ent, and I could hardly blame
another fat boy for dropping behind, too, to "watch the shore," as
he said. Not wishing to lose any time, we let him go, for we were
anxious to be in the village before the natives should have time to
rally and prepare for resistance.

The path was miserable--slippery slopes, wildly knotted roots, stones,
creeks and high reeds. We were kept quite busy enough watching our
path, and were not careful at all about watching the bush; but we
were confident that the natives, being very poor shots, would betray
their presence by a random shot. We were exposed, of course, to shots
from close quarters alongside the path, but we trusted to Macao's
sharp eyes to detect a hidden enemy. After an hour's brisk walk,
we asked Macao whether the village was still far off; every time
we asked, his answer was the same: "Bim by you me catch him," or,
"Him he close up." However, after an hour and a half, we began to
feel worried. We had no idea whether we would find a peaceful village
or an armed tribe, and in the latter case a retreat would doubtless
have been fatal, owing to the long distance we would have had to go
in the forest, where the white man is always at a disadvantage. But
we had undertaken the adventure, and we had to see it through.

After two hours we unexpectedly came upon a village. A dozen men
and a few women were squatting about, evidently expecting some
event. The presence of the women was a sign that the people were
peacefully inclined. An old man, a relative of Macao's, joined us,
and a short walk through a gully brought us quite suddenly into a
village square. About thirty men were awaiting us, armed with rifles
and clubs, silent and shy. Macao spoke to them, whereupon they laid
down their rifles and led us to a hut, where we found Bourbaki,
lying on his back, dead. He had been sitting in the house when some
one shot him from behind; he had jumped up and tried to fly, but had
broken down and fallen where he was then lying. He must have died
almost at once, as the bullet had torn a great hole in his body. His
rifle and cartridges were missing, that was all.

The villagers stood around us, talking excitedly; we could not
understand them, but they were evidently not hostile, and we told
them to bury Bourbaki. They began at once, digging a hole in the
soft earth with pointed sticks. We then asked for the rifle, the
cartridges and the murderer, and were informed that two men had done
the kil