At last the day came when he declared that he was ready to start for Abercorn. He had talked over his plans with Mwesa, handicapped, however, by the fact that neither he nor the negro knew the route or the character of the country to be travelled. The extent of his information was that Abercorn lay somewhere to the south-west, and from a hazy recollection of a map glanced at during his voyage from England he guessed that the town was forty or fifty miles away. Under the most favourable conditions he could hardly hope to cover that distance in less than three days: if the country was specially difficult the journey might last even weeks. It was unfortunate that Reinecke’s plantation lay across the direct route. In order to avoid it, he must make a considerable detour, which would add he knew not how many miles to the journey. And then he would have to cross the main German road connecting Bismarckburg on Lake Tanganyika with Neu Langenburg about twenty miles north-west of Lake Nyassa. This, the only practicable highway, might be crowded with transports and would certainly be patrolled; but he hoped by careful scouting to discover some part of its great length where, either by day or by night, he could safely make the crossing. Deciding to attempt a start at dawn on the following day, the two made their simple preparations. Mwesa stuffed into his wallet all the edible fruits he could gather, and after cooking the last meal, took his pot to the lake, and washed it thoroughly. He filled with water a couple of gourds, one of which he fitted with a grass thong for slinging over Tom’s shoulder. Tom cleaned his rifle, bathed in the lake, keeping a wary eye open for crocodiles, and washed out his only shirt, with a sigh for the contents of his travelling case, now, he supposed, appropriated by Reinecke. They were about to turn in early that evening when Mwesa jumped up suddenly and darted out of the low entrance to the hut. Tom, surprised, followed him, and found him standing in an attitude of expectancy just outside. A few moments later he heard a human cry, faint and muffled, as if coming from a great distance. Mwesa was greatly excited. "Two time," he cried, turning his head in the direction from which the sound had come. "You heard it before?" Tom asked. Mwesa held up his hand enjoining silence. They waited. A minute or two passed; the cry was repeated, and Mwesa, still more excited, said: "Mhehe call; man belong me." "One of your own people! It must be some one from the plantation. Answer him ... No, wait. Reinecke may be setting a trap for us. Perhaps he has visited the pit and discovered my escape, and guesses I may be somewhere in the forest." Again they heard the cry. "Who knows you are with me, besides Mirambo?" asked Tom. "Mushota, no more, sah. Mirambo say no tell: berry wise man, Mirambo."