About midday he resolved to risk a more direct course to the river, in the hope that his pursuers, finding no trace of him, had given up the hunt. But it was easier to decide than to carry out. For all he knew he might have been wandering in a circle, and the windings of the river might make every step he took one in the wrong direction. After some hesitation he turned somewhat to the left and trudged on, so intent upon his immediate surroundings that his range of vision was restricted to a few yards.
He noticed that the ground, as he walked, was becoming a little less thickly covered with undergrowth; but it was with a shock of alarm that, at a sudden lifting of the eyes, he saw, standing in front of him, a young straight dusky figure armed with a long rifle. Springing instinctively behind the nearest tree, he grasped the axe-head ready to do battle.
But what was this? A voice spoke to him, a voice that he knew, giving him pleasant salutation, calling him by name.
"Lokolobolo losako[[1]]!"
He came from behind the tree and went forward, stretching forth his hands.
"Samba!" he cried joyously.
[[1]] Salutation addressed to a superior.