indictive thoughts upon zu Pfeiffer, whom he
philosophically regarded as irresponsible for his actions, inasmuch as he
had been made that way just as any savage. He had gotten out of the toils
set for him, so why should he spend time and trouble in seeking revenge
which would merely consist in reporting the incident through a British
station to Washington, who would open up interminable polite
correspondence with the German Embassy, who would again write prodigious
letters to the Colonial Minister in Berlin, who would{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Ludicrous! No; he
would not permit zu Pfeiffer to interfere with his plans. He would
continue straight to Wongolo instead of investigating the Kivu country,
where zu Pfeiffer might perhaps have another opportunity to cause more
trouble. Accordingly he negotiated with the nearest village for carriers
and set out, striking due west, thus approaching the Wongolo territory
towards the southern boundary.

The people to the south of the Wongolo country was an inferior race, whom
the Wongolo periodically raided to replenish their slaves. These Wamongo
were split up into several petty chiefdoms, usually at war with one
another. They had no defined theology. For they had not progressed beyond
the stage of magic as far as any concept of religion, that is of praying
for intercession to any power greater than themselves; whereas the mental
state of the Wongolo was half-way between magic and religion, mixing and
confusing the two as exemplified in the Rain-making ceremony of employing
magic and alternately invoking the god and threatening him with dire
penalties if he did not behave. There seemed to be no royal family or clan
of the Wamongo; chiefs changed constantly as one more powerful for the
moment arose; the wizards did not appear to have any political power,
acting as general physicians and confining their efforts apparently to
simple magic for the growing of corn, the curing of the evil eye and
wounds. They were terrified of the Wongolo, much to Mungongo's pride, who
never let slip an opportunity of swaggering and bruiting abroad the fame
of his master as the greatest of magicians the world had ever seen. Never
was he tired of relating to a grunting audience the terrible sight and
effect of his master's transposition into a spirit. The yarn lost nothing
in the telling.

Progress was slow. Every afternoon, as regular as the sun set, clouds of
sepia sailed up from the west to clothe the worl