“Where now, Muata?” asked the hunter.

“If the great one cares to leave the canoe, we could reach the top to-night, and sleep far above the woods.  None come here.  The water is ‘taboo,’ and the boat would be safe.”

“Let us go up,” urged Compton.

“Yes; up out of this stagnation,” cried Venning, with a longing look up.

Mr. Hume ran the boat in, and Muata leapt ashore.  As his feet felt the firm ground he raised one hand high and broke into a chant, the woman joining in at intervals.  As he chanted he stamped his feet on the sand; and this song was of himself—­of his deeds in the past, of his triumphs in the future.

“Wow!” he said, when he had finished.  “There were many days that Muata thought never to look upon these walls again; many times, when his heart was dark, when his blood was like water; and lo! he stands against the walls of his home.”

“Of his resting-place,” corrected the woman.  “His home lies beneath the setting sun.”

“I know how you feel, Muata.  If I were to see again the cliffs of old England, I would sing too.”

“It must be like finding a new beetle,” said Venning.

“We are not out of the woods yet,” chimed in Mr. Hume, grimly, “so just give your attention to our stores.  We must carry up as much as we can, for, ‘taboo’ or not ‘taboo,’ I do not like the idea of leaving all our things here.”

They made up in parcels as much of the stores as they could carry, and the woman strode off first, erect and graceful, with the largest parcel on her head.  Venning followed, carrying only his carbine, blanket, and bandolier; then Muata, with sixty pounds’ weight on his head, then Compton, and, last of all, Mr. Hume, with an ample load.  A fairly open path, over a lattice-work of roots, mounted up through the trees, and the hunter “blazed” the path by chipping a slice of bark off every fifth tree.  Up and up the woman swung with free strides, her short leather skirts, trimmed with beads, rattling as she went; and after many a breather, for the sake of the whites, she strode out, one thousand feet above the lake, on to a rock-strewn slope, free of trees.  A glance back showed the evening mist rolling like a huge curtain over the sombre forest, so that they seemed to be looking down upon a silent sea.

“A little more, my children—­a little more, and you will sleep under a roof.”

She swung off, balancing the load easily, and the others followed in and out among great rocks that had an unfamiliar look, bending their bodies to the steep and labouring for breath; and as they went Mr. Hume drew marks on the ground, as a guide, with the point of his knife, for he trusted no man in the wilderness, except himself.  After another thousand feet of climbing, they entered into a gorge, that narrowed at the summit to a mere cleft, and from that cleft they stepped out on to a broad platform, which dominated a wide valley rimmed with cliffs.