Withoutdelay the task of sawing off the ivory proceeded. Of the two cow-elephants only one possessed tusks. These, by the law of the chase, fell to Van der Wyck.
Colin had scored heavily, for the bull elephant's tusks were large, heavy, and in splendid condition; but upon hearing that they were his prize he resolutely refused to accept the trophies unless the ivory were shared between the whole of the party from Kilembonga.
"We'll do the apportioning later," declared Colonel Narfield, who, propped up against a tree and smoking a cigar, was directing operations while the two Haussas set to work to saw through the valuable tusks. "No, no hurry on my account, lads. My ankle hurts a bit, naturally, but it's nothing to make a song about. I'm afraid I'll have to be carried home."
At length the return journey began. Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly rode at the head of the party with the Colonel's led horse between them, the animal having been brought from the Kraal.
Then came Herbert Narfield's personal servant carrying the spare rifles. Behind him were four stalwart natives from Sibenga's Kraal, bearing a hastily-contrived litter on which lay the injured man. Four relief bearers followed, with Van der Wyck to keep an eye on that section of the procession.
Next came more natives bearing the trophies of the hunt. That their task was an uncongenial one there was little doubt. They wanted to remain behind to participate in the feast to celebrate the slaying of the mammoth animals, a feast in which elephant flesh formed a prominent article of diet.
So, in order to keep the bearers to their work, Colin and Desmond rode at the rear of the procession, with their loaded rifles ready to fire at any savage beast that might be lurking in the scrub in order to pounce upon the defenceless bearers.
Presently the party gained the so-called road that led from Tabora to Kilembonga—the same that Colin and Tiny had traversed during their memorable, adventurous, and strenuous journey on their arrival at the estate.
For the greater part it was little better than an ox-track, with a number of stiff gradients. On either side were dense masses of trees, frequently meeting overhead and forming adark tunnel through which the moonbeams failed to penetrate.
Once they discovered that they had to go, the natives dropped their sullen attitude. True children of nature, their moods were capable of sudden and contrasted changes, and soon they were yelling and shouting at the top of their voices, singing songs in praise of the Great One and his white brothers, who had fought and conquered the despoilers of their village.
The first streaks of dawn were showing low down on the horizon when the injured Colonel Narfield was carried through the gate of Kilembonga.
Tenpenny Nail and the Colonel's servant led the horses to the stables, while Blue Fly hurried off to give instructions to the native servants to provide a meal for the bearers. Van der Wyck, still mounted, awaited the arrival of the ivory.
"Colin and Desmond are a long way behind," he observed to the Colonel, who had refused to be taken into the house until the tusks were safely locked up and the natives fed, paid, and dismissed.
"What did they want to lag behind for?" inquired Colonel Narfield. "If that's the sort of thing they do when they are on rear guard I don't think much of it. Do you mind goingto the gate and hurrying them up, Van der Wyck?"
The Afrikander lighted his pipe, grunted in assent, and touched his horse's flanks with his spurs.
Not only did he go as far as the gate, he cantered a good mile down the road; but there was neither sight nor trace of the two lads.
"Allemachte!" he exclaimed. "I hope no harm has come to them."
From the spot where he reined up he could command nearly a couple of miles of the road until the trees cut off the view. There was one intervening depression in the track, so that the old farmer proceeded until he could command a full view of the hollow. Yet no sign of Colin and Desmond rewarded his efforts.
Turning, he rode at a hard gallop back to Kilembonga.
"I could see nothing of them," he reported.
Colonel Narfield sat up.
"What!" he exclaimed anxiously. "Surely the bearers must have seen if anything happened. Blue Fly, tell Tenpenny Nail not to unsaddle the horses and to come here at once."
Tenpenny Nail obeyed the order promptly. For once the almost permanent grin was absent. He was genuinely concerned over the mysterious disappearance of the two chums.
With the utmost alacrity the tusk-bearers were brought to Colonel Narfield. Sharp interrogation resulted in throwing no light upon the affair. The natives had been shouting and singing, and they were unable to say when they last noticed the two white men riding at the tail end of the column.
In spite of the fact that his badly-sprained ankle was causing him acute pain, Colonel Narfield handled the matter with characteristic energy. The native bearers from Sibenga's Kraal were hurriedly ushered outside the gate, where Blue Fly paid them and gave them a substantial meal.
The horses were brought out. The Colonel had to be assisted into the saddle, but once there he was determined to stick it until his missing charges were found.
Van der Wyck insisted upon accompanying him, while Blue Fly shed tears when he found that he was not to join in the search, but had to remain and help McFrazer keep the natives from prowling over the estate.
It was an impossible task to find the spoor of the two lads' horses on the hard road. The strong breeze had blown clouds of dust across the track, and already the confused jumble of horses' hoof-marks and prints of the barefooted natives were almost obliterated.
Maintaining a sharp look-out on both sidesof the road, the search party rode swiftly in the direction of Sibenga's Kraal until they almost reached the beginning of the dense forest.
Suddenly Van der Wyck turned to Colonel Narfield.
"Horses trotting!" he exclaimed laconically.
The Colonel could hear nothing except the clatter of the hoofs of the search party's mounts and the moan of the wind in the tall grass. But when the four men reined in their horses he could hear distinctly the trot of some approaching animals.
"Thanks be!" he ejaculated fervently. "But what on earth have these fellows been doing to get adrift like that?"
But a few seconds later his heart sank, for emerging from the deep shadows under the trees came two riderless horses which everyone recognised. They were the animals that Colin and Desmond had ridden to Sibenga's Kraal the previous evening, and on which they had commenced their incompleted journey back to Kilembonga.
Piet Van der Wyckhad no difficulty in catching one of the masterless steeds while the Haussa secured the other. The animals seemed hardly distressed. They had been cantering along at an easy pace, and gave no indications of having been frightened. Bridle, saddle, and stirrups were in place; there was nothing to give a clue to what had befallen the riders.
"Perhaps," suggested Van der Wyck, "they dismounted and forgot to tether the animals."
"Hardly likely," demurred Colonel Narfield. "Although they are fairly raw hands with horses they know better than that. Desmond might, though; but Colin is too thoughtful and cautious. It may be that one of them was thrown and the other dismounted to go to his assistance. In that case the animals might stampede. We can dismiss the wild beast theory. Had a lion sprung upon the lads unawares the horses, even if they escaped, would have been terrified. Besides, there's no sign of an injury to either beast. Bringthe horses along, Tenpenny Nail; they might be useful."
The search was resumed. At a slow pace the party rode under the trees, keeping a keen watch for broken undergrowth or any other sign that might lead to the unravelling of the mystery.
Once they halted, Van der Wyck and the Haussas dismounted to follow a well-defined spoor through the dense undergrowth. Here the ground was marshy, and it was easy to pick out the hoof marks of a large rhinoceros, but of human footprints not a sign was visible.
Baffled, and with their spirits falling rapidly, the searchers rode on until they came within sight of Sibenga Kraal.
The feast was still in progress when Colonel Narfield's party rode up. The villagers were gorging themselves on roasted elephant flesh washed down by copious draughts of native beer.
Those who were not torpid with excessive food and drink were strongly inclined to be quarrelsome. In their befuddled state these men were not likely to be of much use as trackers.
Very peremptorily Colonel Narfield called upon Logula to come to him. The chief had still sufficient sense to realise that the summons must be obeyed.
"Listen, Logula," said the Colonel. "When we left you after doing you great service by slaying the bull elephant and the two cow elephants there were two white men riding behind the bearers."
"Yes, Great One; that is so," agreed Logula. "One was the Little-Son-of-the-Great-One-that-wears-the-Charm."
Colonel Narfield did not attempt to deny the imputed relationship.
"The two white men are lost," he said. "There will be great reward paid to Logula, successor to Sibenga, if he or any of his people find them."
Logula eyed the Colonel curiously. "Hau!" he exclaimed. "What is amiss with the Magic of the Great One that he has to come to Logula and ask him to usehismagic? Truly it is strange. And as yet no witch-doctor dwells in Sibenga's Kraal. It was by the iron-tube-that-breathes-fire-and smoke belonging to the Great One that the wise witch-doctor was slain. Having destroyed his magic by a magic greater than his, how comes it that you seek my lesser charms to aid your greater magic?"
"I do not ask the aid of your sorcerers and witch-doctors, Logula," declared Herbert Narfield. "I want your skilled trackers, although judging by the evidence of my eyes and earsthey are no better than oxen stricken with rinder-pest."
Logula followed the direction of the Colonel's glance and shrugged his massive shoulders.Then he pointed with his knobkerrieat two dazed-looking natives who were squatting with their eyes staring glazedly into the fire.
Although the chief made no sound, and the two men were not looking in his direction, both roused themselves and crawled to within a yard of the spot where Logula stood.
"Go!" he commanded. "Find the spoor of the White-Man-who-wears-the-Charm."
Colonel Narfield regarded the men disdainfully. He knew the capabilities of native trackers, but these fellows looked dissipated.
Nevertheless, when the pair started off with their heads well forward and their eyes fixed upon the ground he put spurs to his horse, at the same time giving vent to a strong ejaculation as the action sent a burning, shooting pain through his injured ankle.
His companions followed. Their horses had to be urged into a steady trot to keep pace with the bronzed human sleuth-hounds, who, without looking up to see where they were going, covered the ground at a good seven or eight miles an hour.
"I don't suppose the beggars will be of the slightest use," remarked Colonel Narfield toVan der Wyck. "There's one thing, we are at present following the lads' track. With luck we may find a spoor that we missed on our outward journey."
When at length the native trackers reached the place where the forest closed in upon the road they slowed down considerably. Bending close to the ground they were continually sniffing and lolling their tongues like dogs on the scent. From time to time they stopped, went down on their hands and knees, and smelt the sun-baked, dusty track.
Proceeding thus, they plunged into the gloom of the tunnel-like archway of foliage. In places it was so dark that Narfield had difficulty in distinguishing their bronzed figures from the sombre path.
For nearly half a mile through the avenue the natives continued their way. Not a word was spoken. Only the thud of horses' hoofs and the nasal noises of the two natives broke the tense silence.
Suddenly the trackers stopped, and stood erect, back to back. For nearly half a minute they remained immovable; then, crawling in ever-widening curves, they began to circle round their halting-place until the limit of their orbit brought them into contact with the undergrowth.
Apparently these tactics failed to producethe desired effect, for they began to retrace their spiral course until they arrived at the spot whence they had started.
Still on their knees they went, smelling and sniffing. One of the fellows stood up and seized the bridle of Colonel Narfield's horse, forcing the animal back for a few yards.
"All right, Tenpenny Nail," said the rider quietly as the Haussa was on the point of administering punishment to the apparently offensive native. "I want to give him a fair trial."
Whatever spoor they had been following, it was evident that the trackers were at a loss. Again they went through the spiral movements, paying great attention to the trees and undergrowth.
Presently one of the natives approached the Colonel.
"Great One!" he exclaimed. "My snake is good to me. To me much is revealed. Neither to the right hand nor to the left, neither in front nor behind, nor under the ground has the White-Man-that-wears-the-Charm and his brother gone. They went this way."
And he pointed immediately above his head.
Colonel Narfield and his companions followed the direction of the up-pointed finger. Twenty feet above their heads the foliage grew thick and even. Somewhere in that green ceilingbranches met from the massive trees on either side of the darkened road.
It was obvious that the branches were so high from the ground that they could not possibly sweep a pair of horsemen from the saddle, and the idea that Colin and Desmond had climbed any of the trees was extremely improbable.
"Rubbish! Preposterous rot!" ejaculated the Colonel angrily. "Come on, Van der Wyck, we've wasted valuable time in following the antics of a pair of intoxicated niggers. We'll return home as fast as we can. I'll send McFrazer post haste to Nyaruma and get my friend Wynyard, the District Commissioner, to send reliable native trackers. These blighters are unholy frauds."
And signing to the natives to get out of the way, the Colonel urged his horse into a hand-gallop, his companions following his example.
But his physical powers were unequal to the demand of his moral strength and resolution; for upon arriving at Kilembonga he fell forward in his saddle in a swoon. Van der Wyck was only just in time to save him from a dangerous tumble.
So far the search for the missing lads had not only been unsuccessful, but other misfortunes had descended upon this little outpost of civilisation in the wilds of East Africa.
OnPiet Van der Wyck, the Colonel's guest, descended the mantle of responsibility. With the exception of the dour Scot, McFrazer, he was the only active white man on the estate, and in spite of his years he rose nobly to the occasion.
The first step was to have the injured man carried to his bed. Here the Afrikander, skilled in veldt surgery and medicine, deftly removed Colonel Narfield's boots and leggings. Already the sprained ankle had swollen badly, and once the compression of the foot gear was removed, the foot enlarged to greatly abnormal dimensions.
With the aid of embrocation and hot water Van der Wyck dressed the injury and then proceeded to restore the patient to consciousness.
Colonel Narfield's first act upon opening his eyes was to attempt to get out of bed, protesting that happen what may he was not going to lie there while his two young charges were still missing.
The old farmer firmly exercised his authority.
"You'll have to stay there for a few days," he declared. "By getting up you will not only injure yourself, but no doubt hamper the work of the searchers. I am sending McFrazer as you ordered, and until the native trackers arrive I will patrol the road with the Haussas."
The injured man saw the force of Van der Wyck's contentions. He simply had to give up, although the state of his active mind can well be imagined.
McFrazer, booted and spurred, was ready for his long ride when the Afrikander left the patient's room.
"Would you be thinking it was an aeroplane?" he asked, for he had already heard from the Haussas how far the spoor of the missing youths had been tracked.
Van der Wyck shook his head.
"Impossible," he replied. "There were trees meeting overhead."
McFrazer accepted the denial with characteristic brevity.
"Oh, ay," he replied. "Then I'm just awa'," as if a 150-mile ride were an everyday occurrence.
As a matter of fact the journey to Nyaruma took him exactly fifteen hours, for at twelve miles from Kilembonga the rough track joined a well-constructed post-road from Tabora toUjiji, where there were relay-horses at convenient distances.
Meanwhile Van der Wyck rode over to Sibenga's Kraal and saw Logula again. Most of the natives had recovered from their feast, and several of them, with a view to a reward, offered to search for the missing white men. Selecting two trackers, Van der Wyck set them on the spoor, which to a European would be by this time utterly lost.
The natives did almost exactly what their fellow tribesmen had done the previous day, coming to a halt in precisely the same spot and declaring that the lost men had "gone up."
Van der Wyck, who spoke most of the Kaffir dialects fluently, had little difficulty in making himself understood in the tongue of Sibenga's people; but he found it impossible to get the natives to climb the trees and make further investigations. They professed ignorance of the command, shaking their heads and uttering the word "Maquishi" (finished).
So the Afrikander had to leave it at that as far as these fellows were concerned, but he determined to carry out further investigations in that direction, although he himself was too old and too inexperienced in woodcraft to be able to climb trees.
At four o'clock on the day next followingtwo motor-cars dashed up to the gate of Kilembonga.
In the first was Wynyard, the District Commissioner, his secretary, and McFrazer. The second contained a native sergeant, two police, and two black trackers from Lilwana's country, men known for miles as the craftiest and most highly-skilled human sleuthhounds in East Africa.
Wynyard meant to do his task thoroughly. Apart from the fact that two Englishmen had disappeared, Colin and Desmond were, like himself, Stockmere Old Boys.
He had accomplished the journey in the record time of seven hours, the cars attaining a speed of nearly fifty miles an hour over the post-road, and rarely falling below twenty over the rest of the way.
McFrazer had already related all he knew of the case. During a hasty meal Wynyard elicited further information from Van der Wyck, and also had a brief but business-like interview with the invalid, Colonel Narfield.
"Right-o!" he declared, cheerfully. "We'll find them. S'pose they're not playing a practical joke, by any chance?"
"Not with serious work on hand," replied Colonel Narfield. "They were keeping an eye on the niggers carrying the ivory, and they knew the importance of that. Yet, curiouslyenough, the blacks didn't notice the lads' disappearance, otherwise some, if not all, of the ivory would have been missing. It wasn't."
Within forty minutes of his arrival Wynyard was on the road again. With him went Van der Wyck, none too readily, for he mistrusted mechanical cars. He would have preferred his trusty horse, but that animal had been worked hard of late, and, as time was a great consideration, the Afrikander took courage and rather nervously sat beside Wynyard in the car.
In the rear were crowded Tenpenny Nail, Blue Fly, and the native sergeant, while the second car was packed with native trackers, police, and a huge dog, partly bloodhound and partly wolfhound.
"We are nearing the place where the Sibenga Kraal trackers lost the spoor," cautioned Van der Wyck, as the leading car jolted and bumped through the dense avenue.
"Oh," ejaculated Wynyard, "is that so? But I think I'll start at the beginning. There's nothing like independent clues."
The cars pulled up outside the hut of Logula, Sibenga's successor came out to do "Konza," accompanied by almost every man, woman and child in the village.
There was a sneer on the Chief's face as he watched the preparations. He rather resentedthe employment of trackers from another tribe, but he said nothing and thought the more.
Meanwhile Wynyard was holding one of Colin's sun-helmets to the hound's nose. The animal, quickly picking up the scent, trotted off with his tail erect and his nose close to the ground.
Twenty yards or so behind followed the car containing the District Commissioner and Van der Wyck, with the Haussas riding on the running-board. The other car came close behind, with four of the more daring natives of Sibenga's Kraal augmenting the numbers of the already closely-packed occupants.
Van der Wyck was not in the least surprised that the hound came to a standstill at the very spot which the two pairs of trackers had already indicated as the end of the spoor. The animal, showing a decided disinclination to proceed, was led back to the second car, and the Nyaruma trackers were told to carry on the good work.
In five minutes they delivered their verdict. The missing white men had "gone up." They were positive about that, but, like the Sibenga Kraal trackers, they resolutely declined to continue their investigations in the overhanging branches of the trees.
"Dashed if I'll be done!" exclaimed Wynyard. Then turning to the native sergeant, he bade him bring a rope from the second car and make it fast to one of the branches.
Assisted by Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly, the sergeant carried out his instructions. Thereupon Wynyard swarmed up the rope and gained the leafy branch. But there was nothing that afforded him a clue, or, if there were, he failed to detect it. The leaves and young twigs showed no sign of having been disturbed; the resinous wood bore no trace of the contact of the studded sole of a boot.
"Were they carrying rifles?" he inquired, calling down to Van der Wyck, twenty-five or thirty feet below.
"Yes," replied the old farmer. "They had when we left the kraal."
"And these haven't been found?"
"No; we found nothing."
Wynyard knotted his brow in perplexity. Presumably, Sinclair and Desmond were either carrying their rifles in their left hands or else had the weapons slung across their backs.
Assuming the native trackers' assertions to be correct, what happened to the rifles? Either they would have fallen to the ground or else they would have caught and torn away some of the foliage.
"Well, I consider this the limit—the absolute limit," declared Wynyard, as he prepared to descend.
Arriving uponterra firma, the District Commissioner consulted a map of the district. It was based upon a German survey, and, therefore, remarkably accurate, for the Hun, painstaking and methodical and convinced that he had come to stay, had triangulated and mapped out his largest colony with Teutonic thoroughness.
From it he discovered that the forest extended a good twenty miles in a north-easterly direction, and was about half that distance across its widest part. The furthermost limits extended to the base of a lofty ridge of mountains forming part of that mighty system that early nineteenth century cartographers vaguely indicated as the Mountains of the Moon.
Wynyard was still engaged in scanning the map when his attention was distracted by the sounds of shouting and yelling. Four hundred yards down the road came Logula and his warriors, all armed in characteristic fashion with spears, shields, and kerries, and rigged out in feathers, paint, and other native insignia.
"By Jove!" he ejaculated. "I hope those beggars aren't up to mischief," and he found himself wishing that he had a full company of armed police with him in place of the three or four men at his disposal.
But Logula's intentions were friendly, even though they appeared the opposite. By his side capered a tall fellow in the full panoply of a witch-doctor.
"Great Chief," began Logula, "you have failed, even as my snake told me you would. Therefore I bring you aid."
"We are in no need of the black man's magic, Logula," declared Wynyard sternly.
"You can but try," protested the Chief.
"And waste time," rejoined the District Commissioner. "Begone!"
Logula stuck to his guns.
"Hearken, Great One," he continued. "I have twenty good oxen. If my witch-doctor fails to give you the knowledge you seek, then they are yours."
Wynyard was on the point of contemptuously declining the offer when Van der Wyck interposed.
"Let him try, Mr. Wynyard," advised the old man. "Times before I have both heard and seen these wizards at work in the Transvaal and Zululand. I have no faith in their methods, but their results are sometimes very wonderful. Out of darkness we may find light."
"Very well," agreed Wynyard grumblingly, "Let the jolly old jamboree proceed."
The witch-doctor needed no second bidding.With many weird and unintelligible incantations he lighted a fire on the very spot that had so frequently been pointed out during the last three days. Then he began dancing and capering violently, at times literally treading in the midst of the flames with his bare feet.
After about ten minutes of this sort of thing he suddenly collapsed in a heap, his head resting on his knees, at the same time emitting mournful howls.
"O Talula!" exclaimed Logula, addressing the semi-conscious wizard. "Tell me, have you smelt out the White Man-who-wears-the-Sacred-Amulet?"
"I have, O Chief."
"What do you see—blood?"
"I see no blood."
"Hau!" exclaimed Logula. "The White Man-who-wears-the-Sacred-Amulet still lives."
The witch-doctor raised himself to a sitting position and pointed to the north-east.
"Warriors not of our nation. Spears in hundreds. A great hole in the earth .... I see two white men ... at present they are not spirits."
"Ask him," exclaimed Wynyard, addressing Logula, "ask him if he will be able to rescue them?"
"They might be restored to their own people," announced the witch-doctor, without waiting for the question to be put to him. "More, I cannot say, save that the Great One from Nyaruma will not succeed in the attempt .... I have it ...."
With a convulsive effort he sprang to his feet, clutched at the empty air, and uttered one word:
"Makoh'lenga."
"Goodnight's work that, Tiny, old bird," remarked Colin.
"Yes, you lucky beggar," agreed his chum enviously. "Of course, it's jolly sporting of you to divide your share, and I'm grateful. At the same time, 'tisn't the same, if you can understand. S'posing, for instance, it had been my lucky shot, you'd understand then."
"It was a jolly good thing I picked up those explosive cartridges by accident," conceded Sinclair. "It was a fluke—absolutely."
"Colonel Narfield would have been snuffed out if you hadn't," said Tiny. "The ordinary .303's had no more effect than tickling a wild cat with a straw. By Jove! I am sleepy ... aren't those niggers kicking up an infernal row?"
"Let's slow down a bit and miss most of the dust and noise," suggested Colin. "We can keep an eye on the bearers just as well, if not better."
Checking their horses, the two chums allowedthe bearers to draw on ahead. It was a case of distance lending enchantment to the scene, as the early sunlight glinted on the muscular, copper skins of the wildly-excited natives.
"Ugh! The flies!" exclaimed Tiny. "That one nearly jumped down my throat. 'Tain't all jam being in the rear of a procession—eh, what?"
"I'm going to have the best piece of the ivory sawn off," declared Colin, ignoring his companion's complaint and reverting to the subject of the spoils of the chase. "Then I'll send it home to my people. And a chunk for Dr. Narfield, too. Probably the head will shove it in the school museum with a notice on it, 'Shot by an Old Boy,' sort of thing. My word, I'm jolly glad I came out here, aren't you?"
"Better'n fooling round in an office, any old day," declared Tiny. "More than likely I'd have been under the turf now if I'd stopped at home."
"And now you're quite fit," remarked his chum.
"Hope so," said Desmond. "There's one thing, I've lost that rotten cough .... Hullo! We're nearly into the forest. Hadn't we better hurry along a bit. If those niggers took it into their heads to do a bunk, you'd lose your ivory for a dead cert., old son."
"Half a mo!" exclaimed Colin. "My girth's slipping a bit. Hang on, old man."
Throwing his reins to his chum, Sinclair dismounted and deftly readjusted the slack girth. Then, climbing into the saddle, he urged his horse onwards.
By this time the rear of the column was nearly three hundred yards ahead and already in the shade of the dense foliage. The bearers, probably with the idea of keeping up their courage in the gloom, redoubled their shouts.
"What a contrast!" remarked Desmond as the two lads entered the forest. "After the glare I can hardly see a yard——"
His remarks were cut short in a totally unexpected manner. From a stout branch of a tree immediately overhead two hide ropes, terminating in running nooses, were dexterously dropped over the shoulders of the astonished lads.
Before they could utter a sound—even if they had, the din made by the native bearers would have deadened it—they were jerked out of the saddles and hauled aloft.
At the sudden tightening of the noose, Colin immediately relaxed his grip of the reins and instinctively made a frantic ineffectual grab at his slung rifle. The noose, pinning his arms tightly against his sides, rendered the attempt futile.
Like a shoulder of mutton hanging from a roasting-jack, Colin found himself being hoisted upwards, spinning round and round, and more than once colliding with his companion in misfortune.
Thecouphad been neatly planned and dexterously executed. Strong, lithe, brown hands emerging from the leafy cover gripped the two lads, stifling their unheard shouts for aid. Other hands grasped their rifles, cutting the leather slings in order to disarm the kidnapped youths.
Then, bound hand and foot and effectually gagged, Colin and Tiny were laid at full length upon a broad branch thirty feet above the ground, with a dozen or more sinewy, active men keeping guard over the captives and others in the higher branches watching with much approval the deft work of their companions.
Then someone spoke in a tongue that neither Colin nor Tiny recognised, although by this time they had a useful smattering of the native dialects in use around Kilembonga.
There was no doubt about it—the man in charge of the kidnappers knew how to handle them. The discipline was perfect. Unlike most African natives, who can hardly ever carry out any work silently, these men maintained absolute quiet, moving with the precision and smoothness of a well-regulated machine.
Each captive was carefully lifted from branch to branch until they were at least eighty feet above the ground. During the operation the men took particular pains not to break off any of the foliage, methodically bending the twigs that hampered their progress, and not allowing any part of the captives' bodies or clothing to come in contact with the bark.
The next step was to pass the prisoners literally from hand to hand and from tree to tree, the close formation of the massive branches forming an almost continuous arboreal highway.
As fast as each native passed on his load he dropped to a lower branch and made his way to the front of the long line of bearers ready to renew his part in the endless human chain, so that at the end of an hour Colin and Desmond were at least two miles from the scene of their capture.
Here the party—captors and captives—descended to the ground. More natives were waiting with two hammock-like litters of woven grass. Into these Colin and Desmond were placed, no attempt being made to remove either their gags or their bonds.
Then at a rapid pace, but with the same orderly silence that characterised the openingstages of the operations, the natives moved off, the two litters being borne in the centre of the long double file.
At the end of a tedious journey, in which Colin calculated they had covered from ten to twelve miles, thecortègehalted in an open space, bounded on three sides by the forest, and on the fourth by a cliff rising sheer to a height of two thousand feet.
The gags were then removed and the prisoners' ankles freed, although their arms were still securely bound as before. Then into a vast circle of armed warriors Colin and his chum were led, to find themselves confronted by a gigantic man holding a gleaming axe of yellow metal. By his side was a pillar of wood, somewhat resembling the mediaeval executioner's block.
"If they've brought us all this way for the purpose of cutting off our heads," thought Colin, "all I can say is they've gone to a lot of unnecessary trouble. Tiny, old man," he added aloud, "for goodness' sake don't let them see we've got the wind up. Let them see we're Englishmen."
Colin Sinclairhad been curious concerning the mysterious Makoh'lenga. Now he was finding out more about them than he wished.
His captors were without exception tall and muscular and well-proportioned. Their garb consisted solely of a white loin cloth. Their bodies were "unadorned" with chalk and ochre after the fashion of the majority of African tribes, nor were there any evidences of voluntary mutilation so frequently to be met with amongst savages. The only ornaments they wore were armlets of gold just above the left elbow. Every male lenga over the age of sixteen wore one.
They were noticeably clean in their habits and persons, orderly and well-disciplined, and, in short, seemed far in advance in the principles of hygiene above even the doyen of the Kaffir races—the pure-blooded Zulu.
But even these qualifications were no excuse for present conditions. The possibility of making a touching acquaintance with thegolden axe rather blunted Sinclair's interest in his new and undesirable acquaintances.
There was no denying one fact—he felt "scared stiff." It was only by a determined effort that he kept his well-schooled and steady nerves under control. Perhaps if his arms had not been so securely bound he might have precipitated matters by planting a blow with his fist between the eyes of the copper-hued giant who was watching him so covertly.
The Makoh'lenga seemed in no hurry to commence the next phase of the operations. In a two-deep circle they stood motionless as statues, each warrior grasping the haft of a seven-foot, broad-bladed spear, while on his right arm he wore a small circular shield with a convex boss.
On the inside of each shield was a small sheath holding a short double-edged knife. The weapons were plain and serviceable, no attempt being made to engrave the metalwork or to embellish the hafts with paint and feathers. Simplicity of equipment seemed to be the keynote of these mysterious men.
At length, in reply to an invitation from the chief, two warriors stepped forward and solemnly presented the trophies—the captives' rifles. These were accepted without any hesitation, the chief apparently knowing the principles of modern firearm construction;but, strangely enough, he carefully examined the stocks as if to find some inscription.
Discovering none, a shade of disappointment flitted over his features, and without a word he handed them back to the men from whom he had received them.
Although the giant was obviously a person of rank, even if he were not the supreme head of the tribe, there was a total lack of servile abasement noticeable in the case of the Zulu, Matabele, and other Kaffir tribes.
The men tendering the rifles simply saluted by bringing the right hand in a horizontal position up to the chin. This was the recognised form of salutation. Equals greeted one another by bringing the right hand only breast high.
Several times Colin bethought him of the amulet, but, his arms being bound, he was unable to produce it. Perhaps, after all, it was a trump card. On the other hand, it might fail to produce the same effect upon these mysterious men as it had once upon the obviously less intellectual natives around Kilembonga.
Presently four warriors, laying aside their spears and shields, strode forward and grasped Desmond by the arms and legs, and held him in a horizontal position. Tiny did not utter a sound, nor did he offer any resistance, but hecraned his neck and looked at the executioner's block with ill-concealed dismay.
It was a moment when the rattle of a machine-gun would have been most welcome. Even a stampeding of wild elephants or a death-dealing thunderstorm would have been a pleasurable diversion, but nothing of the sort happened.
At a word from the chief, Tiny's captors searched his pockets and tore open his shirt. Every article they took—knife, cartridges, handkerchief, matches, purse, and notebook they examined and then placed in a row on to the ground. They expressed no delight at the various objects which are highly prized by savages; indeed, their looks betrayed disappointment.
The examination over, Tiny was set upon his feet and left alone. The four warriors next directed their attention towards Colin, and he, too, was placed in a horizontal position and searched.
Suddenly one of the men gave a shout of delight; it was the first sound uttered by any one during the searching process. He had discovered the swastika.
Cutting away the cord that held it, the finder reverently presented it to the chief.
The latter, displaying considerable emotion,minutely examined the gold and copper amulet, then, holding it aloft, he shouted:
"Ad idda ver h'lenga soya."
Although utterly ignorant of the language, Colin realised its import. The chief had announced to his people that the much-sought-for amulet had been found.
A roar of exultation greeted the words. Almost before the volume of sound had abated a weird-looking contrivance was carried into the centre of the ring by a dozen huge men. It resembled a gigantic ram's horn, the bell mouth rising a good ten feet from the ground. At the other end was a hollow cylinder with a disc of goat's skin stretched tightly over the outer part.
Armed with a club-shaped stick, one of the natives began banging upon the drum portion of the instrument, keeping up the performance for the space of about a minute, the beats resembling the tapping of a morse code buzzer.
The volume of sound emitted from the bell-mouthed horn was stupendous. It seemed loud enough to deafen everyone within fifty yards. Even the ground shook perceptibly under the roar of the deep-pitched instrument.
The last long-drawn reverberations died away, and utter silence fell upon the close ranks of the Makoh'lenga warriors. Then, after a lapse of nearly five minutes, came alow, bass roar from a distant source. Somewhere, far up in the rugged mountains, an alert sentinel was replying to the sonorous message of the ram's horn.
The message was short and obviously satisfactory and to the point, for the moment the sound ceased the chief issued an order.
With the alertness and methodical precision of a crack British regiment, the circle of warriors dissolved, and the men reformed into a close column. Up doubled a party of men with the two litters in which Colin and Tiny had been carried through the forest.
With his own hands the Chief unknotted the bonds that secured the lads' arms. Then he signed to them to retake possession of their scanty belongings except their rifles. The amulet was retained by the Chief, who motioned to the two chums to seat themselves in the litters.
"This is going to be a bit of a picnic, after all, Tiny, old son," remarked Colin.
"Hope so," replied Desmond. "Only isn't it a bit too early to talk about picnics and joy rides? That chap seems jolly pleased to be able to bag your amulet. Now he's got that, what does he want us for? That's what I want to know."
At a sign from the Chief, Colin and Tiny climbed into the litters. Their previousacquaintance with this mode of conveyance had been in a state of being bound hand and foot. Now their limbs were freed and they were able to sit up and look about them, while an awning had been provided to shelter them from the glare of the sun.
The chums were in the middle of a long column of men marching four abreast, the warriors keeping step but taking much longer paces than is the case with European troops. They moved almost silently, their bare feet treading lightly upon the ground. Except when a command was given, not a word was spoken.
Following the base of the line of cliffs the Makoh'lenga marched for nearly two miles until they arrived at a shallow stream running through a deep gorge. Here the warriors turned sharp to the left, in file, and began ascending the stream, which varied from ankle to knee-deep.
Although the rivulet was not less than ten feet in width the walls of the gorge, which averaged two hundred feet in height, almost met at the top, so that the inclosed space was deep in gloom. It was a weird experience to the two chums, as they watched the symmetrical lines of dark figures making their way up-stream.
At length, above the swish of the water ashundreds of feet forced their way against the steady current, came the dull roar of a waterfall. Louder and louder grew the sound, until Colin could see an apparently unbroken sheet of water falling from a height of quite a hundred and fifty feet and breaking into a cloud of foam as it came in contact with the bed of the gorge.
Into this waterfall the Makoh'lenga plunged unhesitatingly. They, evidently, did not share the dislike, amounting almost to fear, of Zulu tribes for running water, yet it puzzled Colin to know where the men went. They seemed to be swallowed up in the clouds of spray as file after file disappeared. Beyond the waterfall was solid rock, and yet the column held on without a check.
Then came Colin's turn to pass through the sheet of descending water. To a great extent the canopy overhead prevented him from a thorough soaking, although the spray invaded the open side of the litter.
It was an ordeal quickly over. For a brief instant, as the water poured unhindered upon the canopy, it seemed as if the covering would collapse under the pressure. The bearers staggered under the weight of the falling water, but quickly recovering themselves, they bore Colin inside the fall.
Here was a clear space of about three yards between the wall of rock that formed a barrierand the gulley and the curtain-like waterfall, and on the right of this space was a natural tunnel driven obliquely through the wall of the chasm.
This, then, was the secret gateway to Makoh'lenga Land.