CHAPTER VIII

THE BULLS AND THE WILD DOGS

After an hour or so Muata was sent forward as look-out, and with his jackal by his side, apparently aiding him in his task, he showed such eyes for the night that they kept on safely till the morning, when the sail was hoisted, and by breakfast-time they judged they had covered about forty miles—­quite enough for safety.  They ran the Okapi in among the islands which still stretched away as far as they could see, and made fast, to eat and to sleep.  The noon heat woke them.  They sat up under the awning and talked of the great drive, of Muata’s escape, and of his wonderful luck in finding them—­though he made out that there was nothing strange about it, since from the woods he had seen the preparations for the hunt, and had, too, made out the Okapi in the dusk.  For the rest, his jackal had scented out the white man’s lair, and all he, the chief, had to do was to upset the canoe of the Arab.

“That was no great work for Muata—­the otter, the water-wolf,” he said.

“And how did the chief escape?”

“Before the shouting arose that Muata was gone, he found a calabash of fat for the cooking, by the door of a hut.  Some fat he rubbed on the soles of his feet to kill the scent.  Then he sent the jackal into the woods and crawled into a hut, being stiff from the binding.  In the hut he remained, rubbing the fat into the joints, till the people came back to the feast.”

“The feast was made by us, so that while the people ate we could loosen your bonds.”

“Wow!  Never yet have I known any to give such thought to a stranger.”

“It is our way to stand by those who stand by us.”

“It is a great word that;” and the chief turned the thought over in his mind.  “Ow aye!  They came again to the feast, and Muata went out into the woods in peace.”

“And was that all?”

“There was a man gathering fruit in the morning as I passed through a garden, and his knife I took.”

“And what did the man do?”

“He took a message to my father, the chief,” said Muata, enigmatically.  “The chief’s son has been like a hunted dog.  His stomach hungers for red meat.  His spirit thirsts for the hunt.  Wow!  O hunter, set your shining boat for the shore, and let us follow the trail.  There be buffalo in the lands beyond the hills which line the river.”

“That’s a splendid idea!” cried Venning.  “I’m beginning to get mouldy.  A trip ashore would be ripping, now that we have distanced our pursuers.”

“I second that motion,” said Compton, with a longing glance shorewards.  “Do you know, sir, that we have not shot a thing since we entered the Congo?”

“I have no objection,” said the hunter.  “And we must have a good supply of biltong before we enter the forest; but we cannot afford to take risks.  Just examine the shore for a creek, and at dusk we will run across.”