anced far--not more than two hundred yards--when one
of them gave a shout, which instantly attracted the attention of all.
He was seen pointing with excited motions at some object lying on the
ground. Simba uttered a roar of joy, when, bounding upward to catch one
glimpse of the object, he perceived it to be the pale-coloured and
apparently inanimate body of his young master. Moto, also, labouring
under no less joyful excitement, shot forward with the speed of an
arrow, and Kalulu's light and graceful form was seen cleaving the air as
he sped with nimble feet towards Simba. The men soon shared in the
excitement, and came running up to know the cause; and, among the first,
was seen the peasant who had found the gun in this same forest, little
dreaming that its owner lay so near.

But the joy of the leaders was soon turned to sorrow. The giant Simba
stood nerveless and speechless at the head of the body, Kalulu looked on
with deep sympathy on his face, at the side, while Moto threw himself on
his knees with clasped hands, at the feet, keen anguish written in every
line of his face. The positions of the others, as they came up one by
one to obtain a view of the prostrate form of the boy, indicated sorrow,
mixed with curious awe; but that of the man through whose aid the body
had been discovered was the most remarkable.

When he had approached the curious object which attracted such attention
and elicited such shouts, he stood stock still, as if he had been
suddenly petrified; but seeing that the pale object bore the semblance
of a man, and that it remained motionless, he advanced slowly on tiptoe,
while his face underwent remarkable changes as his emotions moved him.

"What is it?" he asked of the nearest man to him. "Is that the Mienzi
Mungu who left the gun?"

"No," answered the man, shortly, "this is not the Mienzi Mungu, thou
fool; 'tis but an Arab boy, who has died from hunger," he added,
proudly, and with the compassionate tone of one who pitied such woeful
ignorance.

"An Arab boy!" he uttered. "What is that?"

"He is one of the white people who live in the middle of the sea," the
warrior answered.

"Well, what makes him so white? Is his skin like the shell of an egg?
Is he hard or soft to the touch?" he asked again, with a strange
curiosity.

"Art thou afraid of a dead boy? Go to the body and feel it, fool."

The peasant smiled foolishly as he was thus rebuked; but presently he
was seen to crawl