On the following morning Tom sent Mbutu to summon the chief to a palaver. That solemn function lasted for two hours, and Tom was on thorns till it was over. The talking was mainly between Mbutu and the chief, and Tom was amazed that so much eloquence had to be expended in giving and receiving so little information. All that he learnt was that the expedition had passed within a couple of miles of the village soon after sunrise on the previous day, and that it was proceeding due west, to punish the Arabs and the Manyema. The chief was very emphatic on this point; he declared that the Arabs and their allies deserved all they would get, for they had made themselves a terror for miles round, treating the natives with frightful cruelty, lopping off hands and feet, slitting noses, killing outright, sometimes in wanton devilry, sometimes as punishment for trivial offences. The expedition had bought a few sheep and goats, and paid for them, but "not nuff", as Mbutu interpreted to his master, adding, however, that no native chief would ever admit himself satisfied: "black chief all same for one".
Tom was delighted to hear that his uncle was only a day's march in front of him. Discovering that the route lay for miles over grass country, gradually rising until it entered a mountainous region, he inferred that the British force would now be moving at a slow rate, which increased his chances of overtaking it soon. With a march overland before him, he felt the advisability of having a weapon of some sort in case of emergency, and asked the chief through Mbutu if he had a rifle to sell. The chief produced a very old and rusty weapon, with some cartridges, and Tom grimaced when, on trying a shot, he found himself thrown backward by the unexpected force of its kick. He accepted it in default of a better, and left Mbutu to settle the price.
It was past ten o'clock when the two travellers, amid the friendly farewells of the whole village, set off on their march. Tom guessed that the expedition, being rather more than twenty-four hours ahead of them, was at this time some twenty-five miles away, and he hoped with good luck to decrease that lead very considerably before nightfall. Mbutu's load, diminished by the quantities of calico and beads already parted with, was now much lighter than when he started, so that, though shorter, he found himself quite able to keep up with Tom, who set off with an easy stride.
After about half an hour's walking, they struck into the track of the expedition. It was a path not more than a foot wide, which in some parts evidently followed a previous native track, in other parts had been trodden for the first time by the advancing force. Tom was surprised to find it so narrow, until informed by Mbutu that in Africa native troops almost invariably kept single file while on the march. The path led over rolling grassy downs, clumps of bracken and bramble here and there giving them a very home-like appearance. In one place, indeed, Tom was delighted to see a few daisies growing; he stooped and picked one, smiling, as he stuck it in his coat, to think of the thousands of daisies he had trampled under foot at home without even a passing thought. Large trees were few and far between on the savannah, but one, which he had never seen before, seemed to Tom extraordinarily graceful--a long, straight, even stem, with a cluster of strange fronds spreading fan-like from its top.
The path led across streams of clear sparkling water, in which, as the sun grew hotter, Tom was glad to bathe his face and feet, and occasionally to drink. The banks of every stream of considerable size were clothed with luxuriant vegetation, palms, acacias, lianas growing thickly together, with tall grass, wild bananas, and flowering creepers which made a dazzling and beautiful picture. Crimson butterflies darted hither and thither among the foliage. "How Jenks would revel in this on a Saturday afternoon!" thought Tom, and was reminded that he had lost count of the days. He opened his pocket-diary, and by tracing back his recent adventures found that it was Saturday, the 8th of June. "And to-morrow's Uncle Jack's birthday!" he remembered. "Well, I've no present for him--except myself, and I don't suppose" (the thought was accompanied by a rueful smile) "he'll be overglad to see me--at least at first."
He was at this moment entering a patch of forest on the edge of a stream, and Mbutu pointed out some deep scratches on the grayish boles.
"What are they?" asked Tom. "They remind me of the scratches on the legs of the table in my father's study, and our old cat--heavens, how long it seems since I saw them!"
"Leopards did 'em, sah! When dey catch us dey eat us."
"Really! Then they mustn't catch us, that's all."
Just as the words were out of his mouth, a terrific crash to the left made him jump and stand watchfully bent forward with his loaded rifle. He peered into the dense mass of foliage, but saw nothing.