Shilluk at the water's edge—"Renk! Renk! Rau!" Splash! went the Shilluk's ambatch canoe, and the lone man paddled like mad.
At the cry of "Renk! Renk!"—flesh, flesh—and "Rau"—hippo—every Shilluk and every Dinka sprang shouting to his feet. There was a cloud of dust, a scurry of bare legs, and a dozen canoes went paddling swiftly toward the hippos. Naked men rushed along the water's edge to catch up ropes and drag their prizes ashore.
Back through the quarters spread the cry of "Renk! Renk!" Afar off in the fields red throats opened and reëchoed the call of flesh. Exactly one hundred and fifteen men dropped the plow handles, abandoned the mules, flung down their seed sacks, and dashed to the river, heedless of Mr. Bim, who raved and swore.
They beached their hippos fifty yards below the eating house, and every black creature within a mile answered roll call—and abided. Fifty knives slashed the carcasses into a thousand bits. Glistening black bodies capered about, and yellow dogs dodged between their legs. Every human being had deserted the Hot Cat Eating House.
Old Reliable stood dazed, while Said began folding his useless net, just as it came from the box, and resigned himself to the afflictions of Allah. "No peoples buy," he moaned. "No peoples work in field; all eat hippo, much full,
