eant losing a very large
membership.

The fate of Bucongo's congregation had been decided when, in his anger,
he took canoe, and travelling for half a day, came to the principal
Mission.

Father Carpentier, full-bearded, red of face and brawny of arm, listened
in the shade of his hut, pulling thoughtfully at a long pipe.

"And so, Pentini," concluded Bucongo, "even Sandi puts shame upon me
because I am a cross-God man, and he by all accounts is of the water-God
ju-ju."

The father eyed this perturbed sheep of his flock thoughtfully.

"O Bucongo," he said gently, "in the river lands are many beasts. Those
which fly and which swim; those that run swiftly and that hide in the
earth. Now who of these is right?"

"Lord, they are all right but are of different ways," said Bucongo.

Father Carpentier nodded.

"Also in the forest are two ants--one who lives in tree nests, and one
who has a home deep in the ground. They are of a kind, and have the same
business. Yet God put it into the little heads of one to climb trees,
and of the other to burrow deeply. Both are right and neither are wrong,
save when the tree ant meets the ground ant and fights him. Then both
are wrong."

The squatting Bucongo rose sullenly.

"Master," he said, "these mysteries are too much for a poor man. I think
I know a better ju-ju, and to him I go."

"You have no long journey, Chief," said the father sternly, "for they
tell me stories of ghost dances in the forest and a certain Bucongo who
is the leader of these--and of a human sacrifice. Also of converts who
are branded with a cross of hot iron."

The chief looked at his sometime tutor with face twisted and puckered
with rage, and turning without a word, walked back to his canoe.

The next morning Father Carpentier sent a messenger to Sanders bearing
an urgent letter, and Sanders read the closely written lines with a
troubled frown.

He put down the letter and came out on to the deck, to find Hamilton
fishing over the side of the steamer. Hamilton looked round.

"Anything wrong?" he asked quickly.

"Bucongo of the Lesser Isisi is wrong," said Sanders. "I have heard of
his religious meetings and have been a little worried--there will be a
big ju-ju palaver or I'm very much mistaken. Where is Bones?"

"He has taken my sister up the creek--Bones says there are any number of
egrets' nests there, and I believe he is right."

Sanders frowned again.

"Send a canoe to fetch him back," he