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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
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