admire? . . ."
As quickly as possible I told him what had happened--of Michael's death and "funeral."
"He was a shore white man, pard. 'Nuff said," commented Hank.
"He was all-wool-an'-a-yard-wide, Bo," said Buddy, and I felt that Michael might have had worse epitaphs.
A brief silence fell upon us.
"Gee!" said Hank after a while. "Wouldn't it jar you? It shore beats the band. Such nice quiet boys too--always behavin' like they was at a party, an' perlite as Hell--an' one of 'em kills the Big Noise an' the other sets the whole gosh-dinged outfit afire an' burns out the dod-gasted burg. . . . Some boys, I allow. . . ."
I greatly feared that our deeds of homicide and arson had raised us higher in the estimation of these good men than any number of pious acts and gentle words could ever have done.
As I led the way to where I had left Digby sleeping, I asked the Americans where they were going.
"Wal--we was sorta sent lookin' fer some nigs from Tokotu," replied Hank. "Ole Man Bojolly allows they'll run into an Injun ambush if they ain't put wise. We gotta warn them there's Injuns about, fer all the location's so quiet an' peaceful-lookin'. . . ."
"I wonder they didn't git you two boys when they shot us up," he added.
"We were the Arabs," I confessed with modest pride.
"Gee!" admired Buddy. "Can you beat it! . . . I shore thought there was thousands come gunnin' fer us. . . . Oh, boy! You quiet perlite young guys. . . . Mother! . . ."
"How many guns did you shoot then?" enquired Hank.
"Two," I replied. "Rapid fire. And then the vedettes obligingly joined in."
Buddy gave a brief hard bark, which may, or may not, have been meant for laughter.
"Sunday pants of Holy Moses!" he observed. "And that lyin' son of a skunk of a Schneider swore he shot seven of you himself--and the rest of you carried away their bodies as he retired in good order! Thinks he oughta get the médaille militaire or somethin'. . . ."
"Yep," confirmed Hank, "an' Ole Man Dupanloup estimates the lot that was agwine ter rush the parade, when he held 'em up, at from a hunderd to a hunderd an' fifty. He lost count of the number he killed--after a score or so. . . . Gee! At them north outposts there was some bloody battle, son. . . ."
"And some bloody liars," observed Buddy, who had sojourned in London.
I had difficulty in awaking poor Digby, but when he realised that Hank and Buddy were actually present in the flesh, he was soon very much awake and on the spot.
"Say, boys," he went on, after greeting them and hearing their tale of the Battle of the Vedettes, "it's a lot to ask, I know. But do you think you could be attacked, like Dupanloup, by about a hundred and fifty of us, and lose your camels? . . . They'd be shot beneath you, or on top of you, if you like,--while you fought desperately--one to seventy-five, isn't it? . . . You would have peace with honour, and we'd have a chance to save our lives. We don't pretend that they're very valuable, but we've got something we really must do for our brother. . . . And I promised Mother I'd bring the Baby home," he added, indicating me.
"Fergit it, son," replied Hank to Digby, but he looked at Buddy.
"Couldn't you possibly let us have them?" I said. "If we went a mile or two further on, we could kick up a fearful row with our four rifles, and you could go back and collect a medal when old Dupanloup gets his. . . . Stroll home doing a rear-guard stunt, and we'd pepper the scenery in your direction before we rode off. . . . The Senegalese are safe enough. There are no Arabs and no ambush. . . . And we simply shan't have a little dog's chance without camels."
"We want 'em, Bo," replied Hank with quiet finality.
"Shore," agreed Buddy, eyeing him.
I was surprised and disappointed. Even more disappointed at the attitude of my friends than at the loss of the camels.
"Well--all right then! We won't fight you for them," said Digby, "but I wish it had been someone else."
"I don't get your drift. Snow again, Bo," said Buddy, who seemed pained.
"Why someone else? Don't you admire our low and vulgar ways, pard?" asked Hank. "Don't you like us?"
"Yes, but to be honest, at the moment I like your camels better," replied Digby.
"Well, then--you got the lot, ain't you?" asked Hank. "What's bitin' you now, Bo?"
"Do you mean you're coming with us?" I asked, a great light dawning upon me, a light that so dazzled my eyes that I was afraid to look upon it.
"You shore said a mouthful, Bo," replied Hank. "Why, what did you figger? That we'd leave you two innercent children to wander about this yer sinful world all on your lone? . . ."
"After you bin and killed their Big Noise? And obliterised their nice little block-house?" put in Buddy. "'Twouldn't be right, boy. 'Course we're comin' along."
I really had to swallow hard as I took their horny hands.
"But look here, boys," Digby remonstrated, after following my example and trying to express thanks without words, "there's no need for that. Give us your camels and anything else you can safely spare, and go back in modest glory. There's nothing against you. If you're caught escaping with us and helping us, you'll be shot with us. It will be 'desertion in the face of the enemy when sent on reconnaissance' when it comes to the court martial."
"Go back nawthen," said Buddy. "Look at here. This is what Hank wants to say. . . . Is there any Injuns around? Nope. Is those nigs from Tokotu in any danger? Nope. Hev you had a square deal in this Madam Lar Republic-house stunt? Nope. Didn't you and your brother stand by your dooty in this mutiny game? Yep. Wasn't you two scrapping all the time and doing your damnedest till everybody else had handed in their checks? Yep. And then didn't this Lejaune guy start in to shoot you up? Shore. And what'll happen to you now if they get you? Shoot you up some more. Shore. 'Tain't a square deal. . . .
"Well, we figger that these nigs from Tokotu aren't on the chutes fer the bow-wows. Nope. They're marchin' on right now fer Zinderneuf--like John Brown's body--or was it his soul?--safe enough. . . . We allow you ain't got no chance on a lone trail. Not a doggoned smell of one. You're two way-up gay cats an' bright boys, but you're no road-kids. You don't know chaparral from an arroyo nor alkali sage-brush from frijoles. You couldn't tell mesquite from a pinto-hoss. Therefore Hank says we gotta come along. . . ."
"Shore thing," agreed Hank, "and time we vamoosed too, or we'll hev these nigs a-treadin' on us. They'll go fer a walk on empty stummicks--ours. . . ."
A minute later each of the camels bore two riders, and we were padding off at a steady eight miles an hour.
"Any pertickler direction like?" said Hank, behind whom I was riding. "London? N'York? Morocker? Egyp'? Cape Town? All the same ter me."
Buddy drove his camel up beside ours.
"What about it, Dig?" said I to my brother. "We've got to get out of French territory. . . . Morocco's north-west; Nigeria's south-east. . . ."
"And
