"Haste, my son!"-- this to the paddler.

"They are white men, such as I have spoken of." The canoe gradually drew near, and the old man held out a shaking hand to be helped on board the larger boat; but the wild man remained in his dug-out.

The old man told his story slowly in a strange dialect understood by Muata, and the purport of it was that the cannibals had surprised the village at dawn, killed all the men with the exception of themselves, and had gone off with the women.
It was a familiar story to Muata, and he related it coldly; but his indifference did not last very long.

It was plain that the old man was not of the same race as his companion, and when the two had eaten, Compton asked the old chap how he came to wear a fez and speak Arabic.
"It is the speech of my fathers, effendi," he said, turning his smoke-bleared eyes on the young face.
"And how came it that an Arab was dwelling with the river-people ?" asked Muata.

"Sooner would I have looked for an old wolf living at peace with the goats." The Arab withdrew his gaze from Compton and fastened it on the otter outlined on the chiefs breast.