om the tangle of green, was busy
muttering spells over a calabash containing a magic concoction composed of
the entrails of a white goat, certain herbs and the eyes of a black
wild-cat. When the roof of the forest was a patterned ceiling against an
incandescent glow, Birnier stripped to the waist, and submitted himself to
the hands of the wizard who, after scattering the feathers of a scarlet
parrot into the calabash, smeared the left breast, the forehead and the
right arm of the white man, to the accompaniment of an incantation. These
insignia and specifics he must not remove for three suns; nor could he be
permitted to look upon the semi-divine Zalu Zako until whatever evil
influence his foreign body might possess should have been exorcised by
this powerful medicine.

To sit around half nude in such heat was no arduous undertaking, but to
sleep without rubbing off the concoction was another matter; also the
odour thereof was not pleasing to the nostrils of a white man. But Birnier
accomplished the feat by smoking excessively and by marking with a pencil
the various nostrums recommended by the amiable Burton, many of which were
hardly less disagreeable than Doctor Bakahenzie's prescription.

That worthy's slaves had erected a hut for him nigh to the tent in the
door of which he squatted, usually with Marufa beside him, throughout the
day, with ever a contemplative eye upon his victim, an eye which Birnier
was sure was eagerly seeking some excuse to plead that he had
inadvertently rendered the magic impotent, and must accordingly have the
ceremony repeated.

Amused by the ridiculous sight he presented, plastered over with this
filth, Birnier made Mungongo, whom he had taught to operate a camera, take
a photograph of him, which would entertain Lucille, as well as be of
scientific interest. Bakahenzie and Marufa watched this performance from
the fire with amazement, for they imagined that the camera was some kind
of gun. When they heard the click, they grunted as if expecting the white
man to fall dead. Birnier of course knew the universal native belief in
the picture being the soul, or one of the souls. He summoned Bakahenzie
and Marufa and showed them a photograph which, after some difficulty, they
recognised as Mungongo.

"Eh," grunted a warrior, "indeed is Mungongo the slave of the white man,
for hath he not imprisoned his soul?"

Mungongo laughed, yet he believed in the superstition as implicitly as any
of his c