"Lord, we will not deceive you," said Bosambo. "These great chiefs are my brothers, because certain Lulungo have come down upon our villages and done much harm, stealing and killing. Therefore, because we have suffered equally, and are one in misfortune, we go up against the Lulungo people, for we are human, and our hearts are sore."
A grin, a wicked, mirthless grin, parted Sanders' lips.
"And you would burn and slay?" he asked.
"Master, such was the pleasure we had before us."
"Burning the city and slaying the chief, and scattering the people who hide in the forest?"
"Lord, though they hide in hell we will find them," said Bosambo; "yet, if you, who are as a father to us all, say 'nay,' we will assemble our warriors and tell them it is forbidden."
Sanders thought of the three new graves on a little island.
"Go!" he said, pointing up the river.
He stood on the deck of the Zaire and watched the last canoe as it rounded the bend, and listened to the drone of many voices, growing fainter and fainter, singing the Song of the Slayer, such as the Isisi sing before action.