He looked up and recognized Basa of the village of Gula. Basa had not yet noticed him. His gaze was fixed upon the basket a hundred feet above. The boys were just climbing into it. A terrible hate was stamped on Basa’s face. If a look could kill, Hal and Roger would have fallen dead at that instant. Basa held a bow and on his back was a quiver of arrows. The dark brown stains on the shafts showed that the arrows were poisoned. The boys, confined to the basket, were sitting ducks for those arrows. But Tanga could not believe that the handsome young Negro was thinking of murder. But he smelled trouble. It was part of his job to avoid trouble. There were no police in this area. The station master was the only public official except for the district officer, King Ku. If there was any violence brewing in this young man’s mind Tanga should know about it. ‘Good morning, Basa. You look as if you didn’t like our white friends.’ Basa saw him for the first time. He mumbled a reply and started to move away.
