That night laughter was heard in the men's camp for the first time
for many weeks--nay, several months. According to the account that
Joseph gave to his dusky admirers, he had been on terms of the
closest familiarity with the wives, and families of all who had such
at Loango or on the Coast. He knew the mother of one, had met the
sweetheart of another, and confessed that it was only due to the
fact that he was not "a marryin' man" that he had not stayed at
Loango for the rest of his life. It was somewhat singular that he
had nothing but good news to give.
Durnovo heard the clatter of tongues, and Guy Oscard, smoking his
contemplative pipe in a camp-chair before his hut door, noticed that
the sound did not seem very welcome.
Joseph's arrival with ten new men seemed to give a fresh zest to the
work, and the carefully-packed cases of Simiacine began to fill
Oscard's tent to some inconvenience. Thus things went on for two
tranquil weeks.
"First," Oscard had said, "let us get the crop in and then we can
arrange what is to be done about the future."
So the crop received due attention; but the two leaders of the men--
he who led by fear and he who commanded by love--were watching each
other.
One evening, when the work was done, Oscard's meditations were
disturbed by the sound of angry voices behind the native camp.
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