At once I saw what had happened.

Yamba had been hunting for roots over the boundary of territory belonging to a tribe with whom we had not yet made friends; and as she had plainly been guilty of the great crime of trespass, she was, according to inviolable native law, confiscated by those who had detected her.

I rushed up to the blacks and began to remonstrate with them in their own tongue, but they were both truculent and obstinate, and refused to release my now weeping and terrified Yamba.
At last we effected a compromise,--I agreeing to accompany the party, with their captive, back to their encampment, and there have the matter settled by the chief.

Fortunately we had not many miles to march, but, as I anticipated, the chief took the side of his own warriors, and promptly declared that he would appropriate Yamba for himself.

I explained to him, but in vain, that my wife's trespass was committed all unknowingly, and that had I known his tribe were encamped in the district, I would have come immediately and stayed with them a few nights.
As showing what a remarkable person I was, I went through part of my acrobatic repertoire; and even my poor eager Bruno, who evidently scented trouble, began on his own account to give a hurried and imperfect show.
He stood on his head and tumbled backwards and forwards in a lamentably loose and unscientific manner, barking and yelling all the time.
I do not know whether the wily chief had made up his mind to see more of us or not; but at any rate he looked at me very fiercely as though determined to carry his point, and then replied that there was but one law--which was that Yamba should be confiscated for poaching, whether the crime was intentional on her part or not.