Only Tom's fallen body, impeding the Arab, saved the Muhima from a second desperate blow. The blood-stained scimitar was raised to strike a third time, when a distant bugle rang out. The chief's arm was stayed in mid-air; he gazed eagerly over Mbutu's head into the forest. No British troops were to be seen; but the Arab, after a moment's irresolution, appeared to decide that the bugle-call was the signal for another advance, and fearing to be cut off entirely from his friends, he turned and disappeared among the trees. Mbutu, however, had recognized the notes of the recall, and wondered what he was to do. He bent down to examine his master's prostrate body. Finding that he still breathed, he tried to lift him, but loss of blood from his wound and his own fierce exertions had exhausted him, and he laid Tom gently down, feeling anxious and distressed. A minute's consideration showed him that he must follow the retiring troops and bring assistance. He started at once in the gathering darkness, but being weaker than he had supposed, he could walk but slowly. It was more than half an hour before he reached the British lines, just after Lieutenant Mumford had rejoined the major, who had set his men to form a strong zariba. To the major's anxious enquiry for Tom, Mumford replied that, having seen him go off to the right and not return, he had taken it for granted that he would come into touch with the main body. At this moment Mbutu staggered up. In faint, laboured tones he explained what had happened, and begged that a party might be sent at once to bring his master in.
The major gave a gasp of relief when he heard that his nephew, though wounded, was still alive.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. '"Now to find him before it is quite dark."
The major himself, with twenty men, accompanied Mbutu in search of his master. The Muhima nearly fainted as he started, and Dr. O'Brien, giving him some brandy and hastily bandaging the torn shoulder, declared that he too must go in case of "evenshualities". The party hurried off, and went as quickly as Mbutu's condition permitted, supported as he was between Fadl and Abdullah. With native sureness he led them, as the sun set across the river, straight to the spot where he had left his master. It was just light enough to see several human forms strewn upon the trampled grass. Mbutu bent down to examine the bodies, and the little party shivered as the long whine of a jackal came swelling up from the distance, waking its echo from the rocky escarpments of the river. The Muhima went swiftly from body to body, then uttered a forlorn and heart-broken cry.