"It is the chief himself, Dick."
"So it is. I can make out his Ghoorka knife. Let's give him a shout;" and the two sent a loud "coo-ee" ringing down the slope. The sound reached the ears of the little band of warriors, for they stood to look up; it also reached the people in the village with a startling effect. The men jumped up from the ground, women snatched up children and scuttled hither and thither like ants disturbed. From the depths below a cry came up clear and crisp—the marvellous voice of the native, trained through long centuries to speed a message of war or peace, of victory or disaster, from hill to hill.
"Ohe! Ohe! my brothers, the chief awaits you."
"Does he?" said Mr. Hume, dryly. "Then he may wait until he sends up a proper escort. Oh, here they come, I suppose," as half of Muata's body-guard detached themselves and advanced towards the palm-tree.
"Shall we go down?" said Compton, rising.
"Sit still, my lad. No chief ever hurries; and, you understand, we are all chiefs."
"Are we, though?"
"We take rank with Muata, if he is the head chief; not out of pride, you understand, but out of policy. So just keep cool. Just look as if you were a sixth-form boy approached by a deputation from the kids. See?"
"I'll be as cool and haughty as a——"
"Freshman in a bun-shop," interposed Venning. "Me, too;" and he put on a high and mighty look.