"Are you coming with us, Sergeant?" asked Orme.

"Not unless ordered so to do, Captain. I like a bit of hunting well
enough, but, with all three officers away, some one should mount guard
over the stores and transport, so I think the dog Pharaoh and I had best
stop behind."

"Perhaps you are right, Sergeant, only tie Pharaoh up, or he'll follow
me. Well, what do you want to say? Out with it."

"Only this, Captain. Although I have served in three campaigns among
these here Arabians (to Quick, all African natives north of the Equator
were Arabians, and all south of it, niggers), I can't say I talk their
lingo well. Still, I made out that the fellow they call Cat don't like
this trip of yours, and, begging your pardon, Captain, whatever else Cat
may be, he ain't no fool."

"Can't help it, Sergeant. For one thing, it would never do to give in to
his fancies now."

"That's true, Captain. When once it's hoist, right or wrong, keep the
flag flying, and no doubt you'll come back safe and sound if you're
meant to."

Then, having relieved his mind, the Sergeant ran his eye over our
equipment to see that nothing had been forgotten, rapidly assured
himself that the rifles were in working order, reported all well,
and returned to his dishes. Little did any of us guess under what
circumstances we should next meet with him.