er to the tips of his
fingers." "Offal of a hyena!" shrieked Momaya. "My child has been
stolen, and you, rotting fragment of a man, have taken him. Return him
to me or I shall tear your eyes from your head and feed your heart to
the wild hogs."

Bukawai shrugged his shoulders. "What do I know about your child?" he
asked. "I have not taken him. If he is stolen again, what should
Bukawai know of the matter? Did Bukawai steal him before? No, the white
jungle god stole him, and if he stole him once he would steal him
again. It is nothing to me. I returned him to you before and I have
come for my pay. If he is gone and you would have him returned,
Bukawai will return him--for ten fat goats, a new sleeping mat and two
pieces of copper wire the length of a tall man's arm from the shoulder
to the tips of his fingers, and Bukawai will say nothing more about the
goats and the sleeping mat and the copper wire which you were to pay
for the first medicine."

"Ten fat goats!" screamed Momaya. "I could not pay you ten fat goats
in as many years. Ten fat goats, indeed!"

"Ten fat goats," repeated Bukawai. "Ten fat goats, the new sleeping
mat and two pieces of copper wire the length of--"

Momaya stopped him with an impatient gesture. "Wait!" she cried. "I
have no goats. You waste your breath. Stay here while I go to my man.
He has but three goats, yet something may be done. Wait!"

Bukawai sat down beneath a tree. He felt quite content, for he knew
that he should have either payment or revenge. He did not fear harm at
the hands of these people of another tribe, although he well knew that
they must fear and hate him. His leprosy alone would prevent their
laying hands upon him, while his reputation as a witch-doctor rendered
him doubly immune from attack. He was planning upon compelling them to
drive the ten goats to the mouth of his cave when Momaya returned.
With her were three warriors--Mbonga, the chief, Rabba Kega, the
village witch-doctor, and Ibeto, Tibo's father. They were not pretty
men even under ordinary circumstances, and now, with their faces marked
by anger, they well might have inspired terror in the heart of anyone;
but if Bukawai felt any fear, he did not betray it. Instead he greeted
them with an insolent stare, intended to awe them, as they came and
squatted in a semi-circle before him.

"Where is Ibeto's son?" asked Mbonga.

"How should I know?" returned Bukawai. "Doubtless the white dev