Nzwi Amvam, a man of the Esen clan, had been killed by Bibane, chief of the Amvom clan, the enemies of the Esen. After some days a palaver was held to divide the dead man’s estate and decide to whom his seven widows should be given. These seven women were seated on the ground, in the middle of the street, while the assembled company, a miscellaneous crowd from that and surrounding villages, were seated on either side of the street in the shade of the low projecting palm-leaf roofs. The important men of the clan sat in the open palaver-house at the end of the street. After much oratory it was agreed that Ngon, eldest son of Nzwi Amvam, should receive two of his father’s wives, the other five being distributed among the near relations. Then the palaver broke up to be followed in the evening by a great dance with much drumming. When young Ngon lay down that night he considered that he had become an important man. Before his father’s death he had one wife; now he had three. He had also received from his father’s estate a store of iron rods and spearheads sufficient to purchase another wife. And, besides, he had a gun—the only one in his town—which, it is said, had come from the land of white men, beyond the great sea. He was in a fair way to become a great man. But Ngon was not happy. He was thinking of the man who killed his father; he was thinking of Bibane, and a passion stronger than the desire for wealth and greatness took possession of him. He felt _olun_, that is _shame_, _grief_, _rage_, an intolerable thirst for _revenge_—he felt _olun_. Many moons Ngon waited his opportunity. Many times he had his men conceal themselves along the forest paths that led to the village of the Amvom; but the enemy was too wary for them. At length, the day came that Ngon levelled his gun from behind a tree at the son of his enemy, who was passing alone and unsuspecting, and sent a rude fragment of an iron pot tearing into his chest. The wound was mortal. In a few hours they heard the wailing of the women of old Bibane’s village. Then the death-drum of the Amvom boomed through the forest and Ngon heard it with fierce delight. The _olun_ was removed from his breast. And, besides, he was now a great man beyond question, for he had killed an enemy with his own hands.