“The camel steppeth lightly that carrieth the merchant’s gold,” I answered. “It is true,” he rejoined. “And how do they call thee?” “The Hausas call me Yúsufu Dan Égadesh, but some call me Yúsufu Fuláni, for my mother was a woman of Futa.” “I am called Musa Ba-Kachína,” said the old Hausa. “I go with my friends to our country through Kantámpo and Gonja. If it please thee to walk with us rather than to go alone through this wilderness, our fire shall warm thee, and our roofs shelter thee, and thou shalt be as our brother for the sake of the one God whom we all serve and who guides us through the land of the heathen.” “I will walk with thee, thankfully, my father,” said I, “and thou shalt command me as thy servant while I continue with thee.” My position as a member of the caravan being thus settled, the company bestowed on me sundry smiles of friendly recognition and set to work preparing for the night. To me was allotted the task of collecting wood for the fire and staves for the huts, in which I was assisted by the giant, whose name I found to be Abduláhi Dan-Daúra, more familiarly known as Dan-jiwa (child of the elephant); an amiable and joyous soul, as simple as a child, and as strong as a bull. I have myself generally passed for a powerful man, but beside this brown-skinned Titan I was like a young girl. The fashion in which he twisted off great branches and snapped them across his knee was perfectly amazing, and when I had been hacking ineffectually for five minutes at some hard-wood sapling, he would come along laughing and, with a flick of his great knife, snip it off as though it were a radish. We had soon collected a large heap of faggots and long straight poles, and these Abduláhi proceeded to tie up with cords of tie-tie into bundles proportionate to our respective sizes. I endeavoured to lift his bundle on to his head, but could not move it, on which he laughed in his soft girlish voice and hoisting it up lightly, tucked the entire collection of poles under his arm and strolled off, leaving me to follow shamefacedly with a small parcel of faggots. When we returned to the clearing we found everyone busy and all talking at once. A large heap of grass and leaves was ready for covering the huts and making beds, and a little fire had been kindled with a flint and steel. “We are waiting for thee, Yúsufu,” said my black-skinned friend--Mahama Dam-Bornu by name. “But I see thou art an idle fellow to let the poor little Dan-jiwa carry all the wood.” There was a general laugh at this, and I presently discovered that the good-humoured Abduláhi was one of the two standing jokes of the caravan, the other being a small man named Osumánu Ba-Kánu, but familiarly known as Dam-biri (child of the monkey), a sobriquet due partly to his remarkable agility and partly to his incorrigibly mischievous disposition.