148 JOURNEY WITHOUT MAPS

for Mark on the other side. He had taken off his
robe and was naked except for his loin-cloth. He
picked up the Revelation suitcase and swung it up
to his head as if he were only beginning the day's
march. He was admirable when things went wrong;
he sulked and grumbled only on a day of rest or
after a short march. It amused him that I.should
have overtaken them, and he strode up the path from
the Loffa laughing and chattering in Bande.

Duogobmai came in sight, a line of blackened huts
at the top of a long red-clay slope. A strange pink
light welled out of the air, touching the tall termite
mounds which stood along the path. It seemed to
have no source in the darkening sky, it gave the whole
landscape, the ant-heaps and the red clay and the
black huts of Duogobmai on the hill-top camp, a
curious Martian air. Men ran out of the huts and
looked down at us, climbing up out of the dusk and
the forest.

It was quite dark when we came into the town and
felt our Vay between the huts to find the chiefs.
Duogobmai looked very old and- very dirty. It was
like a Tudor town in its cramped crowded way; the
thatch of the huts touched, one had to stoop between
them, and the narrow paths were blocked with
creamy moonstruck cows like Jerseys with twisted
horns standing in their turd among the hens and dogs
and small fierce cats and goats.

The chief was a middle-aged man with thick lips
and little cunning eyes who looked more Oriental
than West African in his red fez. He sat in a ham-
mock before his hut. I couldn't tell whether he was
friendly or not. He just sat there and listened to