y grunt was punched from the chests of Yabolo and
MYalu at the vision of the half-completed street of large huts in the
midst of desolation.

"Eh!" quoth Sakamata, "is not the way of the mighty one more wonderful
than he who is gone? Behold, he maketh a city like unto that of his
people, a city of gods!"

But MYalu had no admiration to spare, for to him the alleged beauty
thereof was fogged by the fact that his own huts were but blackened ruins.
The next moment MYalu, in spite of his native dignity, started as one of
those uniformed keepers of the coughing monsters barked at them magic
words.

Sakamata replied. Yabolo and MYalu stiffened as they observed the cringe
of the shoulders as he fumbled hastily within his loin-cloth and presented
a piece of hard substance, the colour of blue clay with magic marks upon
it. The demon grunted at them to proceed as if talking to a slave.
Followed in file the rest of the caravan. As Bakuma passed the uniformed
demon standing with the sword and gun with seven voices upon his shoulder,
leered, and grunting in a strange tongue, stepped forward and spun her
round by the shoulders. Bakuma cried out in terror and the carriers gasped
fearfully. MYalu and Yabolo wheeled. MYalu's facial scar twitched with
rage as he raised his spear. But Sakamata clung to his arm as the soldier,
grinning, raised his rifle in their direction. Bakuma ran on. The man
laughed and turned his back to them, calling out something that the
Wongolo could not understand.

"Eh!" commented Sakamata indignantly, "the dog hath eaten poison grass! We
will tell his words to Eyes-in-the-hands and he will be beaten until he
stales."

MYalu, slightly mollified by this promise of revenge, strode on in
silence, bewildered and resentful, wondering at these strange things in
the camp of the new god. In a large open space resembling a public square,
was a big unfinished hut: the guest house, Sakamata informed them, for
those who sought an audience with the Invincible One. As they squatted on
the floor waiting patiently until the sun was two hand's-breadth above the
hill for the appointed time, food and beer were brought to them by a
Wamungo slave. Zu Pfeiffer was careful to foster the class distinction.
Sakamata duly held forth upon the generosity of Eyes-in-the-hands, the
wonder of his works and presence; but his words were received in
unsympathetic silence, for the incident on the road had wounded the
dignity of both chief a