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Text on page 268
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crawl around each jutting shoulder and along the valley-bottom, until the whole beautiful scene was just a formless, solid jumble against the tender western glory. Hotels and portly ladies en grande tour seemed a long way off just then.
In this village, Tumpo, we were rummaging about the bone-shed, among boar jaws and monkey skulls, when we came quite suddenly upon three human skulls.
It was the last night we were to have this tribe of savages with us, and Uschlung hung about in an access of affection, even suggesting sleeping with us, but the quarters were narrow as it was. I told him about the skulls, for this was his village. He laughed and nodded, pointing to his sword and his neck, then he cuddled closer and drew my arm over his shoulder. Truly, crime is more or less a matter of latitude and longitude, and missionaries ought to be able to do wonders with these gentle people, who now look on murder as a cardinal virtue. By this time we had grown quite expert at sign-language with our savage friends, and they told us at length of their daily life. They showed us how they hunted deer, and lay in wait with knives for the wild boar; they pointed out long tusk-scars on their legs and