Indeed, his swollen, diabolical figure supported on the thin, toad-like legs, the great fires burning on either side, the lurid lights of evening reflected from the still water beyond and glowering among the tree tops of the mountain, the white-robed forms of the tall Pongo, bending, every one of them, towards the wretched culprit and hissing like so many fierce serpents, all suggested some uttermost deep in the infernal regions as one might conceive them in a nightmare.
It went on for some time, I don't know how long, till at length the Motombo picked up his fantastically shaped horn and blew.

Thereon the women darted from the various doorways, but seeing that they were not wanted, checked themselves in their stride and remained standing so, in the very attitude of runners about to start upon a race.

As the blast of the horn died away the turmoil was suddenly succeeded by an utter stillness, broken only by the crackling of the fires whose flames, of all the living things in that place, alone seemed heedless of the tragedy which was being played.
"All up now, old fellow!" whispered Stephen to me in a shaky voice.
"Yes," I answered, "all up high as heaven, where I hope we are going.
Now back to back, and let's make the best fight we can.

We've got the spears." While we were closing in the Motombo began to speak.
"So you plotted to kill the god, Kalubi-who-_was_," he screamed, "with these white ones whom you would pay with the Holy Flower and her who guards it.

Good! You shall go, all of you, and talk with the god.