“A pity,” said one of the officers, with a grin.  “We should have seen sport.”

“But the sport is not over,” said the other.  “I back the bull.  Remember how he put you to flight, my friend.  What is the meaning of this, old man?”—­this to a hunter.

“Surely, O great one, it means one thing.  The white man is afraid the canoes would draw the bull away.  He wishes the bull to land—­to attack him.”

“More fool he, ay, my friend,” said the officer, with a sneer.

“One of the men on the island is pointing,” said Compton, who had taken up the glasses again.  “I see something in the water where the canoe went down.”

“I said it,” shouted the old black; “the bull will fight.  Stand, fast, O white man, for it is either you or he.”

Those watching saw the bull land and hurl himself with amazing swiftness at Mr. Hume.

“Why doesn’t he shoot?” yelled Compton.

“Wow! the white man springs aside.  The bull squeals; he staggers; he is down.  Behind the ear.  I say it.  There the bullet went in.  There will be much meat.”  The old man took snuff, and cast a proud look around as if he alone had done the deed.

“By Jove!” muttered Venning, wiping his forehead.  “It seemed a near squeak.”

The two officers went back to their cool rooms, and the crowd broke up, the women and children going off dancing to collect firewood.  The little fleet of canoes descended on the island, and in a few minutes the carcasses were hidden by bands of naked men, who slashed and cut, while crocodiles, attracted by the blood, appeared from all directions.  In a very short time the fleet returned, and Mr. Hume, standing in a heavily laden craft, ran a greater risk than when he faced the savage old bull, for the gunwales were flush with the water, and the men were utterly reckless as they dashed along at the head of the flotilla.

As the men leapt ashore, women seized the meat, and the village at once entered upon the wild orgy of the feast, forgetting Mr. Hume and all else in the one desire to start their jaws on the half-cooked flesh.

“Is all aboard?” asked Mr. Hume, as he jumped ashore.

“Everything,” said Compton.  “We watched your shot, sir; it was splendid.”

“Well, that part of the plan has gone off all right.  It will be a more difficult job to free Muata and get away ourselves.”

Venning described how he had seen the jackal approach the chief, and as he and Mr. Hume went into the village, leaving Compton in the boat, they cast an anxious glance at the square already agleam with fires in the growing dusk.  Muata was still at the post, his head drooping and his body relaxed.

“That’s bad,” muttered the hunter; “he looks quite exhausted.”

“Perhaps he’s shamming.”

“Let us hope so.  In any case we may have to wait until past midnight, as I am afraid our hosts will not let me off.  It would be better if we could get away early.”