"Though I die at this minute," said the chief virtuously, "though the river turn to fire and consume my inmost stomach, though every tree become a tiger to devour me, I have not dreamt of war." Sanders grinned internally. "Spare your breath," he said gently. "You who go hunting elephants, for it is a long journey to the Great Forest, and there are many swamps to be crossed, many rivers to be swum. My heart is glad that I have come in time to bid you farewell." There was a most impressive silence, for this killing of elephants was a stray excuse of the chief's. The Great Forest is a journey of two months, one to get there and one to return, and is moreover through the most cursed country, and the Akasava are not a people that love long journeys save with the current of the river. The silence was broken by the chief. "Lord, we desire to put off our journey in your honour, for if we go, how shall we gather in palaver?" Sanders shook his head. "Let no man stop the hunter," quoth he. "Go in peace, chief, and you shall secure many teeth."[3] He saw a sudden light come to the chief's eyes, but continued, "I will send with you a sergeant of Houssas, that he may carry back to me the story of your prowess"--the light died away again--"for there will be many liars who will say that you never reached the Great Forest, and I shall have evidence to confound them." Still the chief hesitated, and the waiting ranks listened, eagerly shuffling forward, till they ceased to bear any semblance to an ordered army, and were as a mob. "Lord," said the chief, "we will go to-morrow----" The smile was still on Sanders' lips, but his face was set, and his eyes held a steely glitter that the chief of the Akasava knew. "You go to-day, my man," said Sanders, lowering his voice till he spoke in little more than a whisper, "else your warriors march under a new chief, and you swing on a tree." "Lord, we go," said the man huskily, "though we are bad marchers and our feet are very tender." Sanders, remembering the weariness of the Akasava, found his face twitching. "With sore feet you may rest," he said significantly; "with sore backs you can neither march nor rest--go!" At dawn the next morning the N'Gombi people came in twenty-five war canoes to join their Akasava friends, and found the village tenanted by women and old men, and Tigili, the king, in the shock of the discovery, surrendered quietly to the little party of Houssas on the beach. "What comes to me, lord?" asked Tigili, the king. Sanders whistled thoughtfully. "I have some instructions about you somewhere," he said. [Footnote 3: Tusks.] CHAPTER IX. THE WOOD OF DEVILS. Four days out of M'Sakidanga, if native report be true, there is a trickling stream that meanders down from N'Gombi country. Native report says that this is navigable even in the dry season.