It was always an interesting journey—Sanders made it once a year—for the way led up strange rivers and through unfamiliar scenes, past villages where other white men than Sanders were never seen. After a month's travel the Commissioner came to Icheli, which lies on the border of the great king's domain, and with immense civility he was received by the elders and the chiefs.
"Lord, you have come at a good moment," said the chief solemnly, "to-night Daihili dances."
"And who is Daihili?" asked Sanders.
They told him; later they brought for his inspection a self-conscious girl, a trifle pert, he thought, for a native.
A slim girl, taller than the average woman, with a figure perfectly modelled, a face not unpleasant even from the European standpoint, graceful in carriage, her every movement harmonious. Sanders, chewing the end of his cigar, took her in at one glance.
"My girl, they tell me that you dance," he said.
"That is so, master," she said; "I am the greatest dancer in all the world."
"So far I cannot go," said the cautious Commissioner; "but I do not doubt that your dancing is very wonderful."
"Lord," she said, with a gesture, "when I dance men go mad, losing their senses. To-night when the moon is high I will show you the dance of the Three Lovers."
"To-night," said Sanders briefly, "I shall be in bed—and, I trust, asleep."