But Linde received this information more indifferently than Stas expected.
"So much the better," he said, "as he may be helpful to you. Among the blacks there are honest souls, though as a rule you cannot depend upon their gratitude; they are children who forget what happened the day before."
"Kali will not forget that I rescued him from Gebhr's hands, I am sure of that."
"Perhaps," Linde said, and pointing at Nasibu added: "He also is a good child; take him with you after my death."
"Do not speak of death, sir."
"My dear boy," answered the Swiss, "I desire it—if it would only come without great agony; consider that now I am completely unarmed, and if any one of the Mahdists whom I routed should accidentally stray to this hollow, alone he could stab me like a sheep."
Here he pointed to the sleeping negroes.
"They will not wake any more, or rather—I speak incorrectly—all of them awake for a short time before their death and in their mental aberration fly to the jungle, from which they never more return. Of two hundred men, sixty remained to me. Many ran away, many died of smallpox, and some fell asleep in other ravines."
Stas with pity and awe began to gaze at the sleepers. Their bodies were ashen-hued, which in negroes indicates paleness. Some had their eyes closed, others half open; but these latter slept deeply, for their eyeballs were not susceptible to the light. The knees of some were swollen. All were frightfully thin, so that their ribs could be counted through their skins. Their hands and feet quivered without cessation very rapidly. The big blue flies swarmed thickly on their eyes and lips.
"Is there no help for them?" Stas asked.
