g and sinking like
the murmur of the sea in its flow and ebb on a still day. At dusk
the two came back from their long march to the Deadman's Pool,
bringing the report that they had recovered the missing boat, and
concealed it in a place of their own choosing this time. Venning
awoke to hear the news, but he heard it without enthusiasm, just as
they had imparted the news in tones of weary indifference.

The sickness of the forest was on them all--its monotony, its
vastness, and its brooding silence--and it caught them when they
were most liable to the attack; that is, when they were tired out,
with all the spring gone from mind and sinews.

"My poor father!" muttered Compton, as he sat down with his back to
the rock. "No wonder he looked upon this as a prison, placed as it
is in this wilderness of trees."

Mr. Hume nodded, and sat with his arms resting on his knees,
smoking, and staring at nothing.

Muata joined them, but his coming did not rouse them.

"I have looked down on the gates, Ngonyama. As you said, the river
was blocked by Hassan; but there is no sign of the thief, only some
canoes dropped by his men in their flight."

He sat down and smoked, too, with the same listless look on his
face.

The jackal rose at his master's coming, and stood whining and
sniffing the air.

No one took any notice of him but Venning, who coaxed him to him,
and placed an arm round his yellow neck.

"Why don't they sing something else?" said Compton, irritably, as
the mournful wail dinned its misery into his ears.

Muata looked at the white men. "It is the rains," he said.

"Eh?"

"The rains are coming. Maybe that is why Hassan struck so soon, for
when the rains come, every warrior is like the bow-string that has
been soaked in water. They hide the sun, they breed chills and
sickness. I can feel the breath of them in my bones. It is the
rains."

He shivered, and threw a stick on the fire. "In the morning," he
said, "we must find a new home, for the rains blow in at the mouth
of this cave. The clouds hang low on the hills."

"We have found our boat, chief; we will go on our way," said the
Hunter, bluntly.

"That way would be the way of death," answered the chief, slowly.
"It is bad here, but in the woods it is like the spray blown off
from the rushing waters. Every tree is a rain-cloud, every leaf
drops water, and the air you breathe in the woods is wet. If you
would live, great one, you must stay here. Wet when y