Bausi replied that he would like to hear more of that
path another time which, as he presumed that we were going to spend
the rest of our lives in his company, could easily be found--say
during the next spring when the crops had been sown and the people had
leisure on their hands.
After this we presented our gifts, which now were eagerly accepted.
Then I took up my parable and explained to Bausi that so far from
stopping in Beza Town for the rest of our lives, we were anxious to
press forward at once to Pongo-land. The king's face fell, as did
those of his councillors.
"Listen, O lord Macumazana, and all of you," he said. "These Pongo are
horrible wizards, a great and powerful people who live by themselves
amidst the swamps and mix with none. If the Pongo catch Mazitu or folk
of any other tribe, either they kill them or take them as prisoners to
their own land where they enslave them, or sometimes sacrifice them to
the devils they worship."
"That is so," broke in Babemba, "for when I was a lad I was a slave to
the Pongo and doomed to be sacrificed to the White Devil.
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