now desolated village, seeing that the country behind
them is swarming with enemies; and of course they cannot know that we
have conquered the main body of these rascals. I therefore propose that
we should procure a canoe and follow them: first, because we must at all
hazards get hold of poor Okandaga, and relieve the anxiety of our
faithful guide Makarooroo; and second, because it is just as well to go
in that direction as in any other, in order to meet with wild animals,
and see the wonders of this land."

"But what if King Jambai takes it into his black woolly head to decline
to let us go?" said Peterkin.

"In that case we must take French leave of him."

"In which case," said I, in some alarm, "all my specimens of natural
history will be lost."

Jack received this remark with a shake of his head and a look of great
perplexity; and Peterkin said, "Ah, Ralph, I fear there's no help for
it. You must make up your mind to say good-bye to your mummies--big
puggies and all."

"But you do not know," said I energetically, "that Jambai will detain us
against our will."

"Certainly not," replied Jack; "and for your sake I hope that he will
not. At any rate I will go to see him about this point after supper.
It's of no use presenting a petition either to king, lord, or common
while his stomach is empty. But there is another thing that perplexes
me: that poor sick child, Njamie's son, must not be left behind. The
poor distracted mother has no doubt given him up for lost. It will be
like getting him back from the grave."

"True," said I; "we must take him with us. Yet I fear he is too ill to
travel, and we cannot await his recovery."

"He is not so ill as he seemed," observed Peterkin. "I went to see him
only half an hour ago, and the little chap was quite hearty, and glad to
see me. The fact is, he has been ill-used and ill-fed. The rest and
good treatment he has received have, even in the short time he has been
here, quite revived him."

"Good," said Jack; "then he shall go with us. I'll engage to take him
on my back when he knocks up on the march--for we have a march before
us, as I shall presently explain--and when we get into a canoe he will
be able to rest."

"But what march do you refer to?" I asked.

"Simply this. Mak, with whom I have had a good deal of conversation on
the subject, tells me that the river makes a considerable bend below
this village, and that by taking a short cut of a day's jo