Now Mainward lifted his aching head from the pillow and cursed aloud at the din. He was endowed with the smattering of pigeon-English which a man may acquire from a three months' sojourn divided between Sierra Leone and Grand Bassam. "Why for they make 'em cursed noise, eh?" he fretted. "You plenty fool-man, Abiboo." "Si, senor," agreed the Kano boy, calmly. "Stop it, d'ye hear? stop it!" raved the man on the tumbled bed; "this noise is driving me mad--tell them to stop the drum." The _lo-koli_ stopped of its own accord, for the listeners in the sick man's camp had heard the faint answer from Sanders. "Come here, Abiboo--I want some milk; open a fresh tin; and tell the cook I want some soup, too." The servant left him muttering and tossing from side to side on the creaking camp bedstead. Mainward had many strange things to think about. It was strange how they all clamoured for immediate attention; strange how they elbowed and fought one another in their noisy claims to his notice. Of course, there was the bankruptcy and the discovery at the bank--it was very decent of that inspector fellow to clear out--and Ethel, and the horses, and--and---- The Valley of Happy Dreams! That would make a good story if Mainward could write; only, unfortunately, he could not write. He could sign things, sign his name "three months after date pay to the order of----" He could sign other people's names; he groaned, and winced at the thought. But here was a forest where bad thoughts became good, and, God knows, his mind was ill-furnished. He wanted peace and sleep and happiness--he greatly desired happiness. Now suppose "Fairy Lane" had won the Wokingham Stakes? It had not, of course (he winced again at the bad memory), but suppose it had? Suppose he could have found a friend who would have lent him 16,000, or even if Ethel---- "Master," said Abiboo's voice, "dem puck-a-puck, him lib for come." "Eh, what's that?" Mainward turned almost savagely on the man. "Puck-a-puck--you hear'um?" But the sick man could not hear the smack of the _Zaire_'s stern wheel, as the little boat breasted the downward rush of the river--he was surprised to see that it was dawn, and grudgingly admitted to himself that he had slept. He closed his eyes again and had a strange dream. The principal figure was a small, tanned, clean-shaven man in a white helmet, who wore a dingy yellow overcoat over his pyjamas. "How are you feeling?" said the stranger. "Rotten bad," growled Mainward, "especially about Ethel; don't you think it was pretty low down of her to lead me on to believe she was awfully fond of me, and then at the last minute to chuck me?" "Shocking," said the strange, white man gravely, "but put her out of your mind just now; she isn't worth troubling about. What do you say to this?" He held up a small, greenish pellet between his forefinger and thumb, and Mainward laughed weakly.