"That is bad talk," said the Akasava people, who were gathered at the palaver; "these dogs of Isisi call us liars."
Nevertheless there was no bloodshed, and in the morning the Isisi went on their way.
The Ochori saw them coming, and hid in the woods, but the precaution was unnecessary, for the Isisi departed as they came.
Other folk made a pilgrimage to the Ochori, N'Gombi, Bokeli, and the Little People of the Forest, who were so shy that they came by night, and the Ochori people began to realise a sense of their importance.
Then Bosambo, a Krooman and an adventurer at large, appeared on the scene, having crossed eight hundred miles of wild land in the earnest hope that time would dull the memory of the Liberian Government and incidentally bring him to a land of milk and honey.
Now Bosambo had in his life been many things. He had been steward on an Elder Dempster boat, he had been scholar at a mission school—he was the proud possessor of a bound copy of The Lives of the Saints, a reward of industry—and among his accomplishments was a knowledge of English.
The hospitable Ochori received him kindly, fed him with sweet manioc and sugar-cane, and told him about Sandi's magic. After he had eaten, Bosambo walked down to the post and read the inscription—
TRESPASSERS BEWARE.
He was not impressed, and strolled back again thinking deeply.
"This magic," he said to the chief, "is good magic. I know, because I have white man's blood in my veins."