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He thrust a clinical thermometer beneath the Kavirondo's tongue, glancing at a wrist watch as he did so. "Cazi Moto," he said calmly after three minutes, "this man is a liar. He is not sick; he merely wants to get out of carrying a load." The Kavirondo, his eyes rolling, shot forth a torrent of language.
The baby cried, and, fearful that its wails would betray their hiding-place, they had cast it away in the bushes. Then they had fled into the depths of the forest and, huddled together in silent fear, waited in the hope that the Kara Mojas would leave. Finally they heard Kavirondo's shouts and then after hours of indecision they decided to come in. That is the end of the story.
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