Rungula sat on a low stool before the doorway. Behind him were ranged the more important sub-chiefs; and on the flanks, forming a wide semicircle, were grouped the remainder of the warriors—a thousand savage fighting men from many a far-flung Bansuto village.
From the doorway of the chief's hut several of his wives watched the proceedings, while a brood of children spewed out between their feet into the open sunshine.
Rungula eyed the white prisoner with scowling brows; then he spoke to him.
"What is he saying, Kwamudi?" asked Obroski.
"He is asking what you were doing in his country."
"Tell him that we were only passing through—that we are friends—that he must let us go."
When Kwamudi interpreted Obroski's speech Rungula laughed. "Tell the white man that only a chief who is greater than Rungula can say must to Rungula and that there is no chief greater than Rungula.
"The white man will be killed and so will all his people. He would have been killed yesterday had he not been so big and strong."
"He will not stay strong if he does not have food and water," replied Kwamudi. "None of us will do you any good if you starve us and keep us tied up."
Rungula thought this over and discussed it with some of his lieutenants; then he stood up and approached Obroski. He fingered the white man's shirt, jabbering incessantly. He appeared much impressed also by Obroski's breeches and boots.