"Yet lord," said the desperate chief, "I must, for my people are very fierce with me that I keep you so long within our borders. Likewise, there is much sickness, and I fear lest you and your beautiful men also become sick, and die."
"Only one man in all the world, chief," said Bosambo, speaking with deliberation, "has ever put such shame upon me—and, king, that man—where is he?"
The king of the Kiko did not say, because he did not know. He could guess—oh, very well he could guess!—and Bosambo's next words justified his guesswork.
"He is dead," said Bosambo solemnly. "I will not say how he died, lest you think I am a boastful one, or whose hand struck him down, for fear you think vainly—nor as to the manner of his dying, for that would give you sorrow!"
"Bosambo," said the agitated chief of the Kiko, "these are evil words——"
"I say no evil words," said Bosambo, "for I am, as you know, the brother-in-law of Sandi, and it would give him great grief. I say nothing, O little king!"
With a lofty wave of his hand he strode away, and, gathering his men together, he marched them to the beach.
It was in vain that the chief of the Kiko had stored food in enormous quantities and presents in each canoe, that bags of salt were evenly distributed amongst the paddlers.
Bosambo, it is true, did not throw them back upon the shore, but he openly and visibly scorned them. The king, standing first on one foot and then on the other, in his anxiety and embarrassment, strove to give the parting something of a genial character, but Bosambo was silent, forbidding, and immensely gloomy.
"Lord," said the chief, "when shall my heart again be gladdened at the sight of your pretty face?"