The fact of his being
a man of extremely few words was enough to account for the friendship
which existed between him and the garrulous Langley. Whitson was known
to be a dead shot with the revolver.
This is how they came to apply for leave: One day Langley was strolling
about just outside the lines, looking for somebody to talk to, when he
noticed an apparently very old native man sitting on an ant-heap and
regarding him somewhat intently. This old native had been several times
seen in the vicinity of the camp, but he never seemed to speak to any
one, and he looked so harmless that the police did not even trouble to
ask him for the written pass which all natives are obliged by law to
carry when they move about the country. The old man saluted Langley
and asked in his own language for a pipeful of tobacco. Langley always
carried some loose leaves broken up in his pocket, so he at once pulled
some of these out and half filled the claw-like hand outstretched to
receive them. The old native was voluble in his thanks. There was a
large ant-heap close to the one on which he had been sitting, and on
which he reseated himself while filling his pipe.
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