Within a few minutes he was dead.

But those high names with which he christened Hans with his dying breath, clung to the old Hottentot for all his days.

Indeed from that day forward no native would ever have ventured to call him by any other.

Among them, far and wide, they became his titles of honour.
The roar of the flames grew less and the tumult within their fiery circle died away.

For now the Mazitu were returning from the last fight in the market-place, if fight it could be called, bearing in their arms great bundles of the guns which they had collected from the dead Arabs, most of whom had thrown down their weapons in a last wild effort to escape.