El Hakim and I then advanced, and turned the corner. We could then dimly discern George amid the gloom. He came towards us saying that Jamah Mahomet was wounded, and was lying on the path a yard or so away. Hastening to the spot, we saw Jamah stretched upon the ground, moaning pitifully. He had a great spear driven right through him. A native had concealed himself in a pit dug on the side of the path and lain in wait, letting both the guides and the advance-guard go past him in the hope of bagging one of the Wasungu. In the darkness he mistook Jamah Mahomet’s tall form, clad in European clothes, for George, and as Jamah passed he thrust upwards with all his strength. Jamah instantly fell. George, who was only a yard behind, saw the thrust, and, raising his rifle, he shot the native through the stomach, but did not drop him. This was the shot which gave us the first alarm. El Hakim made a hasty examination of the stricken man, and pronounced the wound fatal. The broad spear-blade, over two feet in length, had entered the right side just below the ribs, and, passing through the body, emerged just under the left arm, protruding several inches. Jamah was semi-conscious, and apparently in great pain. Grouped round him, on the alert, were the four Somalis who formed the advance-guard. As El Hakim concluded his examination, Ismail Robli, Noor Adam, and others of the Somalis, came up. When they learnt what had happened to Jamah, such a wail of grief and dismay went up as I hope never to hear again. Ismail behaved like one demented. He wept and cried upon “Allah” in the most frenzied accents. As we were crowded together in the path over the dying Jamah, N’Dominuki’s nephew crept out of the bush, and, with shaking limbs and horror-stricken countenance, approached El Hakim, attempting to say something which his trembling lips refused to utter. The other guide had disappeared. El Hakim seized him, and was trying to understand what he was saying, when Ismail Robli caught sight of the palsied wretch. His face changed instantly from an appearance of pious supplication to one of demoniacal fury, and, crying “This man is a false guide; he has caused Jamah’s death,” placed his rifle, a ·577 express, against the other’s side, and, before I could raise a hand to interfere, pulled both triggers, literally blowing the poor wretch to pieces. It was a hideous and revolting exhibition of savage ferocity. Ismail did not even put the rifle to his shoulder—we were too crowded for that—he simply pushed the barrels past me and fired from his hip. The murdered man collapsed in a writhing, moaning heap on the ground. Ismail turned away and reloaded his rifle.