It was well after noon when Paulvitch came to the Mosula village
upon the bank of the tributary of the Ugambi. Here he was received
with suspicion and unfriendliness by the native chief, who, like
all those who came in contact with Rokoff or Paulvitch, had suffered
in some manner from the greed, the cruelty, or the lust of the two
Muscovites.
When Paulvitch demanded the use of a canoe the chief grumbled a surly
refusal and ordered the white man from the village. Surrounded by
angry, muttering warriors who seemed to be but waiting some slight
pretext to transfix him with their menacing spears the Russian
could do naught else than withdraw.
A dozen fighting men led him to the edge of the clearing, leaving
him with a warning never to show himself again in the vicinity of
their village.
Stifling his anger, Paulvitch slunk into the jungle; but once
beyond the sight of the warriors he paused and listened intently.
He could hear the voices of his escort as the men returned to the
village, and when he was sure that they were not following him he
wormed his way through the bushes to the edge of the river, still
determined some way to obtain a canoe.
Life itself depended upon his reaching the Kincaid and enlisting
the survivors of the ship's crew in his service, for to be abandoned
here amidst the dangers of the African jungle where he had won the
enmity of the natives was, he well knew, practically equivalent to
a sentence of death.
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