place of hiding."

"Better stay with us, Muata. We go into the forest ourselves. We
will give you food, and teach you how to use the weapon of the Arab
hunters. You will hunt for us, work in the canoe for us, and, maybe,
we will go with you to your hiding-place."

"The forest is dark and terrible. Why, will my father enter the
darkness with his sons?"

"We go to hunt, and for the love of the woods and the water. Has not
a hunter joy in the hunting?"

"I know it;" and the chief observed them intently, as if he were
unpersuaded. "The ways of white men are strange. Muata hunts to keep
the hut supplied with meat, but the white man carries his meat with
him. When he kills he leaves the meat and takes only the horns or
the skin of the thing he has slain. Muata is not a child. When he
sees a single vulture in the sky, he knows there are others coming
behind. A white man comes out of the beyond into the black man's
country. He is soft-spoken; he is a hunter only. Mawoh! and behind
him comes an army."

"What do you know about white men, Muata?"

"The wise men at the hiding-place talked. They knew one such. He
lived among them. His ways were strange. He talked with the trees;
he sought among the rocks; he communed with spirits. He was
harmless, but the wise men said others would follow on his trail
doing mischief. So I ask, my father, why do you wish to enter the
forest?"

"Because," said Compton, leaning forward, "my father was lost in the
forest, and I would find him. Tell me, where is the white man your
old men talked of?"

"The forest takes, the forest keeps," said Muata, lifting a hand
solemnly.

"Do you mean," asked the boy, quietly, "that the white man does not
live?"

"The people dealt well by their white man. They gave him food; they
carried water for him, and built his fire. Even I, as a child,
carried wood to him and listened at his knees."

"I am not blaming the people; but I want to find the place that is
called the Place of Rest, where my father lived; perhaps where he
died."

"This, then, is the hunting?" said the chief, softly.

Mr. Hume recognized the suspicion in the altered tone and suave
manner of the chief.

"We have spoken," he said sharply. "We go into the forest to hunt
and to seek without anger against any. We thought you would have
worked in well with us; but I see you are a man of a crooked mind."

"Softly, my father," said the chief, quietly. "Is it wise that a
chief should lis