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Updated: September 19, 2025
All the day Muata stood bound to a post in the square, the central figure of a ring of squatting natives, who chewed manioc and discussed his approaching fate with much satisfaction. He was there, an erect, stoical figure, when the boys sought their room in the little thatched house a room bare of furniture, divided from the next compartment by hanging mats of native make.
Nearest him was the man he had thrown overboard; beyond was the jackal, making a great splashing; and further on was the face of Muata, who was crying out encouragement to his faithful companion as he swam swiftly towards it; and to the left, moving rapidly towards the jackal, was the crocodile, swimming in a great swirl, with only his eyes showing, and the end of his snout.
The Zanzibari chuckled. "You want know, eh?" "We don't care. One black fellow does not matter," said Compton, coolly. "You brute!" muttered Venning, but stopped as Compton's hand gripped him. The Zanzibari chuckled again. "What you give, eh, if cut loose that Muata?" "What do you say?" "You pay me? Good. In night Muata is loose. He run up river.
"On top of the trees, not under!" cried Venning, who had seen that the chief was working up to some point. Muata spread out his fingers gravely. "Even so," he said. "There are paths on the tree-tops known to the little people, and made by them. Maybe they will let us travel also by them."
They anointed their faces and hands with an ointment that contained eucalyptus oil, while Muata and the river-man went off to scout. Then they stood in the shadow of a great tree and watched the weird scene in the thick of the forest. There were several fires, and about each squatted a ring of wild black men.
"One of these I have seen, and he also. It was a great thing to kill two; of all things that walk they are the fiercest." "And I am very thirsty," said Compton. "Their home is in the trees," continued Muata. Venning nodded. "Leo arboriensis." "Venningii," added Compton, as he took his lips from a water-bottle. "And now we'll have breakfast, if you don't mind." "We were stopped by ants," said Mr.
See, there is one on the other side. A few tree-trunks thrown across would make a fine barricade. Come on back into the valley." They went back slowly, looking up at the dark walls of the rocky gorge, and Venning stopped. "See that rock up there?" "Looks as if it would drop at any moment." "Remember what Muata said about Hassan drowning out the valley." "One of his figures of speech."
"And you think Mr. Hume has not forgotten Muata?" "I am sure he has not." They crept into their hammocks, but not to sleep, and they were wide awake when Mr. Hume entered noisily some two hours later. "To-morrow night," he shouted boisterously. "With pleasure, and the night after, for good visitors are rare," called the Belgian. "And good hosts also.
At the heels of the flying men went the jackal, and after him, soft- footed, went Muata, still-voiced. The fight was over. Mr. Hume picked Dick up and carried him into the cave. "A light," said the Hunter.
Ye may see the mothers about their work, and the old men at the fire. For them the cloud is past. They sit in the warmth of the sun, and heed not the shadows that gather in the trees. The boy who sits in the tree to frighten the birds from the grain has his turn at the dance. But the chief, he watches always; for Muata there is no rest in the Place of Rest."
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