issionary business."

"Old Bowen? Was that at Saint Kirwin's, then?"

"Yes. Why, were you ever there?"

"No. By the way, what sort of a chap was old Bowen?"

"A regular old Tartar. I hated him like poison the last part of the
time I was there; but right at the end--at the time I lost my poor old
dad--he was awfully decent. He's a good chap at bottom, is Nick--a real
good chap."

"It's extraordinary how small the world is," said Oakley. "The old chap
happens to be an uncle of mine, on the maternal side, and I own I like
him better in that capacity than I should as a headmaster; but, as you
say, he's a real good chap at bottom."

"What a rum thing!" declared Haviland. "Yes, as you say, the world is
small indeed. Yet when I was in Zululand, I tried to find out about
Cetchy--we called him that at Saint Kirwin's, after Cetywayo of course,
his real name was Mpukuza--but could simply hear nothing whatever about
him. The world wasn't small in that instance. Hallo! There's
something up over yonder."

There was. Excitement had risen and spread among the bearers, causing
them to spring up and peer cautiously forth, notwithstanding that the
heat was sweltering, and the hour was that of rest. The sentry on that
side had passed the word that people were approaching the camp.

The ground there was thinly timbered, and it was seen in a moment that
these new arrivals, whoever they might be, were fugitives. They bore
the unmistakable look of men and women--for there were several women
among them--flying for their lives. They were not even aware of the
proximity of the camp until right into it; and then, at the sight of
armed men confronting them, they fell on their faces with a howl for
mercy.

"Who are these, Somala?" said Haviland, not without a touch of anxiety;
foreseeing the possibility of the flight of these people drawing down
some formidable enemy upon his expedition.

And, indeed, their tidings confirmed his worst misgivings. They were
natives of a small tribe, themselves of indifferent physique. Their
village had been attacked the evening before, and burned, but they,
being outside, had escaped. They had heard rumours of Mushad being out
with a strong force. Without doubt, he it was who had assailed them.

The name of the dreaded slave-hunting chief caused Haviland, and indeed
others who heard it, to look grave.

"Well," he said, "give these people food, such as we have, and let them
go on thei