For the moment he was so weary and excited that he was unable to utter a word, and stood there gasping for breath in front of the man, who lay on the bed, and who likewise remained silent, gazing at him with such utter amazement that he was all but dazed.

At last the man cried out:

“Nasibu! Are you there?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the young negro.

“Do you see any one and is any one standing in front of me?”

But before the boy could answer Stasch regained his voice:

“Sir,” he said, “my name is Stanislaus Tarkowski. I was captured by the Dervishes, and have escaped with little Miss Rawlison, and we are hiding in the jungle. But Nell is very ill, and I pray you to help us.”

The stranger blinked at him, then passed his hand across his forehead and said to himself:

“I not only see him, but hear him—it can not be imagination—What? Help? I need help myself. I’m wounded!”

But suddenly he shook himself, as if awakening from a dream or a trance, looked round, and regaining his presence of mind, said with a gleam of joy in his eyes:

“A white boy! I look upon a white being once more! Welcome, whoever you are. You said some one was ill. What do you want of me?”

Stasch repeated that this sick person was Nell, the daughter of Mr. Rawlison, one of the directors of the Suez Canal; that she had already had two attacks of fever, and unless he were able to procure some quinine to prevent a third attack she must die.

“Two attacks—that’s bad!” answered the stranger. “But I can give you as much quinine as you want. I have several jars full of it, which I shall never need.”

At these words he told Nasibu to hand him a large tin box, which evidently contained a small medicine chest, and he took out of it two rather large jars filled with a white powder, and handed them to Stasch.

“That is half of what I have left. It will last a year!”

At first Stasch felt inclined to cry aloud for joy, but he controlled himself and began to thank his new friend as enthusiastically as though his own life were at stake.

The stranger nodded his head several times and said:

“Enough, enough. My name is Linde and I am a Swiss, from ZÜrich. Two days ago I met with an accident. A wild beast wounded me very severely.”

Then he turned toward the black boy.

“Nasibu, fill my pipe.”

Inclining toward Stasch, he continued:

“At night I always have more fever than in the daytime, and attacks of dizziness as well. But the pipe brightens me up and freshens my thoughts. You just said that you had escaped from the Dervishes, who held you captive, and that you had hidden in the jungle. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir; that is what I said.”

“And what do you intend to do?”

“To flee to Abyssinia.”

“You will fall into the hands of the Mahdists, for whole troupes of them are hanging around the frontier.”

“But what else can we do?”

“Ah, only a month ago I could have been of assistance to you. But now I find myself at the mercy of God and this black boy.”

Stasch looked at him in surprise.

“And this camp?”

“This is a camp of death.”

“And these negroes?”

“These negroes are asleep, and they will never awaken again.”

“I don’t understand——”

“They are stricken with the sleeping-sickness.^[24] They are from the shores of the great lakes, where this terrible sickness is always very prevalent, and every one of them who has not died of the smallpox has been stricken down with it. I have only one boy left.”

It just occurred to Stasch that when he was sliding down the slope not one of those negroes had moved, nor even budged, and that during the whole conversation they were still sleeping, some with their heads propped up against the rocks and others with their heads hanging down on their chests.

“They are asleep and will never awaken?” he inquired, as if he could scarcely believe his ears.

Linde responded:

“Oh, this Africa is a house of death.”

But the remaining words were interrupted by the tramping of the horses, which, frightened by something in the jungle, hopped along, their feet being hobbled, to the edge of the cliff, so as to be nearer the people and the firelight.

“That’s nothing; it is only the horses,” said the Swiss quietly. “I captured them from the Mahdists, whom I conquered a few weeks ago. There were at least thirty men of them. But they were armed for the most part with spears, while my men had Remington rifles, which are now standing against the wall useless. If you need weapons or shot, help yourself. Take a horse, too. On horseback you can return more quickly to your patient. How old is she?”

“Eight years,” answered Stasch.

“Then she is still a child. Nasibu will give you tea, rice, coffee, and wine for her. Take your choice of our provisions and as much as you want, and come again to-morrow to get some more.

“I will certainly come back, to thank you from the bottom of my heart, and to do all I can to help you.”

Whereupon Linde said:

“It is so pleasant to see a European face at least once more before I die. If you come earlier than you did to-day I shall be more likely to be myself. Now the fever is coming on again, for I see you double. Are there two people standing by me? No! I know that you are alone and that this is only the fever. Oh, Africa!”

And he closed his eyes.

A quarter of an hour later Stasch left this strange camp of sleep and death and started on his return journey on horseback. It was still dark night, but he was oblivious of the dangers which lurked in the tall grass. He kept close to the stream, supposing that it led nearer the end of this narrow pass. The return journey was a great deal easier, because he could hear the rushing of the waterfall in the distance. Besides, the clouds in the western sky had dispersed, and the constellations shone forth brightly near the moon. The boy put spurs, which were on the broad Arabian stirrups, to the horse, and galloped over sticks and stones, as he thought to himself: “What harm can lions and panthers do to me? I have quinine for my little girl.” And from time to time he felt for the jars of quinine to make sure he really had them and that it was not all a dream. The most varied thoughts and scenes floated through his brain. He saw the wounded Swiss, to whom he felt inexpressibly grateful, and who had now aroused his sympathy, for during the first moment or so of his intercourse with him he had taken him for an idiot; he saw the little Nasibu, with his round head shaped like a ball, the rows of sleeping men, the barrels of the Remington guns propped up against the rock, and lighted up by the fire. Besides, he was also all but certain that the fight which Linde had told him about had been with Smain’s division—and he felt a peculiar sensation as he thought perhaps Smain also had fallen.

These dreams mingled with his ever-present thoughts of Nell. He imagined how surprised she would be the next morning on seeing a whole jar full of quinine, and how she would think him a prodigy. “Ah,” he said to himself, “if I had lost courage and had not gone to find out where this smoke came from, I would never have forgiven myself.”

After a short hour had elapsed the sound of the waterfall became quite distinct, and on hearing the croaking of the frogs, he knew that he must be near the silicious ground on which he had killed the water-birds the previous day. By the light of the moon he could even distinguish the distant trees. Now he had to be especially on his guard, for this swampy land served as a watering-place, to which all the animals in the vicinity were obliged to resort, because in other places the banks of the stream were exceedingly steep.

It was now far into the night, and apparently the beasts of prey had taken refuge in the clefts of the rocks after their nocturnal hunt for prey. The horse neighed a little on scenting the fresh trail of lions or panthers, but Stasch passed safely on, and soon saw on the high projection the large black silhouette of “Cracow.” For the first time since he had been in the interior of Africa he felt as if he had reached home. He had expected to find them all still asleep, but he never thought of Saba, who now began to bark loud enough to wake the dead.

The next moment Kali stood in front of the tree and cried:

“Bwana Kubwa on horseback!”

The tone of his voice expressed more joy than astonishment, for his faith in Stasch’s powers was so great that had the latter created a horse out of nothing, the black boy would not have been very much surprised. But as the negro always shows his happiness by laughing, he began to slap his sides and laugh inordinately.

“Tie up this horse,” said Stasch; “take the provisions off his back, make a fire, and boil some water.”

Then he went inside the tree. Nell was also awake and had been calling for him. On drawing aside the canvas, Stasch saw by the light of the little lamp her pale face and her little thin hands lying on the shawl, which served as a covering.

“Little one, how are you?” he asked quite gayly.

“Well! and I slept soundly until Saba woke me up. But why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because I have been away.”

“Where?”

“To the druggist’s.”

“To the druggist’s?”

“Yes. To get some quinine.”

We must confess that the child had not enjoyed the quinine powders which she had previously taken, but as she considered them a panacea for all the ills flesh is heir to, she sighed and said:

“I know you have no more quinine.”

Stasch lifted one of the jars to the light and said with pride and joy:

“What do you call this, then?”

Nell would not believe her eyes, so he continued hastily, brimming over with pleasure:

“Now you are going to get well again! I will lose no time in wrapping a good dose up in the skin of a fresh fig, and you must swallow it, and what you will drink later remains to be seen. Why do you stare at me like an idiot? Yes, I have a second jar, too. I received both of them from a white man, whose camp is about four miles from here. It is from him that I have come. His name is Linde, and he is wounded, but he gave me many nice things to bring back. I returned on horseback, although I went on foot. Do you think it is pleasant to go through the jungle by night? Brr! I would not go a second time unless it were a matter of getting quinine.”

With these words he left the astonished girl, went to the men’s quarters, and selecting the smallest fig from the provisions, hollowed it out and poured quinine into it, but he was very careful that the dose was larger than the powders he had taken in Khartum. Then he left the tree, poured the tea into a pot of boiling water, and returned to Nell with the medicine.

All this time Nell was very curious to find out what kind of person this white man was, how Stasch had found him, and if he were going to join them, and whether they would all continue their journey together. Now that Stasch had obtained the quinine, she had not the least doubt but that she would recover. And so Stasch had gone through the jungle in the night, and without telling a soul. Notwithstanding Nell’s admiration for him, she had until now unconsciously taken everything he did for her as a matter of course; for was it not natural that an older boy should protect a younger girl? Now she began to think that had it not been for his care and protection she would have given out long before; that he had done a great deal for her, gratified all her wishes, and protected her as no other boy of his age could have done, or would do—and so her little heart was filled with gratitude.

And when Stasch reappeared and bent over her with the medicine, she wound her little thin arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

“Stasch, you are very good to me!”

And he replied:

“I! To whom else ought I be good? That’s a great idea! Take this medicine.”

Nevertheless, he was greatly pleased, his eyes shone with satisfaction, and turning toward the opening in the tree, he cried out in a voice full of joy and pride:

“Mea! Now bring Bibi the tea!”