I glanced back and saw Hans, the corn-cob pipe still in his mouth and the little rifle, "Intombi," still at his shoulder.

He had fired from the back of the camel, I think for the first time that day, and whether by chance or through good marksmanship, I do not know, had killed this man.
His sudden and unexpected end seemed to fill the Black Kendah with grief and dismay.

Halting in their charge they gathered round him, while a fierce-looking middle-aged man, also adorned with much barbaric finery, dismounted to examine him.
"That is Simba the King," said Marut, "and the slain one is his uncle, Goru, the great general who brought him up from a babe." "Then I wish I had another cartridge left for the nephew," I began and stopped, for Hans was speaking to me.
"Good-bye, Baas," he said, "I must go, for I cannot load 'Intombi' on the back of this beast.

If you meet your reverend father the Predikant before I do, tell him to make a nice place ready for me among the fires." Then before I could get out an answer, Hans dragged his camel round; as I have said, it was quite uninjured.

Urging it to a shambling gallop with blows of the rifle stock, he departed at a great rate, not towards the home of the Child but up the hill into a brake of giant grass mingled with thorn trees that grew quite close at hand.