The squatting Bucongo rose sullenly.
"Master," he said, "these mysteries are too much for a poor man. I think I know a better ju-ju, and to him I go."
"You have no long journey, Chief," said the father sternly, "for they tell me stories of ghost dances in the forest and a certain Bucongo who is the leader of these—and of a human sacrifice. Also of converts who are branded with a cross of hot iron."
The chief looked at his sometime tutor with face twisted and puckered with rage, and turning without a word, walked back to his canoe.
The next morning Father Carpentier sent a messenger to Sanders bearing an urgent letter, and Sanders read the closely written lines with a troubled frown.
He put down the letter and came out on to the deck, to find Hamilton fishing over the side of the steamer. Hamilton looked round.
"Anything wrong?" he asked quickly.
"Bucongo of the Lesser Isisi is wrong," said Sanders. "I have heard of his religious meetings and have been a little worried—there will be a big ju-ju palaver or I'm very much mistaken. Where is Bones?"
"He has taken my sister up the creek—Bones says there are any number of egrets' nests there, and I believe he is right."
Sanders frowned again.