Sanders was silent save for an unsympathetic sniff.
"Also, master," said the chief, "if the truth be told, this palaver is not of the Akasava alone, for all along the big river men are rebellious, obeying a new ju-ju more mighty than any other."
"I know little of ju-jus," said Sanders shortly, "only I know that a white man has died and his spirit walks abroad and will not rest until I have slain men. Whether it be you or another I do not care—the palaver is finished."
The chief rose awkwardly, brought up his hand in salute, and went shuffling down the sloping plank to land.
As for Sanders, he sat thinking, smoking one cigar after another. He sat long into the night. Once he called his servant to replace the candle in the lantern and bring him a cushion for his head. He sat there until the buzzing little village hushed to sleep, until there was no sound but the whispering of bat wings as they came and went from the middle island—for bats love islands, especially the big vampire bats.
At two o'clock in the morning he looked at his watch, picked up the lantern, and walked aft.
He picked a way over sleeping men until he came to that part of the deck where a Houssa squatted with loaded carbine watching the two prisoners.
He stirred them gently with his foot, and they sat up blinking at his light.
"You must tell me some more," he said. "How came this bad ju-ju to your land?"
The man he addressed looked up at him.