An hour later a singular procession marched southward through the forest. At the head went a number of Msetu’s scouts, with an advanced guard of strapping Rhodesian planters, young and middle-aged. Behind these, a detachment of Rhodesian native police, their broad black faces shining. Then, a happy throng of women and children, each bearing a bundle. These were followed by a number of white men and black, all wearing bandages about an arm or a leg or the head. Then, twenty or more couples of native soldiers with the Red Cross upon their sleeves, carrying field ambulances on which lay still, bandaged figures, white and black. Next, four Germans, among whom the stiff bulky form of Major von Rudenheim was conspicuous, and thirty odd askaris--prisoners guarded by Rhodesian police. Then Major Burnaby, with Tom Willoughby, Mwesa in close attendance behind. Then a large body of native porters, stepping lightly under the heavy burdens on their heads. Following these marched the whole body of the Wahehe fighting men, led by Mirambo; six of them drew a mountain gun; and finally, at an interval, the rearguard of British planters, volunteers in the service of the Empire. There is no need to relate the details of their uneventful journey. Next day, in a pelting rainstorm, they crossed the Neu Langenburg road, where their numbers were increased by two small detachments of Rhodesian police under British officers, whose watch upon the road had not been molested. Late on the third day the procession, weary, drenched, but at the top of high spirits, filed up the hill into the little town of Abercorn. It is perhaps worth while, however, to record two conversations. When the arrangements for the evacuation of the nullah had been made, Major Burnaby had leisure for a little talk with Tom Willoughby, over a bottle of excellent hock from the case Tom had captured on the Neu Langenburg road. "Oh, that’s all right," said the major, in response to Tom’s warm expression of thanks. "You owe it to my old father-in-law, you know--Mr. Barkworth." "Indeed!" "Yes: he took a fancy to you on the boat. Dear old man! His heart’s as young as it was when I first met him in Uganda twenty years ago--when I was about your age. He was mightily perturbed about you when we got word that the mad dog had broken loose. Wrote off at once to Reinecke, whom he knew long ago, asking him to pass you across the border with a safe-conduct, and became quite ill when Reinecke replied that you had been accidentally killed. He gave a very circumstantial account of your accident, by the way." "He was a good liar," said Tom. "Was?"