavoured to enter Mo by the Way of the Thousand Steps, but being
defeated by the guardians of our border are flying towards their own
land. We too must fight them, or we must perish."

The air was immediately filled with fierce howls and yells. The
announcement that these men were the hated slave-raiders of Samory caused
an instant rush to arms. Loud cries of revenge sounded on every side,
spears were flourished, knives gripped in fierce determination, and those
who had muskets made certain that their weapons were loaded. The air was
rent by shrill war shouts, and the great drum with its hideous
decorations was thumped loudly by two perspiring negroes who grinned
hideously as they watched the steadily marching force approaching.

"Courage, men of the Dagomba," sounded Kona's voice above the din. "Sweep
these vermin from our path. Let not a single man escape; but let them all
be swallowed by the Sand-God."

"We will eat them up," cried half-a-dozen voices in response. "Our spears
shall seek their vitals."

"Guard against their onward rush," cried Omar. "They will seek to throw
us off the path by a dash forward. Thwart them, and victory is ours."

Ere these