"By Jove!" said Ferrier, when they had marched for an hour and covered perhaps two miles, "I begin to understand what your droving job was like. I should never have had the patience." "I’d give anything for a good sheep-dog. I must ask my father to bring one with him--or send one, if he doesn’t intend to come himself." It was on the verge of nightfall when, tired and hungry, they came to the outskirts of the farm. They heard the bleating of the animals that had been already penned, and the flock, weary as they were, moved a little faster to rejoin their kind. Coming to the gate of the boma, John was surprised to find it open, having given strict orders that it should always be closed immediately after the animals were brought in for the night. There was not a man to be seen. Having driven the sheep into their pens, they hurried on towards the farm buildings. "What a smell of wood smoke!" said Ferrier, sniffing. "Yes; I hope they haven’t set fire to anything. Ah! here’s Wasama." The Masai came running towards them, followed by his son, the Indians, Coja and Lulu, all in great haste. "The bad men, _bwana_!" cried Coja, and began to pour out a story so rapidly that John, familiar as he now was with Swahili, could make little of it, especially as Lulu and the Masai joined in with great excitement. John silenced them, and asked Said Mohammed to explain what had happened. His story, told in more direct and natural language than John had ever heard from him before, was as follows. About half-an-hour after John had started in pursuit of the raiders Bill had rushed in, dripping wet, and reported that a large party of armed men, having raided the village north of the river, were marching rapidly down with the evident intention of swimming across and making an attack on the farm. The Bengali, according to his own account, wished to close the gate and bar the doors of the bungalow, and defend it to the last; but John afterwards had reason to believe that this was Coja’s proposal, and he had found nobody to support him. Only a few minutes after Bill’s arrival the strangers were seen rushing into the farmstead. The mistris, the Masai, Lulu, and the few women of the village who had been working in the fields instantly fled and hid themselves, who knows where. Said Mohammed went into his own house, and there awaited the coming of the enemy, resolved to die for the sahib whose salt he had eaten. The men seized him and dragged him forth, demanding that he should tell them where the rifles and ammunition were kept.