We plied each other with questions, of course. Taburet knew only one thing, and that was that he meant to accompany me on my expedition. I had to tell him all that had happened since our parting in June, and we made the last stage of our journey to Kolikoro riding side by side, and discussing every detail of our plans. Kolikoro, or more correctly perhaps, Korokoro, which means the old rock, was well known to me. I had stopped there in 1889 with the Niger flotilla for nearly a year. It occupies an extremely important position, marking as it does the highest navigable point of the central stretch of the Niger. Of course it is possible to go, as Taburet had just done, as far as Tolimandio, or even to Manambugu, at very high tide, but on account of the numerous impediments in the bed of the stream, it is far better to stop at Kolikoro, which has, moreover, other advantages in its favour. I was indeed glad when we came in sight of the curiously abrupt outlines of the hill overlooking the village. This hill is surmounted by a plateau on which we had camped once before, and there is a legend connected with it and Kolikoro, relating to the exploits of Somangoro, and the long struggle which was at one time maintained between the Soninké of the Niger districts and the Malinké from Kita. [Illustration: ARRIVAL AT KOLIKORO.] Sundiata was the seventh son of a hunter of Kita and a native woman of Toron. He was stunted and deformed from his birth, and could never go with his brothers to the chase, or bring home game for his mother. She was ashamed of him, and went so far as to curse the boy who did her so little credit. “Better death than dishonour,” said Sundiata. “_Moun kafisa malo di toro_,” so runs the refrain sung by the negroes. He fled to the woods, and there he met a sorceress, who by means of her charms converted the cripple into the strongest warrior of the district. He went back to his father, and pretending to be still infirm, he asked for a stick to lean upon. The hunter cut him a branch from a tree, but Sundiata broke it as if it were a straw; then his father gave him a small tree stem, next a gigantic trunk, and lastly a huge iron rod, which all the blacksmiths of the country had been at work on for a year, but the young fellow broke them all. In face of this evident miracle his father and brothers admitted his superior strength. His courage, his power, and the knowledge of magic which had been bequeathed to him by the sorceress, drew all the Malinké to Sundiata, and Samory himself, who is a Malinké, claims at this present day to be Sundiata returned to earth.