If
Mr. Brother John goes, I'll go too, and indeed if he doesn't go, I'll
go alone."
"You unutterable young ass," I muttered in a stage aside.
"What is it the young white lord says he wishes in our country?" asked
the cold Komba, who with diabolical acuteness had read some of
Stephen's meaning in his face.
"He says that he is a harmless traveller who would like to study the
scenery and to find out if you have any gold there," I answered.
"Indeed. Well, he shall study the scenery and we have gold," and he
touched the bracelets on his arm, "of which he shall be given as much
as he can carry away. But perchance, white lords, you would wish to
talk this matter over alone. Have we your leave to withdraw a while, O
King?"
Five minutes later we were seated in the king's "great house" with
Bausi himself and Babemba. Here there was a mighty argument. Bausi
implored Brother John not to go, and so did I. Babemba said that to go
would be madness, as he smelt witchcraft and murder in the air, he who
knew the Pongo.
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