and released his lips for a moment. Then the bottle slid from his nerveless fingers to the floor, and the liquor oozed away in a little brown stream; even Trent dropped his pack of cards and sprang up startled. For bending down under the sloping roof was a European, to all appearance an Englishman, in linen clothes and white hat. It was the man for whom they had waited.
CHAPTER IV
Trent moved forward and greeted the newcomer awkwardly. “You're Captain Francis,” he said. “We've been waiting for you.”
The statement appeared to annoy the Explorer. He looked nervously at the two men and about the hut.
“I don't know how the devil you got to hear of my coming, or what you want with me,” he answered brusquely. “Are you both English?”
Trent assented, waving his hand towards his companion in introductory fashion.
“That's my pal, Monty,” he said. “We're both English right enough.”
Monty raised a flushed face and gazed with bloodshot eyes at the man who was surveying him so calmly. Then he gave a little gurgling cry and turned away. Captain Francis started and moved a step towards him. There was a puzzled look in his face—as though he were making an effort to recall something familiar.
“What is the matter with him?” he asked Trent.
“Drink!”
“Then why the devil don't you see that he doesn't get too much?” the newcomer said sharply. “Don't you know what it means in this climate? Why, he's on the high-road to a fever now. Who on this earth is it he reminds me of?”
Trent laughed shortly.
“There's never a man in Buckomari—no, nor in all Africa—could keep Monty from the drink,” he said. “Live with him for a month and try it. It wouldn't suit you—I don't think.”
He glanced disdainfully at the smooth face and careful dress of their visitor, who bore the inspection with a kindly return of contempt.
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