But they were in the heart of the enemy's land—within shooting distance of the Akasava city. Long before they had crossed the league of wood, the lokali had brought reinforcements to oppose them. They were borne down by sheer weight of numbers at a place called Iffsimori, and that night came into the presence of the great King Ofesi, the Predestined.
They came, four wounded and battered men bound tightly with cords of grass, spared for the great king's sport.
"O brother," greeted Ofesi in the face of all his people, "look at me and tell me what has become of Tobolono, my dear headman?"
Bosambo, his face streaked with dried blood, stared at him insolently.
"He is in hell," he said, "being majiki" (predestined).
"Also you will be in hell," said the king, "because men say that you are Sandi's brother."
Bosambo was taken aback for a moment.
"It is true," he said, "that I am Sandi's brother; for it seems that this is not the time for a man to deny him. Yet I am Sandi's brother only because all men are brothers, according to certain white magic I learnt as a boy."
Ofesi sat before the door of his hut, and it was noticeable that no man stood or sat nearer to him than twenty paces distant.
Jim, glancing round the mob, which surrounded the palaver, saw that every other man carried a rifle, and had hitched across his naked shoulders a canvas cartridge-belt. He noticed, too, now and then, the king would turn his head and speak, as it were, to the dark interior of the hut.