"F--f--b!" said the girl contemptuously, and left him staring. To appreciate the position, you have to realise that Sanders was lord of all this district; that he had the power of life and death, and no man dared question or disobey his word. Had M'Lino been a man, as he said, she would have suffered for her treason--there is no better word for her offence--but she was a woman, and a seriously gifted woman, and, moreover, sure of whatever powers she had. He did not see her again during the three days he was in the city, nor (this is the extraordinary circumstance) did he discuss her with the chief. He learned that she had become the favourite wife of O'Sako; that she had many lovers and scorned her husband, but he sought no news of her. Once he saw her walking towards him, and went out of his way to avoid her. It was horribly weak and he knew it, but he had no power to resist the impulse that came over him to give her a wide berth. Following this visit, Sanders was coming down stream at a leisurely pace, he himself at the steering wheel, and his eyes searching the treacherous river for sand banks. His mind was filled with the problem of M'Lino, when suddenly in the bush that fringes the Isisi river, something went "woof," and the air was filled with flying potlegs. One struck his cabin, and splintered a panel to shreds, many fell upon the water, one missed Sergeant Abiboo's head and sent his _tarbosh_ flying. Sanders rang his engines astern, being curious to discover what induced the would-be assassin to fire a blunderbuss in his direction, and Abiboo, bare-headed, went pattering forward and slipped the canvas cover from the gleaming little Maxim. Then four Houssa soldiers jumped into the water and waded ashore, holding their rifles above their heads with the one hand and their ammunition in the other, and Sanders stood by the rail of the boat, balancing a sporting Lee-Enfield in the crook of his arm. Whoever fired the shot had chosen the place of killing very well. The bush was very thick, the approach to land lay through coarse grass that sprang from the swamp, vegetation ran rank, and a tangle of creeper formed a screen that would have been impenetrable to a white man. But the Houssas had a way--they found the man with his smoking gun, waiting calmly. He was of the Isisi people--a nation of philosophers--and he surrendered his weapon without embarrassment. "I think," he said to Sergeant Abiboo, as they hurried down the bank to the river-side, "this means death." "Death and the torments of hell to follow," said Abiboo, who was embittered by the loss of his _tarbosh_, which had cost him five francs in the French territory. Sanders put up his rifle when he saw the prisoner. He held an informal court in the shattered deck cabin. "Did you shoot at me?" he asked. "I did, master," said the man. "Why?" "Because," the prisoner replied, "you are a devil and exercise witchcraft." Sanders was puzzled a little.