Even Hans was depressed, while Savage became like a man under sentence of execution at a near but uncertain date.

I tried to cheer him up and asked him what was the matter.
"I don't know, Mr.Quatermain," he answered, "but the fact is this is a 'ateful and un'oly 'ole" (in his agitation he quite lost grip of his h's, which was always weak), "and I am sure that it is the last I shall ever see, except one." "Well, Savage," I said jokingly, "at any rate there don't seem to be any snakes here." "No, Mr.Quatermain.That is, I haven't met any, but they crawl about me all night, and whenever I see that prophet man he talks of them to me.
Yes, he talks of them and nothing else with a sort of cold look in his eyes that makes my back creep.

I wish it was over, I do, who shall never see old England again," and he went away, I think to hide his very painful and evident emotion.
That evening Hans returned from an expedition on which I had sent him with instructions to try to get round the mountain and report what was on its other side.

It had been a complete failure, as after he had gone a few miles men appeared who ordered him back.

They were so threatening in their demeanour that had it not been for the little rifle, Intombi, which he carried under pretence of shooting buck, a weapon that they regarded with great awe, they would, he thought, have killed him.