You have not the heart of a chief; why don't you kill your own beef?
You must have a stone in your chest, and no heart at all, indeed!" Tuba Mokoro producing no impression on the transformed chief, one of the men, the most sedate of the party, who seldom spoke, took up the matter, and tried the lion in another strain.

In his slow quiet way he expostulated with him on the impropriety of such conduct to strangers, who had never injured him.

"We were travelling peaceably through the country back to our own chief.

We never killed people, nor stole anything.

The buffalo meat was ours, not his, and it did not become a great chief like him to be prowling round in the dark, trying, like a hyena, to steal the meat of strangers.