Bosambo waved him away. "M'bilini," he said, with dignity, "once I was a Christian—just as my brother Sandi, was once a Christian—and we Christians are kind to prisoners."
"But, lord Bosambo," persisted the other, "if we kill our prisoners and do not bring them back it will be better for us."
"These things are with the gods," said the pious Bosambo vaguely.
So M'bilini went out against the bushmen and defeated them. He brought back an army well fed, but without prisoners.
Thus matters stood when Big Ben Hold came leisurely up the river, his canoe paddled close in shore, for here the stream does not run so swiftly.
It had been a long journey, and the big man in the soiled white ducks showed relief as he stepped ashore on the Ochori beach and stretched his legs.
He had no need to inquire which of the party approaching him was Bosambo. For the chief wore his red plush robe, his opera hat, his glass bracelets, and all the other appurtenances of his office.
Big Ben had come up the river in his own good time and was now used to the way of the little chiefs.
His interpreter began a conversational oration, but Bosambo cut him short.
"Nigger," he said, in English, "you no speak 'um—I speak 'um fine English. I know Luki, Marki, John, Judas—all fine fellers. You, sah," he addressed the impressed Mr. Hold, "you lib for me? Sixpence—four dollar, good-night, I love you, mister!"