CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
PARCERE SUBJECTIS?
'When the devil's at bay Ye may kneel down and pray For a year and a day To be spared the distress of dispatching him, But the longer ye kneel The more squeamish ye'll feel 'Cause the louder he'll squeal, And at brotherly talk there's no matching him.
Discussion's his aim, And as sure as you're game To give heed to the same, You regarding extremes with compunction, You may bet he'll requite Your compassion with spite, Knifing you in the night With much probonopublico unction.
For a while we looked like having trouble with Coutlass.

We gave Brown a rifle, and distributed the other Mausers among Kazimoto and our best boys, but we did not dare trust the Greek with a weapon he might use against us, and he resented that bitterly.

He had an answer to Fred's subterfuge that as a white man he would need a license before daring to carry firearms.

"I dare do anything! I care nothing for law!" he argued, and Fred nodded.
That night we reveled in luxury, for after the life we had led recently it took time to reaccustom any of us to the common comforts.
Schillingschen traveled with every provision for his carcass and his belly; and we plundered him.
We put the prisoners and our own porters in a hut in the nearest native village (less than half a mile away) under the watchful eye of Kazimoto and the shot-gun, dividing Schillingschen's two large tents between ourselves.

The others offered me the camp-bed as a recent invalid, but I refused, and Will won it by matching coins.