Then the headman stepped forward and said, Mafuta standing by to act as interpreter:
“I, Insimbi, headman of the village of M’gama, in the country of the Makolo, bear the greetings of the great King Lobelalatutu to the unknown white men who have crossed the Great Water to visit him, to offer him gifts, and to request his permission to visit the ruins of the great city that are situate near the king’s village. He bids you welcome to the country of the Makolo, and his word is that you are to be conducted forthwith in all honour to his presence. You are his guests, to be treated by all men as such, and by them to be supplied with all things necessary to your comfort and wellbeing. Your oxen are poor in condition and few in number, therefore shall they be cared for here until they are again fit for work; meanwhile a fresh team shall be supplied from the herd belonging to this village for the conveyance of your wagon to the ruins you desire to visit. And if there be any other thing that you desire, my orders are to furnish it to you. I have said. Is it well, O white men?”
“It is very well, O Insimbi,” answered Grosvenor. “It is well for the Makolo and for your king that he keeps fresh in his memory the commands laid upon him by the four Spirits of the Winds, and we are satisfied. When can we be supplied with the fresh team of oxen?”
“At sunrise to-morrow shall the herd be driven hither, when my lords shall choose for themselves as many as they will,” answered the headman.
“Let it be so,” answered Grosvenor; “for to-morrow at sunrise will we resume our journey to the king’s village and the ruins. By the way, ask him, Mafuta, how far the ruins are from here.”
“With a full team of fourteen fresh oxen it may be done in seven days,” Mafuta translated Insimbi’s answer to the question.
“Seven days!” ejaculated Grosvenor, glancing in astonishment at Dick. “Then how the dickens has this fellow Insimbi contrived in the course of a single day to communicate with the king and get a reply from him?”
“Why, easily enough,” answered Dick. “Don’t you remember the wonderful system of voice-telegraphy mentioned in those two books that we were discussing to-day? That, of course, is how it has been accomplished. And, now that I come to think of it, we had an illustration of that system this morning when those two boys ran to the top of yonder hill and started shouting in that queer, high-pitched tone of voice. They were telegraphing to the king the news of our arrival without a doubt.”
“Yes,” assented Grosvenor, a little doubtfully, “I suppose that was it. But seven days’ trek with fresh oxen! That means a hundred and forty miles, or thereabout—it is wonderful!”
“You are right; it is,” agreed Dick; “but not more wonderful, to my mind, than that we, destined, as one may say, to make this trip together, should have both been fortunate enough to stumble across and read those two books, which I am now beginning to understand were records of sober fact instead of extravagant fiction, as we both thought them to be. We must certainly polish up our recollection of what we read, for it is not at all difficult to imagine circumstances in which the knowledge may be of vital import to us. By the way, Mafuta, tell those fellows that they are dismissed, and that all we shall require of them to-morrow, in addition to the oxen, will be a guide.”