The old man nodded.  “Allah is great.  Is it not as I said; you have been guided hither?”

“But tell me of the white man,” said Compton, impatiently.

“We two, the wise woman and I, talked of the white man; and she knows all.  See, I am old, and the past is like a mist, through which old memories pass quickly like shadows; but the wise woman can blow the mist away.  Find her, and you will learn all of my white man.”

More than this the old man could not say, and presently he fell asleep; but from the wild man Muata learnt that his mother had indeed been at the village.

“And you will want to leave us, chief?” said Mr. Hume, when the story had been straightened out.

“Ow aye.  Shall a son leave the mother who bore him through the dangers of the wood?  I will follow;” and his eyes lingered on the Ghoorka knife.

“The knife you can take, chief, and food; but we will miss you.  Put him up some biltong, Venning.”

Venning hesitated.

“Put up some for me too,” said Compton, peremptorily.

Mr. Hume raised his brows.

“I mean it so, sir.  You will remember that my great hope was to find some trace of my father; and who can this white man be if he is not my father?  Will you take me with you, chief?”

The chief shook his head.  “This river-man and I go together on the trail.”

Compton stormed and begged; but the chief remained silent, with his eyes on Mr. Hume.

“What’s all the fuss about?” put in Venning.  “We have come here to explore and hunt, not to crawl for ever up a river.  What is to prevent us all from following on the track of the cannibals?”

“If Compton had made that suggestion,” said Mr. Hume, “we could at least have considered it calmly in the interest of the whole party; but he has thought only of himself.”

“I am awfully sorry,” said Compton, firing up.  “I did not think.”

“No,” said the hunter, drily; “otherwise you would have known that I would not permit you to leave us.”

“Of course I could not break up the party,” said Compton, eagerly; “but you will think over Venning’s proposal, won’t you, sir?  We have come to explore the forest.  Let us begin now when we have such a good reason.”

“Do you hear, Muata; the young men say that we should all follow on the trail?”

“It is my quarrel,” said the chief, not jumping at the offer.

Mr. Hume smoked in silence.

“Yet the man-eaters are strong,” Muata said presently.

“They have also guns given by the man-stealers.  The great one and the young lions would be worth many men; but the forest is dark, the way is hard, and not fit for white men.”

Mr. Hume grunted.

“When Muata goes on the war-path, he fights his own way, on his own plan.  On the war-path Muata is chief.”

The hunter turned his calm eyes on the wild river-man.