und and no sign from the hidden enemy. Doubtless, fierce eyes were
glaring out upon them, but they could see nothing, and with a long
uneasy look all around they kept on for a mile or so, when they came
upon a clearing that spoke of man. It spoke of man, but there was
nothing living in the few acres that had been hewn out of the woods.
A ring of black embers showed where huts had stood, a dug-out canoe
lay half in, half out the waters, a broken clay pot, a rusty hoe,
and a litter of bones were gathered forlornly in one spot, and a
strip of cloth fluttered from a scarred post. They ran the Okapi in,
and Muata, with his jackal, leapt ashore to decipher what this
writing in the forest meant. The jackal showed none of the delight
that a dog would have shown under similar conditions, but at once
vanished into the wood, with his nose to the ground, bent on the
serious business of life--that of nosing out the enemy, while his
master, with his favourite Ghoorka knife in his hand, rapidly
inspected the ground.

Instinctively they all felt the need for caution. The boys had the
edge taken off their rash ardour long before, but that sinister
warning from the forest in the shape of the arrow had driven home
again the lesson that it was necessary to be always on guard.

The forest, in its silence and in its gloom, was menacing. They
glanced up the river. It stretched away like an avenue cut out of a
solid mass of vegetation, and all the length to the spot where the
banks seemed to run together, as if the river had ended, there was
no sign of living thing.

Suddenly an animal darted across the clearing and crouched behind
Muata. It was the jackal, the hair on its neck erect, and its body
quivering with fear, or excitement. Then a branch snapped with a
startling report, there was a violent shaking of leaves, a short
bark-like roar, and then a noise of shaking gradually decreasing.

Muata had fallen back to the river's brink at the roar, but now he
turned his attention once more to the clearing.

"What was that?"

"Man-monkey," he said quietly.

"Gorilla! By Jove!" and the boys stared into the forest, and then at
each other. "Perhaps he's gone to call up the others. Will he come
back, Muata?"

"Not he," said Mr. Hume. "He's just about as frightened as we were.
What are the signs, Muata?"

"Wow! Bad--bad signs. These be the bones of men;" and he turned over
the ashes with his foot. "They were few who made a home here, and