illing to accompany us. The rest of
that day we spent in making our preparations which, if simple, required
a good deal of thought. To my annoyance, at the time I wanted to find
Hans to help me, he was not forthcoming. When at length he appeared I
asked him where he had been. He answered, to cut himself a stick in
the forest, as he understood we should have to walk a long way. Also he
showed me the stick, a long, thick staff of a hard and beautiful kind of
bamboo which grows in Mazitu-land.

"What do you want that clumsy thing for," I said, "when there are plenty
of sticks about?"

"New journey, new stick! Baas. Also this kind of wood is full of air and
might help me to float if we are upset into the water."

"What an idea!" I exclaimed, and dismissed the matter from my mind.

At dawn, on the following day, we started, Stephen and I riding on the
two donkeys, which were now fat and lusty, and Brother John upon his
white ox, a most docile beast that was quite attached to him. All the
hunters, fully armed, came with us to the borders of the Mazitu country,
where they were to await our return in company with the Mazitu regiment.
The king himself went with us to the west gate of the town, where he
bade us all, and especially Brother John, an affectionate farewell.
Moreover, he sent for Komba and his attendants, and again swore to him
that if any harm happened to us, he would not rest till he had found a
way to destroy the Pongo, root and branch.

"Have no fear," answered the cold Komba, "in our holy town of Rica we do
not tie innocent guests to stakes to be shot to death with arrows."

The repartee, which was undoubtedly neat, irritated Bausi, who was not
fond of allusions to this subject.

"If the white men are so safe, why do you not let them take their guns
with them?" he asked, somewhat illogically.

"If we meant evil, King, would their guns help them, they being but few
among so many. For instance, could we not steal them, as you did when
you plotted the murder of these white lords. It is a law among the Pongo
that no such magic weapon shall be allowed to enter their land."

"Why?" I asked, to change the conversation, for I saw that Bausi was
growing very wrath and feared complications.

"Because, my lord Macumazana, there is a prophecy among us that when a
gun is fired in Pongo-land, its gods will desert us, and the Motombo,
who is their priest, will die. That saying is very old, but until a
little while ag