We had no firearms.
Schillingschen wasted no time on explanations, but beckoned his Zulu and walked off, striding at a great pace and only looking back over his shoulder once or twice to make sure we were not in pursuit.
Fred and Will lent me an arm apiece and we followed slowly, I recounting as fast as I could all that had happened, and they trying to chaff me back into a sensible frame of mind.
"That was a decent dog!" I insisted.

"He slept on my bed those nights when I had fever!" "I know it," Fred answered.

"Will and I lay and scratched, while you rested, with proper flea-food for protection! Don't worry, we'll find you another dog!" Schillingschen's consideration for my wound had vanished with the chance of making use of me.

As we emerged into the open we saw him in the distance lolling in the hammock he had brought me in.
"Never mind!" grinned Will.

"I'll bet the brute has an earache!" "And teeth-ache!" added Fred.
"And I'll bet he has gone to prepare us a hot reception!" said I.