I asked her whether the Motombo ever visited the god.  She answered, Yes, once in every five years.  Then after many mystic ceremonies he spent a week in the forest at a time of full moon.  One of the Kalubis had told her that on this occasion he had seen the Motombo and the god sitting together under a tree, each with his arm round the other’s neck and apparently talking “like brothers.”  With the exception of certain tales of its almost supernatural cunning, this was all that I could learn about the god of the Pongos which I have sometimes been tempted to believe was really a devil hid in the body of a huge and ancient ape.

No, there was one more thing which I quote because it bears out Babemba’s story.  It seems that captives from other tribes were sometimes turned into the forest that the god might amuse itself by killing them.  This, indeed, was the fate to which we ourselves had been doomed in accordance with the hateful Pongo custom.

Certainly, thought I to myself when she had done, I did a good deed in sending that monster to whatever dim region it was destined to inhabit, where I sincerely trust it found all the dead Kalubis and its other victims ready to give it an appropriate welcome.

After crossing the god’s garden, we came to the clearing of the Fallen Tree, and found the brute’s skin pegged out as we had left it, though shrunken in size.  Only it had evidently been visited by a horde of the forest ants which, fortunately for Hans, had eaten away every particle of flesh, while leaving the hide itself absolutely untouched, I suppose because it was too tough for them.  I never saw a neater job.  Moreover, these industrious little creatures had devoured the beast itself.  Nothing remained of it except the clean, white bones lying in the exact position in which we had left the carcase.  Atom by atom that marching myriad army had eaten all and departed on its way into the depths of the forest, leaving this sign of their passage.

How I wished that we could carry off the huge skeleton to add to my collection of trophies, but this was impossible.  As Brother John said, any museum would have been glad to purchase it for hundreds of pounds, for I do not suppose that its like exists in the world.  But it was too heavy; all I could do was to impress its peculiarities upon my mind by a close study of the mighty bones.  Also I picked out of the upper right arm, and kept the bullet I had fired when it carried off the Kalubi.  This I found had sunk into and shattered the bone, but without absolutely breaking it.

On we went again bearing with us the god’s skin, having first stuffed the head, hands and feet (these, I mean the hands and feet, had been cleaned out by the ants) with wet moss in order to preserve their shape.  It was no light burden, at least so declared Brother John and Hans, who bore it between them upon a dead bough from the fallen tree.

Of the rest of our journey to the water’s edge there is nothing to tell, except that notwithstanding our loads, we found it easier to walk down that steep mountain side than it had been to ascend the same.  Still our progress was but slow, and when at length we reached the burying-place only about an hour remained to sunset.  There we sat down to rest and eat, also to discuss the situation.