When we were starting again Marut came to us and remarked with his usual smile, on behalf of his brother Harut, who was otherwise engaged, that it might be well if we had our guns ready, since we were entering the land of the elephant Jana and "who knew but that we might meet him ?" "Or his worshippers on two legs," I suggested, to which his only reply was a nod.
So we got our repeating rifles, some of the first that were ever made, serviceable but rather complicated weapons that fired five cartridges.
Hans, however, with my permission, armed himself with the little Purdey piece that was named "Intombi," the singe-barrelled, muzzle-loading gun which had done me so much service in earlier days, and even on my last journey to Pongoland.

He said that he was accustomed to it and did not understand these new-fangled breechloaders, also that it was "lucky." I consented as I did not think that it made much difference with what kind of rifle Hans was provided.

As a marksman he had this peculiarity: up to a hundred yards or so he was an excellent shot, but beyond that distance no good at all.
A quarter of an hour later, as the dawn was breaking, we passed through a kind of _nek_ of rough stones bordering the flat land, and emerged into a compact body on to the edge of the grassy plain.

Here the word was given to halt for a reason that became clear to me so soon as I was out of the rocks.

For there, marching rapidly, not half a mile away, were some five hundred white-robed men.