A little color came into Mary's pale cheeks. Most persons would have been satisfied with this victory, but Mary was not. She boldly repeated the crime for which she had been so nearly punished.
"Will you come to my meeting?" she asked.
The leader put both hands into his pockets.
"Well, this beats me!" he said. His companions expected that now Mary Slessor's hour had come. Instead, he turned on them furiously.
"Go on in!" he commanded, and into the meeting filed the whole party.
It was not this time that Mary was afraid.
In far-off Calabar in Africa in the deep woods there was a stir. Dawn was not yet complete, though there was a grayish light over everything and a pink glow in the eastern sky. The trees were tall, the foliage dark, and here and there were gorgeous flowers. Now and then a parrot or a monkey chattered high up on the branches. Near by flowed a beautiful stream, overshadowed by thick foliage and edged by blooming water-lilies.
So far everything was beautiful. But in the deep thickets there were sounds which were not beautiful, the angry shouts of harsh, human voices. Advancing through the bushes were many black men, wearing almost no clothing, but armed to the teeth. They carried knives in their belts and spears and guns in their hands. Their black eyes glittered, their teeth gleamed, they panted for breath. They were on the war-path, and they looked as terrible as charging beasts of prey. They were a tribe of the Okoyong country, going to meet in battle another tribe, a member of which had injured their chief. Nothing one would have said could stay them.
Suddenly they heard a sound of advancing footsteps and a shrill call. They tightened their grasp on their weapons. Was the enemy at hand? Then up and at him!