After they had all drunk copiously of water, at a little distance from Clifford, they squatted on the ground with their knees drawn up under their chins, and told their hurried, broken story. In their own language they arrived crudely and directly at essential facts. [Sidenote: GERMAN FREEBOOTERS] “Germans, master, many Germans,” said their spokesman, showing, for the first time, a spark of excitement. “This day, when sun there”—pointing to the mid-horizon south-east—“our cattle quiet—we cooking food; at that time he come—one German, two German, three German, on horse—after him come plenty Askaris [native soldiers] driving many cattle—cattle footsore, for long way he made go too fast. One German ride among us—he got small gun, and promise shoot to kill if we try to run away—Askaris come soon and bind our hands with cord; then one man stay to watch us. In little while Germans make fire and eat—plenty talk—plenty bottle [beer]—German pleased. By and by German sleep. By and by Askaris, who watch us, he sleep too—he plenty tired. Headman, he find stone beneath him and work cord binding hands against it. Sometime, cord cut—soon, then, we all free. We crawl in grass, far—afterwards we wait and watch. When the sun there” (pointing to sun’s position about three hours later) “German wake—find no boy. Plenty noise—Askari who watch us, he get plenty beating—afterwards they tie him prisoner—German afraid we run far and fast and go tell British. Soon German go—driving all cattle—our cattle too. But other cattle tired, master, he no go quick now; and German near his own country. He go Shombole and Lake Natron, one day’s trail, after that, soon he reach big German camp.” Clifford was lost in thought—the Masai had ceased talking, and the youngest of them, a mere lad, had fallen asleep, hunched up awkwardly, on the bare, hard ground, weary beyond further caring. Saidi, who had listened attentively to all, moved off and busied himself over a fire and his master’s evening meal. The customary evening breeze had not arisen, it was close and oppressively hot, and a subdued spirit lay over the land. Clifford restlessly stirred the gravel beneath his feet, lost in his conjectures. He was wide awake and his keen, roving eyes betokened an intelligent mind stirred to unusual degree. The enterprise had taken on a serious aspect. Clifford had anticipated, if he were fortunate, he would run up against a small raiding party of one or two whites and a native soldier or two. His original difficulty, he thought, would be to track them, and overtake them. He found himself, instead, pitted against four whites and some dozen armed Askaris, whom he could head off, on their southward trail, in a single night’s march. The odds were great—too great—but he was too far from his base to call for reinforcements; he must go on as he was, or return to camp mortified at having had the enemy within reach while admitting his inability to strike.