y-throated. "Two pigeons I sent, but these the hawks took--a fisherman
saw one taken by the Kasai, and my own brother, who lives in the Village
of Irons, saw the other go--though he flew swiftly."

Hamilton's grave face set rigidly, for he smelt trouble. You do not send
pleasant news by pigeons.

"Speak," he said.

"Lord," said Kelili, "there is to be a killing palaver between the
Ochori and the Akasava on the first rise of the full moon, for N'gori
speaks of Bosambo evilly, and says that the Chief has raided him. In
what manner these things will come about," Kelili went on, with the
lofty indifference of one who had done his part of the business, so that
he had left no room for carelessness, "I do not know, but I have warned
all eyes of the Government to watch."

Bones followed the conversation without difficulty.

"What do people say?" asked Hamilton.

"Lord, they say that Sandi has gone and there is no law."

Hamilton of the Houssas grinned. "Oh, ain't there?" said he, in English,
vilely.

"Ain't there?" repeated an indignant Bones, "we'll jolly well show old
Thinggumy what's what."

Bosambo received an envoy from the Chief of the Akasava, and the envoy
brought with him presents of dubious value and a message to the effect
that N'gori spent much of his waking moments in wondering how he might
best serve his brother Bosambo, "The right arm on which I and my people
lean and the bright eyes through which I see beauty."

Bosambo returned the messenger, with presents more valueless, and an
assurance of friendship more sonorous, more complete in rhetoric and
aptness of hyperbole, and when the messenger had gone Bosambo showed his
appreciation of N'gori's love by doubling the guard about the Ochori
city and sending a strong picket under his chief headman to hold the
river bend.

"Because," said this admirable philosopher, "life is like certain roots:
some that taste sweet and are bitter in the end, and some that are vile
to the lips and pleasant to the stomach."

It was a wild night, being in the month of rains. M'shimba M'shamba was
abroad, walking with his devastating feet through the forest, plucking
up great trees by their roots and tossing them aside as though they
were so many canes. There was a roaring of winds and a crashing of
thunders, and the blue-white lightning snicked in and out of the forest
or tore sprawling cracks in the sky. In the Ochori city they heard the
storm grumbling across the river