eam of lava
out of the plantation and flood the village, spears flashing silver points
in the slanting rays of the sun. But what had happened to zu Pfeiffer and
the white sergeants? No sign of them could he see. Waves of sound lapped
continuously around the temple.

The long mauve shadow of the hill ate up the village. Fires began to
flicker amid the huts and away in the recesses of the plantation. The
lowing of cattle added to the general clamour. As the western sky was
still ablaze with incandescent colour stole the cold green of the
advancing moon in the east.

"Mungongo, what are thy brethren about to do?"

"It is the Festival of the Harvest, as I have told thee, O son of the
Lord-of-many-Lands."

"But they have not the Bride?"

"Nay." Mungongo glanced apprehensively towards the temple where in what
was to have been a bathroom, was Bakuma hidden.
"He-who-may-not-be-mentioned demands but blood. The Bride is the food of
the wizards. But to each warrior is every woman his bride this night."

"Why didst thou not tell me this thing before?" demanded Birnier, who knew
that such was one of the customs of primitive tribes in all parts of the
world and in all ages.

"Thou didst not ask me," retorted Mungongo, to whom the affair was such a
matter of course that it was not worth mentioning.

"Do they make sacrifice?"

"The Bride is married to the Banana, but of the manner of her nuptial know
I not. Am I a wizard?"

The divine king grimly watched his subjects. In the growing light flitted
gnomes around the huts in and out the sepia caverns of the plantation. As
a banana front was etched in sepia against the great moon, the ocean of
clamour was cleft by the high treble of the tribal troubadour. At the
bottom of the wide street appeared dancing figures. As they approached,
Birnier could distinguish Bakahenzie, Marufa and Yabolo in the van,
dressed in full panoply, whirling and leaping with untiring energy. Behind
them shuffled and pranced a vast mass of warriors, behind whom again
several hundred women shrilled and wriggled in the mighty chorus. The
rhythm of the drums increased to the maddening action impulse of the two
short--long beat:

Pm-pm--Pommmmm! Pm-pm--Pommmmm! Pm-pm--Pommmmm!

The treble solo of the chant darted above that throb and grunt like a mad
bird skimming the turbulent tops of a dark forest.

Pm-pm--Pommmmm! Pm-pm--Pommmmm! Pm-pm--Pommmmm!

The rhythm seemed like a febrile pulse within Birnier