The rifle dropped to Carter's shoulder and cracked. A herd of small deer were crossing the narrow road ahead of them, and one of them tripped and fell, and there was payment for their next night's lodging. Thirteen days' march Ali ben Hossein had called it to the hill where an unnamed river scoured the foot of a red-streaked bluff, and Carter, who was lean and strong and wiry, flattered himself on being able to walk as well as any Moslem in Haûsaland. But the fact remained that more than three times thirteen days passed before they reached the place, and the perils of the way proved many and glaring. In some of the villages the headmen proved hospitable; in others they would have neither truck nor dealing with any callers whatever. The country was full of war and unrest, and there was no doubt that it was desperately poor. The cassava grounds were unplanted, the millet was unsown, the banana gardens were wantonly slashed and ruined. The small bush farmer is a creature of nerves, and he stands adversity badly. Put him under a strong over-lord, and he will serve gladly and efficiently. Leave him to himself, and when things go awry with him for too many weeks together he is apt to suddenly give up the struggle, and sit down with chin on his knees, and quietly starve to death. One cannot reckon far upon the moods of a man who is ridiculously unenthusiastic over his own life or his neighbors'. But at one place they marched in upon red war. The village lay amongst its farm lands in a break of the forest, and the gaps between the houses had been filled with thorns. Shots came from it at intervals, and were answered by the shots of invisible marksmen who lay within the edge of the forest. The sun glared high overhead in a fleckless sky. The air was salt with the smoke of the crude trade powder. White-Man's-Trouble counselled retreat. "Yes, that's all right," said Carter irritably. "No one wants to ram his head into a scrap less than I do. But where the deuce can we go to? There's been no single branch to this road we've come along, and the bush on each side is about the thickest in Africa. Nothing short of a regiment of men with matchets would make a path through it anywhere. Going back to that last village means getting skewered. All the way along I've been wondering how on earth we got out of it without having at least ten spears rammed into each of us." "O Carter, I no fit to go get mixed in dem fight palaver." "You're so beastly unoriginal. Why go on repeating the same thing? I'd like further to point out that we've not had a bite to eat for twenty-four hours, and I personally can't go on living on my own fat without inconvenience, as you seem to do." "No savvy." "Well, to translate, I say I plenty-much fit for chop." White-Man's-Trouble rubbed the waistband of his trousers tenderly. "Me, too," he admitted.