"I did not know you were awake, sir." "I sleep very lightly my boy." "As you are awake, sir, I would like to say----" But he stopped as the mat rustled.
"Come in," said Mr.Hume.
"Me guard, great master"-- in the same soft, oily tones Venning had heard before.

"Hear noise.

Think may be thieves." "Mosquitoes, not thieves," said Mr.Hume, quietly.

"Bring a light." The Zanzibar boy complied, and, holding a taper above his head, looked not for mosquitoes, but at the rifles in the corner.
"The skeeters, master," he muttered, with an evil squint at Compton, who was blinking at the light.
"Better get back into your hammock, Venning.

You can go, boy; and keep a good watch, for we are coming to the thieves' hour." The man showed his white teeth in a grin as he withdrew.
"Don't stir from your hammocks until I do," said Mr.Hume, very sternly, in a whisper; then louder, "Good night, Venning." "Good night, sir," said Venning, convinced that the master was alive to the game, and more easy in his mind.
As he dropped off to sleep he heard the wail of a jackal, and next he was awakened by the sound of a native chanting.