“Truly, but why are the branches of thy tree rotted and broken?”
“When the axe of the peasant pecks at the roots of the tree dost thou think then that the sap runs the more swiftly, knowing?”
“A devil hast told thee this thing, O Bakuma. When the sun was but a man’s height did not a jackal break out of the forest seeking to devour, and yet the chicken was neither hurt nor taken. Are these not white words?”
“Truly, O Moonspirit,” acknowledged Bakuma reluctantly.
“Was not then the magic of Moonspirit more potent than that of thy wizards?”
“Thy words are white,” she admitted.
“Wherefore then hast thou ashes in thy mouth?”
Bakuma dismally contemplated Birnier’s booted leg.
“Eh!” grunted the sophisticated Mungongo, “to those who live on the mountain the crocodile is not!”
“Open thy breasts unto me, O Bakuma,” said Birnier.