They made their way to a point which they guessed was about a mile
above the village, then they turned into the trackless tangle of
undergrowth to the east. So dense was the verdure at many points
that it was with the utmost difficulty they wormed their way through,
sometimes on hands and knees and again by clambering over numerous
fallen tree trunks. Interwoven with dead limbs and living branches
were the tough and ropelike creepers which formed a tangled network
across their path.

South of them in an open meadowland a number of black warriors were
gathered about an object which elicited much wondering comment. The
blacks were clothed in fragments of what had once been uniforms of
a native German command. They were a most unlovely band and chief
among them in authority and repulsiveness was the black sergeant
Usanga. The object of their interest was a British aeroplane.

Immediately after the Englishman had been brought to Numabo's village
Usanga had gone out in search of the plane, prompted partially by
curiosity and partially by an intention to destroy it, but when he
had found it, some new thought had deterred him from carrying out
his design. The thing represented considerable value as he well
knew and it had occurred to him that in some way he might turn his
prize to profit. Every day he had returned to it, and while at
first it had filled him with considerable awe, he eventually came
to look upon it with the accustomed eye of a proprietor, so that
he now clambered into the fuselage and even advanced so far as to
wish that he might learn to operate it.

What a feat it would be indeed to fly like a bird far above the
highest tree top! How it would fill his less favored companions
with awe and admiration! If Usanga could but fly, so great would be
the respect of all the tribesmen throughout the scattered villages
of the great interior, they would look upon him as little less than
a god.

Usanga rubbed his palms together and smacked his thick lips. Then
indeed, would he be very rich, for all the villages would pay
tribute to him and he could even have as many as a dozen wives.
With that thought, however, came a mental picture of Naratu, the
black termagant, who ruled him with an iron hand. Usanga made a
wry face and tried to forget the extra dozen wives, but the lure of
the idea remained and appealed so strongly to him that he presently
found himself reasoning most logically that a god would not be much
of a