Five seconds later we were in the yard and locking and barring the door behind us. Then, snatching the saddle-bags of ammunition from the horses, we left them standing there, and I ran for the back entrance of the house, bidding Hans rouse the natives, who slept in the outbuildings, and follow with them. If any one of them showed signs of treachery he was to shoot him at once. I remember that as I went I tore the spear out of the stallion’s flank and brought it away with me. Now I was hammering upon the back door of the house, which I could not open. After a pause that seemed long, a window was thrown wide, and a voice—it was Marie’s—asked in frightened tones who was there. “I, Allan Quatermain,” I answered. “Open at once, Marie. You are in great danger; the Red Kaffirs are going to attack the house.” She flew to the door in her nightdress, and at length I was in the place. “Thank God! you are still safe,” I gasped. “Put on your clothes while I call Leblanc. No, stay, do you call him; I must wait here for Hans and your slaves.” Away she sped without a word, and presently Hans arrived, bringing with him eight frightened men, who as yet scarcely knew whether they slept or woke. “Is that all?” I asked. “Then bar the door and follow me to the _sitkammer_, where the baas keeps his guns.” Just as we reached it, Leblanc entered, clad in his shirt and trousers, and was followed presently by Marie with a candle. “What is it?” he asked. I took the candle from Marie’s hand, and set it on the floor close to the wall, lest it should prove a target for an assegai or a bullet. Even in those days the Kaffirs had a few firearms, for the most part captured or stolen from white men. Then in a few words I told them all. “And when did you learn all this?” asked Leblanc in French. “At the Mission Station a little more than half an hour ago,” I answered, looking at my watch. “At the station a little more than half an hour ago! _Peste!_ it is not possible. You dream or are drunken,” he cried excitedly. “All right, monsieur, we will argue afterwards,” I answered. “Meanwhile the Kaffirs are here, for I rode through them; and if you want to save your life, stop talking and act. Marie, how many guns are there?” “Four,” she answered, “of my father’s; two _roers_ and two smaller ones.” “And how many of these men”—and I pointed to the Kaffirs—“can shoot?” “Three well and one badly, Allan.” “Good,” I said. “Let them load the guns with _loopers_”—that is, slugs, not bullets—“and let the rest stand in the passage with their assegais, in case the Quabies should try to force the back door.”