The chief looked down upon the valley.  “A child I came here, O great one; a boy I herded goats among the hills; and while yet other boys kept the birds off the grain, I went alone into the darkness of the woods beyond to seek the man-hunters.  Now they seek me.  Ye have helped in one great fight.  All the time Muata has been at war—­the hunter and the hunted.”

He turned his face again towards them, and there was in it a touch of dignity.  He broke into a kind of chant.

“Ye may hear the laughter of the little ones.  There are no such at the door of Muata’s hut, for a man cannot take unto himself wives and keep his arm strong to cast the spear, his eyes clear to follow the trail, and his heart strong to face the dangers that come out of the forest.

“Ye hear the voice of the young men and maidens singing in the dance.  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.”

“You are the first chief ever I heard take that weight upon his shoulders,” said Mr. Hume, with admiration he could not restrain.

“Why don’t you resign?” said Compton.

“Haw!”

“Let some one else be chief.”

Muata’s nostrils quivered in disgust.  “Wow!  I am a chief, and the son of a chief.  Who is there to take my place?”

“But you were a long time away.”

“Ohe! and, as ye have seen, men conspired to let Hassan and his man-eaters in upon the valley.  So my word to you, my brothers, is, to choose ground for huts;” and the chief stalked away.

“I don’t envy him his post,” said Mr. Hume, looking after him; “but I was right, you see.”

“Well, when we want to go we will go,” said Compton.  “In the mean time we will make the best of these quarters and this valley, which is a good enough place for a holiday.  And remember I have to find my father’s journal.”

Leaving the Hunter at the cave, the Young Lion and the Spider went off on an excursion, and, of course, turned their steps first of all to the gorge, to see the place where the great stand had been made.  They were greeted by a small band of warriors, who were squatting on the ledge from which they had fired, and who apparently were on guard.  They found themselves on the outer slope of the crater, looking down once more on the interminable reaches of the forest, with just a gleam of water showing at intervals to mark the course of the river up which Hassan’s flotilla of canoes had sailed after leaving the wide lagoon.  Descending from the ledge to the level of the gorge, they saw the place where the Hunter had made his stand—­a little square of rock opening on to the wood path, up which the wild men had rushed to the attack.  This path, as they saw, was nothing else than the dry cataract of a river, strewn with boulders, and then they suddenly turned to each other with an exclamation at the thought, “What had become of the river?”