It was Coutlass who saved that situation.  He instantly went crazy, or the next thing to it, wrinkling up his black-whiskered face into a caricature, yelling a Greek monologue in a refrain consisting of five notes repeated over and over, and dancing around in a wide ring with one leg shorter than the other and his arms executing symbols of witchcraft.

The chief was the biggest man—­not an inch less than seven feet—­black as ebony, from the curly hair, into which his patient wives had plaited fiber to hang in a greasy lump over his neck, all down his naked body to the soles of his enormous feet.  Each time he came in front of that individual Coutlass paused and executed special finger movements, like the trills of a super-pianist, ending invariably in a punctuation point that made the savage shiver.

The fifth time round, to avoid the accusing fingers, the giant dodged behind a smaller man, who dodged behind a woman, who promptly turned and ran, swinging in the wind behind her a bustle like a horse’s tail that was her only garment.  Her flight was the touch that settled the decision in our favor.  We all began to do a mumbo-jumbo dance around Coutlass, and in five seconds more the whole armed party was in full retreat, holding their spears behind them as some sort of protection against magic.

“After that,” said Coutlass proudly, “will you still dismiss me from your party, gentlemen?”

“You’ve got to go and find Brown’s cattle and return them to him!” Fred answered firmly.  But we none of us felt like sending him packing until he was better fed and some provision could be made for his safety on the road.  It was wonderful, the number of excuses that flocked through my mind for befriending the ruffian, and later on I found it was the same with Fred and Will.  Brown, on the other hand, affected indignation at his being allowed to go with us another yard.

“Make a rope o’ grass an’ hang the swine!” he grumbled.

We decided to march on the village, retreat being obviously far too dangerous, and the only likely safe course being to follow up the chance success.  Sleep another night in the open among the mosquitoes and wild beasts, besides making us wretched at the mere suggestion, was likely to bring us all down with fever.  We preferred the thought of fever to the loneliness; for man is unlike all other nomads, and that is why the dog takes kindly to him; he must have a home of his own—­a portable one, if you will—­a tub like Diogenes—­a Bedouin’s tent—­a cave, or a hole in the ground—­something, so be he may rent it or own it or know for a fact he may sleep there when night comes.  Life in the open is only good fun when there is cover to take to at will.

All the way along the winding foot-track leading in every imaginable direction except toward the village, and only turning suddenly toward it when we had grown disgusted and decided to leave it and try to find another, Brown kept pointing out trees with suitable overhanging arms to which we might hang Coutlass.  The Greek, with eyes for nothing but the fat, hump-backed village cattle in the distance, seemed to think only of them, until Will commented on the fact, and Fred saw fit to drop a hint.