s his whim for weeks on
end to wear on his head the mask of a goat. At other times, "as a mark
of his confidence in devils," he would appear hidden beneath a plaited
straw extinguisher which fitted him from head to foot. He was eccentric
in other ways which need not be particularized, but he was never so
eccentric that he welcomed strangers.

Unfortunately for those concerned, the high road from the Territories
passed through the M'fusi drift. And one day there came a panting
messenger from the keeper of the drift who flung himself down at the
king's feet.

"Lord," said he, "there is a white man at the drift, and with him a
certain chief and his men."

"You will take the men, bringing them to me tied with ropes," said the
king, who looked at the messenger with glassy eyes and found some
difficulty in speaking, for he was at the truculent stage of his second
bottle.

The messenger returned and met the party on the road. What was his
attitude towards the intruders it is impossible to say. He may have been
insolent, secure in the feeling that he was representing his master's
attitude towards white men; he may have offered fight in the illusion
that the six warriors he took with him were sufficient to enforce the
king's law. It is certain that he never returned.

Instead there came to the king's kraal a small but formidable party
under a white man, and they arrived at a propitious moment, for the
ground before the king's great hut was covered with square bottles, and
the space in front of the palace was crowded with wretched men chained
neck to neck and waiting to march to the coast and slavery.

The white man pushed back his helmet.

"Goodness gracious Heavens!" he exclaimed, "how perfectly horrid!
Bosambo, this is immensely illegal an' terrificly disgustin'."

The Chief of the Ochori looked round.

"Dis feller be dam' bad," was his effort.

Bones walked leisurely to the shady canopy under which the king sat, and
King Karata stared stupidly at the unexpected vision.

"O King," said Bones in the Akasavian vernacular which runs from Dacca
to the Congo, "this is an evil thing that you do--against all law."

Open-mouthed Karata continued to stare.

To the crowded kraal, on prisoner and warrior, councillor and dancing
woman alike, came a silence deep and unbroken.

They heard the words spoken in a familiar tongue, and marvelled that a
white man should speak it. Bones was carrying a stick and taking
deliberate