“‘Is she then the woman of that driver?’ he asked. “His companions laughed. ‘Nay, she is the woman of Maas Djo.’ “‘Who then is Maas Djo?’ “‘Maas Djo is the Maasa, the Headman. It is his silver with which thou wert got.’ “‘Why then have I not seen this Headman?’ “‘For the reason that since thou hast come he has been gone with a war-party to fight the Yankis to the north.’ “‘He has gone then to take other captives?’ “‘Nay he has gone to save those he has got.’ And then they recounted to Djeba: ‘The war-parties of the Yankis who come from behind the rivers of the north choke the trails. The bush never sleeps for the sound of their drums. Their torches are amongst the settlements. The long peace of the white men is broken; new confederations are formed; terror is loosed abroad. The lust of booty and of blood is aflame in the Yankis. It is said that they devour babes; it is known that when they make prayer in their holy places their ablutions are performed in the blood of a lamb. Such are they!’ “Then they recounted to Djeba how Maas Djo and the other Headmen, the holders of plantings, all the young men, how they had gathered to the war-drums in the trails, how they had chosen chiefs and gone away into the bush, and how the sky above them was that day the color of gore. “And Djeba asked them, ‘Which is then the stronger?’ And they answered, ‘The party of Maas Djo is the stronger. Mayhap even now it has driven the Yankis back across their rivers. Mayhap to-morrow he will return home!’ “But one amongst them who had been born into labor in that stockade in Djoja and who was now an old man said, ‘Mayhap not.’ That same man, who was called by the name of Moz, came into the _dar_ at night and said in a low voice to Djeba, ‘The Yankis are like the leaves of the pepper-tree; they are small, but their number is beyond count. Hark thou well when the bush is sleeping and thou wilt hear their powder-guns in the north.’ “Then Djeba harkened, but he heard no guns. Nevertheless he sharpened his reaping-tool. But he was not yet strong from his sickness. “From time to time that woman from the _dar kebir_ came to bring him sweet milk and speak in tones of compassion. And it was written that the heart of Djeba, the son of chieftains, should grow soft and meek. But when that driver perceived Mis’us ministering to the captive’s weakness he jeered with mocking laughter, and the woman cowered before it as though she had been afraid and fled away to the Big House. And Djeba’s hatred of that man grew like a pain. “‘When I am stronger I will kill him,’ he said. “So he grew stronger.