The two men, making slow progress, and guided by the flares which were shown at intervals, drew gradually nearer to the camp. Suddenly a flash showed them a clump of bush between them and the boma, which John guessed to be now about a hundred and fifty yards distant. They lay flat in the grass until the flare had died down, then crept to the edge of the bush, John hoping to find a speedy opportunity of making a dash for the camp. Just as they reached the clump Coja stumbled over his rifle, making a slight rustle among the grass. Instantly there was a low call, apparently from the other side of the bush. A man was on the watch there. "Speak to him," John whispered to Coja, who whispered back that he did not know what tribe the man belonged to, and to speak might be dangerous. John felt that the critical moment was come. He dared not retreat: that would arouse suspicion: nor durst he stay inertly where he was, for the man might come towards them. Yet to attempt to dash past him across the open would be to risk a shot or a spear at such close range that the chance of escape would be small, for though the night was dark, there was enough glimmer from the stars to enable an alert enemy to take aim, besides a reflected glow from the camp fires. He made up his mind instantly to venture on a bold course. Whispering to Coja to follow him closely, he wriggled as quietly as possible through the bush, and came upon a man sitting on his haunches with a rifle or musket across his knees, watching the boma. He half turned his head as he heard the slight rustle of John’s approach, but did not rise. Dropping his rifle, John gathered himself together and sprang full upon the man, throwing his left arm round his neck in a strangling embrace. Before the captive could utter more than a gurgle, John’s handkerchief was stuffed into his mouth. Then in a swift whisper, while he still held the savage firmly, John ordered Coja to take the man’s weapon and creep towards the boma. Giving him a minute’s start, John suddenly flung the man from him, seized his own rifle, and sprinted across the open, overtaking Coja just as he reached the fence. At the same moment a shout was raised from the rear: the sentry had apparently been too much dazed to give the alarm before. Calling in Swahili and English to warn the garrison of their presence, John and Coja stood at the boma, looking vainly for a place to enter. There was an answering shout of "This way!" They ran towards it, and after stumbling for a few seconds, came to a narrow gap. John felt his hand grasped and was lugged into the enclosure: Coja followed him; and they were barely inside when a spattering volley of bullets tore through the thorn defences. "You did that jolly well," said a pleasant voice, and John was shaking hands with a young man of about his own height. "Come and have a talk in my blockhouse." CHAPTER THE NINTH--A Rearguard Fight