"I see," Sam answered; "but him not safe to wait. You believe me.
I know these tam niggers. They take two days get drunk, then get
devils, four - raving mad. They drunk now. Kill any one to-morrow
- perhaps you. Kill you certain to-morrow night. You listen now!"

Trent stood up in the shadow of the overhanging roof. Every now
and then came a wild, shrill cry from the lower end of the village.
Some one was beating a frightful, cracked drum which they had got
from a trader. The tumult was certainly increasing. Trent swore
softly, and then looked irresolutely over his shoulder to where
Monty was sleeping.

"If the worst comes we shall never get away quickly," he muttered.
"That old carcase can scarcely drag himself along."

Sam looked at him with cunning eyes.

"He not fit only die," he said softly. "He very old, very sick man,
you leave him here! I see to him."

Trent turned away in sick disgust.

"We'll be off to-morrow, Sam," he said shortly. "I say! I'm
beastly hungry. What's in that pot?"

Sam spread out the palms of his hands.

"He all right, I see him cooked," he declared. "He two rabbits and
one monkey."