“Chief of one.”

“Of one or none, it does not matter, great one; since to be chief is to do what is best.”

“Your plans are your own.  Consider.  If we go, we will do nothing to spoil those plans; but, in the end, if you want help to rescue the wise woman—­your mother—­then we will be ready to help you.”

“It is a good word; but consider also, great one, that those who walk the forest must know the forest, and those who know the forest must lead, lest there be divided counsels, and wanderings that lead nowhere but to death.”

“Am I, then, a boy at this work?”

“Wow!  That was not my thought; but the lion hunts in the open land, the tiger in the bush.  If the lion roared in the forest, see, the evil ones would hear and prepare a trap for him.”

“Well, chief, hear this.  In all things I will take your advice.  If it is good, we will follow it; if bad, you can go your own way.”

“It is well,” said the chief, slowly.  “I and this man will follow on the trail to find whither it leads.  Tomorrow we will return, and if the great one is then of the same mind, we will start.”

“Good.  In the mean time we will find a place where we can leave the boat, with such things as we do not need.”

Muata glanced at the old Arab, then said softly, “When you have found your hiding-place, see that ye three only know of it.”  He nodded his head.  “I would trust no man with the secret.  I should not like to know of it myself, for the things you have would make one of us rich.”

With a little packet of food, his Ghoorka knife, and his jackal, Muata entered the dug-out, and landed again on the clearing.  They waved their hands to him, and then turned their attention to the old Arab, who was sipping a cup of coffee with every sign of satisfaction.

“Old man, we go soon on the trail of the cannibals into the forest where you could not follow.  What shall we do with you?”

“As Allah wills,” was the resigned reply.

“Think.  Is there any village where you would be safe until we return?”

“Few who enter the forest ever return.  A day’s journey in a canoe there is a path in the wood that leads to a village.  If I could reach the path, it would do; but——­”

The Okapi straightway continued up the dark river, through the silence of the sombre woods, and the old man drank his coffee, and then gave himself up to the pleasure of tobacco, with his dull eyes fixed on Compton.

In the afternoon he pointed to a palm-tree.  “There is a path,” he said.

“Is there anything you would like?” asked Compton.

“Coffee is good, and tobacco is a great comforter.”

They made him up a packet of these luxuries, and added a blanket.

“Allah is good,” he muttered.

“After we have recovered the wise woman, maybe we will search you out, for we look, then, for the Garden of Rest.”