Niger

all through the spreading branches. Suddenly
Mungo’s escort halted. This place would do.
Immediately one snatched off Mungo’s hat,
another cut off the solitary metal button remaining
on his waistcoat ; finally, to make sure of the nature
of the haul, they stripped him naked. He made no
resistance : it would have meant instant death.
One stared loutishly at the compass, and, when
Mungo begged for its return, cocked a musket and
swore to shoot the white trash should he lay hands
on it. Mungo did not lay hands on it. It was a poor
enough haul they had made, but robbers could
not be choosers and they made no complaints.
Instead, they commenced to debate an interesting
point : Should they leave the white man naked,
or give him something to shelter him from the
sun ?
The second school of thought carried the day.
The worst of Mungo’s two shirts was returned to
him, and the most ragged of his pairs of trousers.
Then, driving his horse before them, the robbers
vanished into the forest. Mungo called after them,
asking for his hat. In its crown all his memoranda
were concealed. The robber who had taken this share
of the plunder weighed the thing in his hand for a
moment. It was both heavy and uncouth. With
an appropriate exclamation, he hurled it back at
Mungo.
A few moments later he stood alone, in the wilds
of Africa, without a horse, without weapons,
without money, in the two miserable rags left to
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