“Even so. Also thou knowest that thou canst make fire by the rubbing together of two sticks. Is that then magic also?”
“Truly,” continued Mungongo in the same tone. “Can the spirits of the souls of the twigs be summoned without the incantations by the Keeper of Fires?”
“O my God!” groaned Birnier, sotto voce, and he abandoned the effort to explain combustion. “Thus is it then with these that ye call the magic fire twigs.”
“Even as we have said,” asserted Mungongo triumphantly.
Birnier lapsed into silent defeat. Bakuma began to edge away. As Mungongo rose came a stifled scream from Bakuma who sprang to her feet and dashed towards the tent; then as if recollecting that her saviour had been bewitched by Bakahenzie, fled into the gloom beyond. Mungongo had seized a spear stuck in the earth near to him. As appeared the wizened figure of Marufa, who saluted as he squatted in the native manner, Birnier recollected that he had been with Bakahenzie and wondered what he wanted. Mungongo replaced his spear and came to the tent.
“Greeting, O son of MTungo!”
Marufa mumbled the orthodox return.
“Thou hast need of Moonspirit?” demanded Mungongo, some of his officious confidence in Birnier returning.
“Doth the leopard go to the goat pen to seek nuts?” grumbled the old man. He tapped out snuff slowly and grunted.
Presently said Marufa: