After marching about half an hour he stopped abruptly and said, with a heavy sigh,—“I hope we haven’t missed our way?”
“Hope not sir, but it looks like as if we had.”
“I’ve bin so took up thinkin’ o’ that accursed traffic in human bein’s that I’ve lost my reckonin’. Howsever, we can’t be far out, an’, with the sun to guide us, we’ll—”
He was stopped by a loud halloo in the woods, on the belt of the swamp.
It was repeated in a few seconds, and Antonio, who, with Jumbo, had followed his master, cried in an excited tone—
“Me knows dat sound!”
“Wot may it be, Tony?” asked Disco.
There was neither time nor need for an answer, for at that moment a ringing cry, something like a bad imitation of a British cheer, was heard, and a band of men sprang out of the woods and ran at full speed towards our Englishmen.
“Why, Zombo!” exclaimed Disco, wildly.
“Oliveira!” cried Harold.
“Masiko! Songolo!” shouted Antonio and Jumbo.
“An’ José, Nakoda, Chimbolo, Mabruki!—the whole bun’ of ’em,” cried Disco, as one after another these worthies emerged from the wood and rushed in a state of frantic excitement towards their friends—“Hooray!”
“Hooroo-hay!” replied the runners.
In another minute our adventurous party of travellers was re-united, and for some time nothing but wild excitement, congratulations, queries that got no replies, and replies that ran tilt at irrelevant queries, with confusion worse confounded by explosions of unbounded and irrepressible laughter not unmingled with tears, was the order of the hour.
“But wat! yoos ill?” cried Zombo suddenly, looking into Disco’s face with an anxious expression.
“Well, I ain’t ’xac’ly ill, nor I ain’t ’xac’ly well neither, but I’m hearty all the same, and werry glad to see your black face, Zombo.”
“Ho! hooroo-hay! so’s me for see you,” cried the excitable Zombo; “but come, not good for talkee in de knees to watter. Fall in boy, ho! sholler ’ums—queek mash!”
That Zombo had assumed command of his party was made evident by the pat way in which he trolled off the words of command formerly taught to him by Harold, as well as by the prompt obedience that was accorded to his orders. He led the party out of the swamp, and, on reaching a dry spot, halted, in order to make further inquiries and answer questions.
“How did you find us, Zombo?” asked Harold, throwing himself wearily on the ground.
“Yoos ill,” said Zombo, holding up a finger by way of rebuke.
“So I am, though not so ill as I look. But come, answer me. How came you to discover us? You could not have found us by mere chance in this wilderness?”
“Chanz; wat am chanz?” asked the Makololo.
There was some difficulty in getting Antonio to explain the word, from the circumstance of himself being ignorant of it, therefore Harold put the question in a more direct form.
“Oh! ve comes here look for yoo, ’cause peepils d’reck ’ums—show de way. Ve’s been veeks, monts, oh! days look for yoo. Travil far—g’rong road—turin bak—try agin—fin’ yoo now—hooroo-hay!”
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