Again the wretched man's eyes looked in any direction but in that of his master.
"Mokorongo."
"Morena."
"Are you ready to start? It is getting late."
"Yes, it is late, for the sun sets."
"Are you ready?"
Mokorongo made no reply: he was now quite frightened. In the ordinary way this simple native was full of courage, he would follow his master anywhere; they had been in a tight corner together more than once and he had shown up splendidly. But then his master, in whom he had implicit faith, had been there. To go alone to arrest a witch doctor was quite another matter. Had not the doctor killed the boy in a strange way? No, it was too much to ask a man to do alone, and at night.
The Commissioner walked to his writing table and took from it a heavy paperweight, which he handed to Mokorongo.
"Take this with you, it will protect you against Chiromo, for it is mine."
The messenger was satisfied; he put the weight inside his tunic and turned to go.