Yet for twenty miles and more, through fetid swamps and poisoned jungles, he had carried him over his shoulder, fighting fiercely for the lives of both of them, while there remained any chance whatever of escape.

Now he knew that it was in vain, he regretted only his wasted efforts--he had no sentimental regrets in leaving him.

It was his own life he wanted--his own life he meant to fight for.
"I wouldn't swear at Oom Sam too hard," Monty continued.

"Remember for the last two days he was doing all he could to get us out of the place.

It was those fetish fellows who worked the mischief and he--certainly--warned us all he could.