even pleased to crack a few jokes over the novel machinery for
working the screw of the Okapi by levers, and in the evening he
invited Mr. Hume to a friendly game of cards, thoughtfully including
in his invitation a bottle of brandy and a box of cigars, for, said
he, he wished to wash out the execrable taste of the everlasting
manioc.

All the day Muata stood bound to a post in the square, the central
figure of a ring of squatting natives, who chewed manioc and
discussed his approaching fate with much satisfaction.

He was there, an erect, stoical figure, when the boys sought their
room in the little thatched house--a room bare of furniture, divided
from the next compartment by hanging mats of native make.

"It's a beastly shame," said Venning, for about the fourth time, as
he stared out at the black faces reflected in the blazing log-fires.

"What is a shame?" asked Compton, who was inspecting the partition
before seeking his hammock.

"You know well enough. Not a soul stands by the chief; even his
jackal bolted as soon as he jumped ashore."

"Because Muata ordered him. He is probably watching from the dark."

"All the worse for us, then. I never thought Mr. Hume would have
knuckled down so easily. Hark at him shouting over the game."

"What is the game, do you think?"