"Where now, Muata?" asked the hunter.
"If the great one cares to leave the canoe, we could reach the top to-night, and sleep far above the woods. None come here. The water is 'taboo,' and the boat would be safe."
"Let us go up," urged Compton.
"Yes; up out of this stagnation," cried Venning, with a longing look up.
Mr. Hume ran the boat in, and Muata leapt ashore. As his feet felt the firm ground he raised one hand high and broke into a chant, the woman joining in at intervals. As he chanted he stamped his feet on the sand; and this song was of himself—of his deeds in the past, of his triumphs in the future.
"Wow!" he said, when he had finished. "There were many days that Muata thought never to look upon these walls again; many times, when his heart was dark, when his blood was like water; and lo! he stands against the walls of his home."
"Of his resting-place," corrected the woman. "His home lies beneath the setting sun."
"I know how you feel, Muata. If I were to see again the cliffs of old England, I would sing too."
"It must be like finding a new beetle," said Venning.
"We are not out of the woods yet," chimed in Mr. Hume, grimly, "so just give your attention to our stores. We must carry up as much as we can, for, 'taboo' or not 'taboo,' I do not like the idea of leaving all our things here."