The feast was still in progress when Colonel Narfield's party rode up. The villagers were gorging themselves on roasted elephant flesh washed down by copious draughts of native beer.
Those who were not torpid with excessive food and drink were strongly inclined to be quarrelsome. In their befuddled state these men were not likely to be of much use as trackers.
Very peremptorily Colonel Narfield called upon Logula to come to him. The chief had still sufficient sense to realise that the summons must be obeyed.
"Listen, Logula," said the Colonel. "When we left you after doing you great service by slaying the bull elephant and the two cow elephants there were two white men riding behind the bearers."
"Yes, Great One; that is so," agreed Logula. "One was the Little-Son-of-the-Great-One-that-wears-the-Charm."
Colonel Narfield did not attempt to deny the imputed relationship.
"The two white men are lost," he said. "There will be great reward paid to Logula, successor to Sibenga, if he or any of his people find them."
Logula eyed the Colonel curiously. "Hau!" he exclaimed. "What is amiss with the Magic of the Great One that he has to come to Logula and ask him to use his magic? Truly it is strange. And as yet no witch-doctor dwells in Sibenga's Kraal. It was by the iron-tube-that-breathes-fire-and smoke belonging to the Great One that the wise witch-doctor was slain. Having destroyed his magic by a magic greater than his, how comes it that you seek my lesser charms to aid your greater magic?"
"I do not ask the aid of your sorcerers and witch-doctors, Logula," declared Herbert Narfield. "I want your skilled trackers, although judging by the evidence of my eyes and ears they are no better than oxen stricken with rinder-pest."
Logula followed the direction of the Colonel's glance and shrugged his massive shoulders. Then he pointed with his knobkerrie at two dazed-looking natives who were squatting with their eyes staring glazedly into the fire.