THE FORGOTTEN DEAD 167 



refrained from advances, while for the love of mental 

 exhilaration he pondered: "That boy wants to tell me 

 something. He shall tell me all he wants to in his own 

 way, while I will play the part of an indifferent auditor." 



That the stranger had some secret on his soul was 

 apparent. My friend resolved to receive that secret in 

 the spirit of gracious condescension. So played he his 

 part, and line upon line, here a little and there a little, 

 the story was told. 



Few of the tribe of the stranger had ever seen a white 

 man. None had ever visited the coast . All were myalls, 

 living naked among the mountains in gorges gloomy with 

 jungle, and but rarely hunting on the foothills. One 

 day consternation and curiosity spread through the 

 camp. Three strange men with yellow faces and short 

 black hair had been seen. They carried nothing in 

 their hands, and seemed frightened. Thus the nervous 

 couriers of the camp spoke. 



Next morning the men took up the tracks, and, sneak- 

 ing close up, followed, alert and unseen, the unsuspecting 

 visitors to their country. 



Bewildered in the jungle, the queer-looking men 

 wandered aimlessly, moaning and wailing. They were 

 lost. Suddenly the blacks appeared. Two of the 

 strangers, glad of the company of any sort of human 

 beings, smiled and gesticulated pleasantly, making it 

 plain that they were hungry, tired, and frightened, and, 

 longing to get back to the coast, would bestow upon 

 their guides unheard-of blessings for safe-conduct thither. 



Strangely, the black men accepted the trust. Four 

 each took a hand of the confiding strangers, and, pointing 

 ahead and chattering, induced them to walk quickly 

 in a direction in which by signs they indicated the 

 dwelling of a white man. 



The third wanderer had run away, blundering through 



