Shake him up.

If he sleep he die." The advance was more rapid now, for Binu Charley placed the captive bushman in front of him and made him clear the run-way of traps.

Once, at a sharp turn where a man's shoulder would unavoidably brush against a screen of leaves, the bushman displayed great caution as he spread the leaves aside and exposed the head of a sharp-pointed spear, so set that the casual passer-by would receive at the least a nasty scratch.
"My word," said Binu Charley, "that fella spear allee same devil-devil." He took the spear and was examining it when suddenly he made as if to stick it into the bushman.

It was a bit of simulated playfulness, but the bushman sprang back in evident fright.

Poisoned the weapon was beyond any doubt, and thereafter Binu Charley carried it threateningly at the prisoner's back.
The sun, sinking behind a lofty western peak, brought on an early but lingering twilight, and the expedition plodded on through the evil forest--the place of mystery and fear, of death swift and silent and horrible, of brutish appetite and degraded instinct, of human life that still wallowed in the primeval slime, of savagery degenerate and abysmal.
No slightest breezes blew in the gloomy silence, and the air was stale and humid and suffocating.