A low murmur burst from the men, and Bomero uttered a frightful howl, and plunged away madly round a hill that rose gently from the creek, and right on into the forest. All the men ran after him, most of them howling and shrieking; and my horse, which hung by the bridle to a branch close by, started, and snorted, and broke his rein, and rushed away before them at full gallop. The catastrophe was so sudden that our breath seemed to be taken away, and I don’t know how many minutes passed before either spoke. I know that every man of the blacks had got clean out of sight, and my horse, too, and there was as dead a silence as before the world was made, and still there was not a word from either of us. Then Jack said in a hollow voice: “Why wasn’t the horse hobbled, Bob?” “Why, Jack, I had just taken the hobbles off, and made him ready for the road.” “Never mind, old fellow, I hardly know what I said; Gioro will come back.” “Yes,” I said, “Gioro will come back.” And then, as if our confidence in Gioro’s fidelity cleared the air, we sat down and lit our pipes. I don’t know how much time passed, it seemed to be hours, but it couldn’t have been near an hour, and Jack and I never exchanged a word. Then, sure enough, we saw Gioro coming, and he was leading my horse. I saw him first, and I jumped up and shouted for joy. Then Jack jumped up, but the shout died on his lips, and he said only, “There is something the matter.” And so there was. Both Gioro and the horse were wounded, and the wounds were deadly, for the spears that inflicted them were poisoned. The horse died first. I took Gioro’s head on my lap, and gave him a few drops of water. He told me that he had caught the horse by the bridle in passing, and that then he stopped and returned. He had not forgotten us, he said, not for a moment, nor would he have started at all if the horse had not started. The horse had stopped several times, and when he had come up with him had gone on again. But at last he had secured him and was returning. But several spears were flung at him, and many missed him, but the big men who had watched and dogged him took better aim, and struck both horse and man. At first he thought nothing of it, but presently he knew that the spears were poisoned, and now he must die. “Take care,” said the poor fellow, almost with his last breath, “keep away, kill you too, like Gioro; back, back to the big long wire.” He died quite easily, and I felt as he lay in my arms that it would be the best thing that could happen us if the poisoned arrows of the blacks had made an end of us as well as of him. The poor fellow’s faithfulness would have helped us to face death without flinching.