s of his enemies like a child. He went among them sleeping,
and when he awoke his hands and limbs were bound.

"And the enemy mocked him, saying, 'Is this Muata?' saying, 'even
the ant will make him cry aloud;' and they smeared fat on him. They
shook the ants over him, and they bit deep. They reviled him, they
spat on him, as day by day he followed in the canoe tied to their
greater canoe. They made plans about him to kill him, but the chief
man said even a dog had his price. So they forebore to slay Muata,
but they carried him down the father of waters to where there was a
still greater canoe with wings. They put a gag into his mouth to
still his voice, but in the night the jackal bit through the rope,
and Muata was alone on the waters.

"Then the jackal cried suddenly, and Muata was borne out of the
water, and he was fed.

"That is the story of Muata, and his heart goes out to the white men
who brought him out of the darkness."

CHAPTER V

TROUBLE BREWING

That was the story of Muata!

The white boys looked and wondered. This man who had been through so
many dangers could not be much older than they were. If his story
were true, he had shown endurance, courage, and a force of character
that set the stamp of greatness upon him as greatness would be
reckoned among his kind.

Was it true that he had slain a gorilla with bow and arrow, that he
warred successfully against the Arab slave-hunters? Had he subdued a
band of men by sheer force of will?

The boys believed him. They did not stop to ask whether the story
was probable. They formed their opinion upon the manner of the
young chief--upon his grave dignity, and upon the absence of a
boastful spirit.

"If his story is true," said Mr. Hume, "he owes much to his mother."

"Where is your mother?" asked Compton.

"The chief's wife is not a woman," said Muata. "And yet she is a
woman. She beguiled them in the forest by pretence of great
submission and fear of the woods. So they trusted her to bring
firewood, believing she would not go far from the camp. But she was
watching for sign of the little people. This I know, for she
vanished in the woods near the river. And the yellow hunters of men
knew not how she had gone; but they left word to people by the river
to say to me that my mother had been carried away in a canoe."

"And what will you do now?"

"See, I am no one--a liver on kindness, a slave at the gate. But in
time Muata will return to the