“No,” said Owaza, “but I cannot dispose of it this side of the coast.”
“I know where you can dispose of it within two days’ march,” replied the old chief.
“Where?” demanded Owaza. “And who here in the interior will buy it?”
“There is a white man who will give you a little piece of paper for it and you can take that paper to the coast and get the full value of your gold.”
“Who is this white man?” demanded Owaza, “and where is he?”
“He is a friend of mine,” said the chief, “and if you wish I will take you to him on the morrow, and you can bring with you all your gold and get the little piece of paper.”
“Good,” said Owaza, “and then I shall not have to pay the carriers but a very small amount.”
The carriers were glad, indeed, to learn the next day that they were not to go all the way to the coast, for even the lure of payment was not sufficient to overcome their dislike to so long a journey, and their fear of being at so great a distance from home. They were very happy, therefore, as they set forth on a two days’ march toward the northeast. And Owaza was happy and so was the old chief, who accompanied them himself, though why he was happy about it Owaza could not guess.
They had marched for almost two days when the chief sent one of his own men forward with a message.
“It is to my friend,” he said, “to tell him to come and meet us and lead us to his village.” And a few hours later, as the little caravan emerged from the jungle onto a broad, grassy plain, they saw not far from them, and approaching rapidly, a large band of warriors. Owaza halted.