Mr. Hume, however, kept him off with a "not so fast" and a hand against his breast.
"Talk to him, Muata. Ask him what he wants, who he is, and all the rest."
Muata stepped into the canoe, caught up the paddle, and sat down to palaver. A line was made fast to the canoe, and it drifted astern of the Okapi, which kept on her course.
The canoe-man's grin faded away, and his eyes rolled as Muata ordered him to sit. He seemed to be a river tribesman, with only a loin-cloth on.
"Don't eat him, chief," sang out Compton; for Muata had a very ugly look on his face as he eyed the stranger.
The man himself seemed to think there was cause for this plea on his behalf, for, to the amazement of all, he responded in broken English—
"Oh yeh-es, he eatee me. Poah black man come to white master for heiup, not to wild black man."
"By Jove, he talks English! Let the poor beggar come aboard, sir."
"He's all right where he is," said Mr. Hume.
The man did not think so, and began hauling on the rope, when Mr. Hume drew his knife and made as if he would cut the canoe loose. He ceased from pulling, and, after a despairing look, crouched down.