[Illustration: MWESA FLUNG HIMSELF ON THE ARAB.] So swiftly, so silently had things been done that no sound could have reached the ears of any one who had chanced to be within a hundred paces. Tom bent down over the German. He was unconscious. Strange fate, that had made him for the second time the captive of the man he had wronged! "Watch him," said Tom to Mwesa. "Call me if he revives before I come back." He went down the cleft until he reached the rock on which the men had lain. Climbing it, he looked over upon the huts fifty or sixty feet below, the lake near by, and a considerable stretch of the nullah. There were signs of excitement among the people, who were gathered in knots, talking and gesticulating. The German prisoners, standing in front of their hut in the middle of the island, evidently suspected that something had happened, some emergency had arisen, for they were shouting, beckoning to the men nearest the margin of the lake. "I had better reveal myself at once," thought Tom. He stood up on the rock, put his whistle to his lips, and blew the signal for "Fall in." The voices, the movements, of the people ceased as by magic. They looked around in amazement, facing down the nullah, from which direction numbers of the fighting-men came running. These asked eagerly where the m’sungu was: they had heard his whistle; he must be among them again. But no one had seen him. Again the whistle sounded. Some of the men glanced upward, and saw Tom standing on the rock. For one moment they were transfixed with surprise; then a great shout broke from their lips; the women and children flocked around them, leaping and screaming with excitement and joy; and Tom wondered what effect the hubbub would have on the enemy waiting in the ravine. Signalling that he would soon be with them, he returned to the spot where he had left Reinecke and Mwesa. The German gave signs of returning consciousness. In a minute or two he opened his eyes and stared dully up into Tom’s face. Recollection came to him gradually; he tried to rise, his hand again seeking his revolver. The holster was empty; Mwesa had taken that weapon, and also his sword. "You are my prisoner," said Tom. "We will now go down to my camp." Reinecke cursed him. "You strike a one-armed, helpless man," he said. "You treacherous hound!" Tom was taken aback by this strange accusation. He had had so little experience of the German soldier that he did not understand that curious attitude of mind which views everything a German does as right and proper, but the same thing done by others as infamous and base. The charge of treachery from the man who had trapped him, left him to die, and only a few hours before this moment had fired at him when he too had been taken unawares, struck him dumb. Then, curtly, impatiently, he said: