Suddenly without a word old Sikaso left the fire and strode off into
the forest. He was gone for more than an hour and when he came back
his look of gloom had vanished. For him he was almost cheerful.
He swung his terrible axe in all sorts of fantastic evolutions and
hummed to himself his grim chant with a fierce sort of joy.
"White boys, the smoke is going to tell me things to-night," he
exclaimed suddenly. "When the moon reaches to the top of the sky I
shall tell you news of the four-eyed one and of the red-headed."
Impatiently they waited till the moon reached her zenith and then
watched wonderingly while the old savage built a small fire of
sticks, over each one of which he mumbled something in African.
"What good does he suppose all this hocus-pocus is going to do us?"
muttered Harry irritably, "as if an old fire could tell us anything
we didn't know already. It's all rubbish, I say."
"I'm not so sure," remarked Frank thoughtfully. "We have already
seen something of what his skill can do and I don't mind letting him
see if he can't conjure up something to give us a ray of hope."
"Oh bosh, Frank," replied Harry, "if he ever did get anything right
through this rigmarole and hanky-panky it was simply because he had
good luck.
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