"Frank," said Tom, as they stood over the chief's stiffening corpse, "I'm very glad we never thought of _giving_ the poor fellows that stuff! Still--well, it is a lucky thing for us that you didn't pitch the bottle away!" CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A STARLIGHT TRAMP. Although by a concatenation of unforeseen circumstances--that is to say, the accidental possession of a bottle of chloroform, and the Caffres' extraordinary craze for European medicaments--Tom Flinders and Frank Jamieson were freed from their savage guards, they felt by no means certain that they would even now be able to make good their escape. The untimely fate of Waishlahla and his men had, so to speak, left our friends "prisoners at large;" and this was a step--a long step!--in the right direction; but it was no use disguising the fact that there were still almost insurmountable difficulties to overcome, and unknown perils to encounter, before they could consider themselves fairly out of the wood. They were alone in a hostile country, with only a scanty supply of food and almost without means of procuring more when that was gone (for, situated as they were, it would be running a great risk to use Waishlahla's gun, save in self-defence), whilst between them and Albany--the nearest British territory--lay the Amatola Mountains, which they knew to be swarming with their bloodthirsty foes. Moreover, Frank Jamieson had grave misgivings as to whether there might not be a certain amount of truth in what their old jailer had told him--namely, that Colonel Somerset had suffered a serious reverse, and that Albany was now overrun by the victorious Caffres; and, lest this should be the case, he thought it better for them to keep clear of that district altogether, and endeavour to reach--by a long and circuitous route--one of the more distant provinces, where they might reasonably hope the war had not yet spread. And so, after much anxious deliberation, he proposed to his companion that they should shape their course for the Storm Bergen (which lay almost due north), and having crossed that range, should travel in a westerly direction until they reached the Tarka River, and then proceed along its banks to Cradock--a small town in Somerset province, 70 miles north-west of Graham's Town. "It will be a serious undertaking," said Frank, "and we shall have to undergo any amount of privation and hardship; but I know you will agree with me that anything is better than running the risk of falling again into the hands of the Caffres; for, depend upon it, we should not get off so easily a second time! Of course," he added, "we must travel by night, and conceal ourselves during the day--at any rate until we're clear of the enemy's country." "But how are you going to find your way?" was Tom's doubtful query.