“Well?” said Mr. Hume, glancing at the chief, “He goes to collect men to meet us this night.”

“So.”

“Wow!  There are bad men—­robbers—­to be attacked, and much ivory to be taken.”

“We want no ivory, nor quarrels either.”

“But I gave my word we would help him.  It is a good thing to fall upon robbers.”

“If there is to be a shindy, I’m in for it,” said Compton.

“Who are the robbers?”

Muata laughed, and snapped his fingers.  “You saw the man in the canoe?”

Mr. Hume nodded, and looked after the paddler with knit brows.

“And you?”—­to Compton.

“I have eyes, chief.”

“And you?”

“I saw him first,” said Venning.

“And he was a stranger?”

“Of course.”

Muata laughed.  “White men know many things, but not all.  Haw!  Who are those to be eaten up?” He touched his naked breast, and then pointed at each in turn.

“They would attack us,” roared Mr. Hume.

The chief nodded.  “Now you know who that stranger was who came with his long story.”

“One black chap is like another,” muttered Compton.

“Who was he?” asked Mr. Hume.

“The servant of the white chiefs who bound me.”

“The Zanzibari boy!” exclaimed Venning.  “My Jenkins!”

“Why didn’t you knock the beggar overboard?” said Compton.  “What cheek!”

“Does he know you recognized him?” said Mr. Hume.

“The dog was afraid; but at the last he went away, thinking he led Muata by a rope, as he would lead a goat.  Had Hassan, the wolf, tried to blind Muata so, then——­” The chief touched the hilt of his knife.

“Let us hear the story.”

Muata repeated the whole conversation with much byplay, even imitating the tones, the nervousness, and the sly glances of the Zanzibar spy, for nothing had escaped his keen glance.

“And those men whose presence he suddenly remembered, and who are to meet us to-night, will be Hassan’s slave-robbers, too?”

“Ow aye,” said Muata, with a ferocious gleam in his eyes.

“So, then, they have been waiting for us?”

“On both sides of the river they have been waiting;” and the chief looked out over the brown flood towards the north bank.

“It was well you talked to the man, for he was skillfully disguised, even to me, who am no child in these matters.”

“Muata is old in cunning,” said the chief, quietly.  “If he were not wise, he would not be dreaded by the Wolf.”

“I never recognized the beggar,” said Venning, “and even now I cannot recall a feature that was like the Zanzibar!  How did you discover him, Muata?”

“Wow!  He wore nothing in his ears, there were no marks on his body, he had rubbed the dark juice of the chewing-leaf over his skin, and there was a lie on his tongue, and in his eyes.  Ho!—­white men, this is my word, that we fall on them to-night.”  The chief picked up a Ghoorka knife.  “This is my weapon.”