ining the use
of his limbs, stood up before the white men, hands folded in front of him,
and his eyes rolling from Berselius to Adams.

"M'Bassa," said Adams, touching the porter, pointing to the collector, and
then away into the forest in the direction he fancied Fort M'Bassa to be.

The porter understood. He said a few words to the collector, who nodded
his head furiously and struck himself on the breast with his open hand.

Then the porter turned again to Adams.

"M'Bassa," said he, nodding his head, pointing to the collector, and then
away into the forest.

That was all, but it meant that they were saved.

Adams gave a great whoop that echoed away through the trees, startling
bats and birds in the branches and losing itself without an echo in the
depths of the gloom. Then he struck himself a blow on the chest with his
fist.

"My God!" said he, "the tent!"

They had only travelled an eighth of a mile or so from the camping place,
but they had wandered this way and that before the porter had found the
true direction of the call, and the tent, provisions, and everything else
were lost as utterly and irrevocably as though they had been dropped in
mid-ocean.

To step aside from a thing--even for a hundred yards--in this terrible
place was to lose it; even the rubber collectors, from whom the forest
holds few secrets have, in these thick places, to blaze a trail by
breaking branches, tying lianas and marking tree trunks.

"True," said Berselius in a weary voice, "we have lost even that."

"No matter," said Adams, "we have got a guide. Cheer up, this man will
take us to Fort M'Bassa and there you will find the road again."

"Are you sure?" said Berselius, a touch of hope in his voice.

"Sure? Certain. You've forgotten Fort M'Bassa. Well, when you see it, you
will remember it, and it will lead you right away home. Cheer up, cheer
up; we've got a fire and a bit of shelter for you to sleep under, and
we'll start bright and early in the morning, and this black imp of Satan
will lead you straight back to your road and your memory--hey! Uncle
Joe!"

He patted the collector on the naked shoulder and a faint grin appeared on
that individual's forlorn countenance; never had he come across a white
man like this before. Then, bustling about, Adams piled up the fire with
more sticks, got Berselius under the shelter of the collector's wretched
hut, sat himself down close to the fire, produced his pipe, and proceeded,
i