When his interrogation was completed, Sanders gathered up his notes and had the men taken on board the steamer. Two hours later the _Zaire_ was moving at its fullest speed in the direction of a village of the Akasava, which is called in the native tongue Tukalala. There was a missionary to Tukalala, a devoted young American Methodist, who had elected to live in the fever belt amongst heathen men that he might bring their hearts to the knowledge of God. Sanders had no special regard for missionaries; indeed, he had views on the brotherhood which did him no particular credit, but he had an affection for the young man who laboured so cheerfully with such unpromising material, and now he paced the little bridge of his steamer impatiently, for it was very necessary that he should reach Tukalala before certain things happened. He came round a bend of the little river just as the sun was going down behind the trees on the western bank, and the white beach before the mission station showed clearly. He motioned with two fingers to the man at the wheel, and the little steamer swung almost broadside to the swift stream and headed for the bank, and the black water of the river humped up against his port bow as though it were a sluice gate. Into the beach he steamed; "pucka-pucka-pucka-puck," sang the stern wheel noisily. Where the missionary's house had stood was a chaos of blackened debris, and out of it rose lazy little wisps of smoke. He found the missionary dressed in white duck, greatly soiled, lying face downwards, and he found some difficulty in raising him, because he was pinned to the ground with a broad-bladed elephant spear which had been broken off flush with his shoulders. Sanders turned him on his back, closed the patient's eyes, staring, it seemed, hungrily at the darkening sky as though at the last questioning God's wisdom. The Commissioner took a gaudy bandana handkerchief from his pocket, and laid it on the dead man's face. "Abiboo," he said softly to his sergeant, "dig me a great hole by that copal gum, for this man was a great chief amongst his people, and had communion with gods." "He was a Christ man," said Abiboo sagely, who was a devout follower of the Prophet, "and in the Sura of Mary it is written: "'The sects have fallen to variance about Jesus, but woe, because of the assembly of a great day to those who believe not!'" Abiboo bore the title of Haj because he had been to Mecca and knew the Koran better than most Christians know the Bible. Sanders said nothing. He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, casting his eyes around. No building stood. Where the mission station with its trim garden had been, was desolation. He saw scraps of cloth in the fading light. These were other victims, he knew. In the mellow light of the moon he buried the missionary, saying the Lord's Prayer over him, and reciting as much of the Burial Service as he could remember.