"Dear Old Friend and Doutting Thos."(Bones's spelling was always perfectly disgraceful),—"When this reaches you, when this reaches you, I shall be far, far away on my long and dangerus journey. I may not come back, I may not come back, for I and a faithful servant are about to penetrate to the lares of the wildbeasts of the forest, of the forest. I am determined to wipe out the reproach which you have made. I will bring back, not a dead leppard, not a dead leppard, but a live one, which I shall seeze with my own hands. I may lose my life in this rash and hazardus enterprise, but at least I shall vindycate my honour.—Farewell, dear old Patrisia."Your friend,"B."
"Dear Old Friend and Doutting Thos."(Bones's spelling was always perfectly disgraceful),—
"When this reaches you, when this reaches you, I shall be far, far away on my long and dangerus journey. I may not come back, I may not come back, for I and a faithful servant are about to penetrate to the lares of the wildbeasts of the forest, of the forest. I am determined to wipe out the reproach which you have made. I will bring back, not a dead leppard, not a dead leppard, but a live one, which I shall seeze with my own hands. I may lose my life in this rash and hazardus enterprise, but at least I shall vindycate my honour.—Farewell, dear old Patrisia.
"Your friend,
"B."
"Which proves," said Hamilton, when he was shown the letter, "that Bones is learning to spell. It only seems yesterday when he was spelling 'Hamilton' with three m's. By the way, how did you get this letter?"
"I found it pinned to the door," said Patricia tactfully.
Bones went by the shortest route to Jumburu, and was received without enthusiasm, for he had left a new chief to rule over a people who were near enough to the B'wigini to resent overmuch discipline. But his business was with K'sungasa, for the two days' stay which Bones had made in the village, and all that he had learnt of the old tamer, had been responsible for his reckless promise to Patricia Hamilton.
He came at a critical moment, for K'sungasa, a thin and knobbly old man, with dim eyes and an incessant chuckle, was very near his end.He lay on a fine raised bed, a big yellow-eyed wild cat at his feet, a monkey or two shivering by the bedside, and a sprawling litter of kittens—to which the wild cat leapt in a tremble of rage when Bones entered the hut—crawling in the sunlight which flooded the hut.
"Lord Tibbetti," croaked the old man, "I see you! This is a good time, for to-morrow I should be dead."
"K'sungasa," said Bones, seating himself gingerly, and looking about for the snake which was usually coiled round the old man's stool, "that is foolish talk, for you will see many floods."
"That is fine talk for the river folk," grinned the old man, "but not for we people of the forest, who never see flood and only little-little rivers. Now, I tell you, lord, that I am glad to die, because I have been full of mad thoughts for a long time, but now my mind is clear. Tell me, master, why you come."
Bones explained his errand, and the old man's eyes brightened.
"Lord, if I could go with you to the forest, I would bring to you many beautiful leopards by my magic. Now, because I love Sandi, I will do this for you, so that you shall know how wise and cunning I am."
In the woods about the village was a wild plant, the seeds of which, when pounded and boiled in an earthen vessel, produced, by a rough method of distillation, a most pungent liquid. Abidspoke learnedly ofpimpinella anisum, and probably he was right.[4]
Bones and his assistant made many excursions into the woods before they found and brought back the right plant. Fortunately it was seed-time, and once he was on the right track Bones had no difficulty in securing more than a sufficient quantity for his purpose.
He made his distillation under the old man's directions, the fire burning in the middle of the hut. As the drops began to fall from the narrow neck of his retort, a fault sweet aroma filled the hut. First the cat, then the monkeys began to show signs of extraordinary agitation. Cat and kittens crouched as near the fire as they could, their heads craned towards the brown vessel, mewing and whimpering. Then the monkeys came, bright-eyed and eager.
The scent brought the most unexpected beasts from every hole and crevice in the hut—brown rats, squirrels, a long black snake with spade-shaped head and diamond markings, little bush hares, a young buck, which came crashing through the forest and prinked timidly to the door of the hut.
The old man on the bed called them all by name, and snapped his feeble fingers to them;but their eyes were on the retort and the crystal drops that trembled and fell from the lip of the narrow spout.
A week later a speechless group stood before the Residency and focussed their astonished gaze upon the miracle.
"The miracle" was a half-grown leopard cub, vividly marked. He was muzzled and held in leash by a chain affixed to a stout collar, and Bones, a picture of smug gratification, held the end of the chain.
"But how—how did you catch him?" gasped the girl.
Bones shrugged his shoulders.
"It is not for me, dear old friend, to tell of nights spent in the howlin' forest," he quavered, in the squeaky tone which invariably came to him when he was excited. "I'm not goin' to speak of myself. If you expect me to tell you how I trailed the jolly old leopard to his grisly lair an' fought with him single-handed, you'll be disappointed."
"But did you track him to his lair?" demanded Hamilton, recovering his speech.
"I beg of you, dear old officer, to discuss other matters," evaded Bones tactfully. "Here are the goods delivered, as per mine of the twenty-fourth instant."
He put his hand to his pocket mechanically, and the cub looked up with a quick eager stare.
"Bones, you're a wonderful fellow," said Sanders quietly.
Bones bowed.
"And now," he said, "if you'll excuse me, I'll take my little friend to his new home."
Before they realized what he was doing, he had slipped off the chain. Even Sanders stepped back and dropped his hand to the automatic pistol he carried in his hip pocket.
But Bones, unconcerned, whistled and marched off to his hut, and the great cat followed humbly at his heels.
That same night Bones strode across from his hut to the Residency, resolved upon a greater adventure yet. He would go out under the admiring eyes of Patricia Hamilton, and would return from the Residency woods a veritable Pied Piper, followed by a trail of forest denizens.
In his pocket was a quart bottle, and his clothes reeked with the scent of wild aniseed. As a matter of fact, his secret would have been out the moment he entered Sanders's dining-room, but it so happened that his programme was doomed to interruption.
He was half-way across the square when a dark figure rose from the ground and a harsh voice grunted "Kill!"
He saw the flash of the spear in the starlight and leapt aside. A hand clutched at his jacket, but he wrenched himself free, leaving the garment in his assailant's hands.
He was unarmed, and there was nothing left but flight.
Sanders heard his yell, and sprang out to the darkness of the verandah as Bones flew up the steps.
He saw the two men racing in pursuit, and fired twice. One man fell, the other swerved and was lost in the shadows.
An answering shot came from the Houssa sentry at the far end of the square. Sanders saw a man running, and fired again, and again missed.
Then out of the darkness blundered Ali Abid, his face grey with fear.
"Sir," he gasped, "wild animal (Felis pardus) has divested muzzlement and proper restraint, and is chasing various subjects outrageously."
Even as he spoke a fourth figure sped across the ground before the Residency, so close that they could see the bundle he carried under his arm.
"My jacket!" roared Bones. "Hi, stop him! Good Lord!"
Swift on the heels of the flying man came a streak of yellow fur....
Whether O'ka of the Jumburu outpaced the leopard, or the leopard overtook O'ka, is not known, but until the rains came and washed away the scent of crude aniseed, Bones dared not leave his hut by night for fear of the strange beasts that came snuffling at his hut, or sat in expectant and watchful circles about his dwelling, howling dismally.
There was a large brown desk in Sanders's study, a desk the edges of which had been worn yellow with constant rubbing. It was a very tidy desk, with two rows of books neatly grouped on the left and on the right, and held in place by brass rails. There were three tiers of wire baskets, a great white blotting-pad, a silver inkstand and four clean-looking pens.
Lately, there had appeared a glass vase filled with flowers which were daily renewed. Except on certain solemn occasions, none intruded into this holy of holies. It is true that a change had been brought about by the arrival of Patricia Hamilton, for she had been accorded permission to use the study as she wished, and she it was who had introduced the floral decorations.
Yet, such was the tradition of sanctuary which enveloped the study, that neither Captain Hamilton, her brother, nor Bones, her slave, had ever ventured to intrude thither in search of her, and if by chance they came to the door to speak to her, they unaccountably lowered their voices.
On a certain summer morning, Hamilton sat at the desk, a stern and sober figure, and Bones, perspiring and rattled, sat on the edge of a chair facing him.
The occasion was a solemn one, for Bones was undergoing his examination in subjects "X" and "Y" for promotion to the rank of Captain. The particular subject under discussion was "Map Reading and Field Sketching," and the inquisition was an oral one.
"Lieutenant Tibbetts," said Hamilton gravely, "you will please define a Base Line."
Bones pushed back the hair straggling over his forehead, and blinked rapidly in an effort of memory.
"A base line, dear old officer?" he repeated. "A base line, dear old Ham——"
"Restrain your endearing terms," said Hamilton, "you won't get any extra marks for 'em."
"A base line?" mused Bones; then, "Whoop! I've got it! God bless your jolly old soul! I thought I'd foozled it. A base line," he said loudly, "is the difference of level between two adjacent contours. How's that, umpire?"
"Wrong," said Hamilton; "you're describing a Vertical Interval."
Bones glared at him.
"Are you sure, dear old chap?" he demanded truculently. "Have a look at the book, jolly old friend, your poor old eyes ain't what they used to be——"
"Lieutenant Tibbetts," said Hamilton in ponderous reproof, "you are behaving very strangely."
"Look here, dear old Ham," wheedled Bones "can't you pretend you asked me what a Vertical Interval was?"
Hamilton reached round to find something to throw, but this was Sanders's study.
"You have a criminal mind, Bones," he said helplessly. "Now get on with it. What are 'Hachures'?"
"Hachures?" said Bones, shutting his eye. "Hachures? Now I know what Hachures are. A lot of people would think they were chickens, but I know ... they're a sort of line ... when you're drawing a hill ... wiggly-waggly lines ... you know the funny things ... a sort of...." Bones made mysterious and erratic gestures in the air, "shading ... water, dear old friend."
"Are you feeling faint?" asked Hamilton, jumping up in alarm.
"No, silly ass ... shadings... direction of water—am I right, sir?"
"Not being a thought-reader I can't visualize your disordered mind," said Hamilton, "but Hachures are the conventional method of representing hill features by shading in short vertical lines to indicate the slope and the water flow. I gather that you have a hazy idea of what the answer should be."
"I thank you, dear old sir, for that generoustribute to my grasp of military science," said Bones. "An' now proceed to the next torture—which will you have, sir, rack or thumbscrew?—oh, thank you, Horace, I'll have a glass of boiling oil."
"Shut up talking to yourself," growled Hamilton, "and tell me what is meant by 'Orienting a Map'?"
"Turning it to the east," said Bones promptly. "Next, sir."
"What is meant by 'Orienting a Map'?" asked Hamilton patiently.
"I've told you once," said Bones defiantly.
"Orienting a Map," said Hamilton, "as I have explained to you a thousand times, means setting your map or plane-table so that the north line lies north."
"In that case, sir," said Bones firmly, "the east line would be east, and I claim to have answered the question to your entire satisfaction."
"Continue to claim," snarled Hamilton. "I shall mark you zero for that answer."
"Make it one," pleaded Bones. "Be a sport, dear old Ham—I've found a new fishin' pool."
Hamilton hesitated.
"There never are any fish in the pools you find," he said dubiously. "Anyway, I'll reserve my decision until I've made a cast or two."
They adjourned for tiffin soon after.
"How did you do, Bones?" asked Patricia Hamilton.
"Fine," said Bones enthusiastically; "I simply bowled over every question that your dear old brother asked. In fact, Ham admitted that I knew much more about some things than he did."
"What I said," corrected Hamilton, "was that your information on certain subjects was so novel that I doubted whether even the staff college shared it."
"It's the same thing," said Bones.
"You should try him on military history," suggested Sanders dryly. "I've just been hearing from Bosambo——"
Bones coughed and blushed.
"The fact is, sir an' Excellency," he confessed, "I was practisin' on Bosambo. You mightn't be aware of the fact, but I like to hear myself speak——"
"No!" gasped Hamilton in amazement, "you're wronging yourself, Bones!"
"What I mean, sir," Bones went on with dignity, "is that if I lecture somebody on a subject I remember what I've said."
"Always providing that you understand what you're saying," suggested Hamilton.
"Anyway," said Sanders, with his quiet smile, "Bones has filled Bosambo with a passionate desire to emulate Napoleon, and Bosambo has been making tentative inquiries as to whether he can raise an Old Guard or enlist a mercenary army."
"I flatter myself——" began Bones.
"Why not?" said Hamilton, rising. "It's the only chance you'll have of hearing something complimentary about yourself."
"Ibelieve in you, Bones," said a smiling Patricia. "I think you're really wonderful, and that Ham is a brute."
"I'll never, never contradict you, dear Miss Patricia," said Bones; "an' after the jolly old Commissioner has gone——"
"You're not going away again, are you?" she asked, turning to Sanders. "Why, you have only just come back from the interior."
There was genuine disappointment in her eyes, and Sanders experienced a strange thrill the like of which he had never known before.
"Yes," he said with a nod. "There is a palaver of sorts in the Morjaba country—the most curious palaver I have ever been called upon to hold."
And indeed he spoke the truth.
Beyond the frontiers of the Akasava, and separated from all the other Territories by a curious bush belt which ran almost in a straight line for seventy miles, were the people of Morjaba. They were a folk isolated from territorial life, and Sanders saw them once every year and no more frequently, for they were difficult to come by, regular payers of taxes and law-abiding, having quarrels with none. The bush (reputedly the abode of ghosts) was, save at one point, impenetrable. Nature had plaited a natural wall on one side, and had given the tribe the protectionof high mountains to the north and a broad swamp to the west.
The fierce storms of passion and hate which burst upon the river at intervals and sent thousands of spears to a blooding, were scarcely echoed in this sanctuary-land. The marauders of the Great King's country to the north never fetched across the smooth moraine of the mountains, and the evil people of The-Land-beyond-the-Swamp were held back by the treacherous bogland wherein,cala-cala, a whole army had been swallowed up.
Thus protected, the Morjabian folk grew fat and rich. The land was a veritable treasure of Nature, and it is a fact that in the dialect they speak, there is no word which means "hunger."[5]
Yet the people of the Morjaba were not without their crises.
S'kobi, the stout chief, held a great court which was attended by ten thousand people, for at that court was to be concluded for ever the feud between the M'gimi and the M'joro—a feud which went back for the greater part of fifty years.
The M'gimi were the traditional warrior tribe, the bearers of arms, and, as their name ("The High Lookers") implied, the proudest and most exclusive of the people. For every man was the descendant of a chief, and it was "easier for fishto walk," as the saying goes, than for a man of the M'joro ("The Diggers") to secure admission to the caste. Three lateral cuts on either cheek was the mark of the M'gimi—wounds made, upon the warrior's initiation to the order, with the razor-edged blade of a killing-spear. They lived apart in three camps to the number of six thousand men, and for five years from the hour of their initiation they neither married nor courted. The M'gimi turned their backs to women, and did not suffer their presence in their camps. And if any man departed from this austere rule he was taken to the Breaking Tree, his four limbs were fractured, and he was hoisted to the lower branches, between which a litter was swung, and his regiment sat beneath the tree neither eating, drinking nor sleeping until he died. Sometimes this was a matter of days. As for the woman who had tempted his eye and his tongue, she was a witness.
Thus the M'gimi preserved their traditions of austerity. They were famous walkers and jumpers. They threw heavy spears and fought great sham-fights, and they did every violent exercise save till the ground.
This was the sum and substance of the complaint which had at last come to a head.
S'gono, the spokesman of The Diggers, was a headman of the inner lands, and spoke with bitter prejudice, since his own son had been rejected by the M'gimi captains as being unworthy.
"Shall we men dig and sow for such as these?"he asked. "Now give a judgment, King! Every moon we must take the best of our fruit and the finest of our fish. Also so many goats and so much salt, and it is swallowed up."
"Yet if I send them away," said the king, "how shall I protect this land against the warriors of the Akasava and the evil men of the swamp? Also of the Ochori, who are four days' march across good ground?"
"Lord King," said S'gono, "are there no M'gimi amongst us who have passed from the camp and have their women and their children? May not these take the spear again? And are not we M'joro folk men? By my life! I will raise as many spears from The Diggers and captain them with M'joro men—this I could do between the moons and none would say that you were not protected. For we are men as bold as they."
The king saw that the M'gimi party was in the minority. Moreover, he had little sympathy with the warrior caste, for his beginnings were basely rooted in the soil, and two of his sons had no more than scraped into the M'gimi.
"This thing shall be done," said the king, and the roar of approval which swept up the little hillock on which he sat was his reward.
Sanders, learning something of these doings, had come in haste, moving across the Lower Akasava by a short cut, risking the chagrin of certain chiefs and friends who would be shocked and mortified by his apparent lack of courtesy inmissing the ceremonious call which was their due.
But his business was very urgent, otherwise he would not have travelled by Nobolama—The-River-that-comes-and-goes.
He was fortunate in that he found deep water for theWiggleas far as the edge of this pleasant land. A two days' trek through the forest brought him to the great city of Morjaba. In all the Territories there was no such city as this, for it stretched for miles on either hand, and indeed was one of the most densely populated towns within a radius of five hundred miles.
S'kobi came waddling to meet his governor with maize, plucked in haste from the gardens he passed, and salt, grabbed at the first news of Sanders's arrival, in his big hands. These he extended as he puffed to where Sanders sat at the edge of the city.
"Lord," he wheezed, "none came with news of this great honour, or my young men would have met you, and my maidens would have danced the road flat with their feet. Take!"
Sanders extended both palms and received the tribute of salt and corn, and solemnly handed the crushed mess to his orderly.
"O S'kobi," he said, "I came swiftly to make a secret palaver with you, and my time is short."
"Lord, I am your man," said S'kobi, and signalled his councillors and elder men to a distance.
Sanders was in some difficulty to find a beginning.
"You know, S'kobi, that I love your people as my children," he said, "for they are good folk who are faithful to government and do ill to none."
"Wa!" said S'kobi.
"Also you know that spearmen and warriors I do not love, for spears are war and warriors are great lovers of fighting."
"Lord, you speak the truth," said the other, nodding, "therefore in this land I will have made a law that there shall be no spears, save those which sleep in the shadow of my hut. Now well I know why you have come to make this palaver, for you have heard with your beautiful long ears that I have sent away my fighting regiments."
Sanders nodded.
"You speak truly, my friend," he said, and S'kobi beamed.
"Six times a thousand spears I had—and, lord, spears grow no corn. Rather are they terrible eaters. And now I have sent them to their villages, and at the next moon they should have burnt their fine war-knives, but for a certain happening. We folk of Morjaba have no enemies, and we do good to all. Moreover, lord, as you know, we have amongst us many folk of the Isisi, of the Akasava and the N'gombi, also men from the Great King's land beyond the High Rocks, and the little folk from The-Land-beyond-the-Swamp. Therefore, who shall attack us since we have kinsmen of all amongst us?"
Sanders regarded the jovial king with a sad little smile.
"Have I done well by all men?" he asked quietly. "Have I not governed the land so that punishment comes swiftly to those who break the law? Yet, S'kobi, do not the Akasava and the Isisi, the N'gombi and the Lower River folk take their spears against me? Now I tell you this which I have discovered. In all beasts great and little there are mothers who have young ones and fathers who fight that none shall harass the mother."
"Lord, this is the way of life," said S'kobi.
"It is the way of the Bigger Life," said Sanders, "and greatly the way of man-life. For the women bring children to the land and the men sit with their spears ready to fight all who would injure their women. And so long as life lasts, S'kobi, the women will bear and the men will guard; it is the way of Nature, and you shall not take from men the desire for slaughter until you have dried from the hearts of women the yearning for children."
"Lord," said S'kobi, a fat man and easily puzzled, "what shall be the answer to this strange riddle you set me?"
"Only this," said Sanders rising, "I wish peace in this land, but there can be no peace between the leopard who has teeth and claws and the rabbit who has neither tooth nor claw. Does the leopard fight the lion or the lion the leopard? They livein peace, for each is terrible in his way, and each fears the other. I tell you this, that you live in love with your neighbours not because of your kindness, but because of your spears. Call them back to your city, S'kobi."
The chief's large face wrinkled in a frown.
"Lord," he said, "that cannot be, for these men have marched away from my country to find a people who will feed them, for they are too proud to dig the ground."
"Oh, damn!" said Sanders in despair, and went back the way he came, feeling singularly helpless.
The Odyssey of the discarded army of the Morjaba has yet to be written. Paradoxically enough, its primary mission was a peaceful one, and when it found first the frontiers of the Akasava and then the river borders of the Isisi closed against it, it turned to the north in an endeavour to find service under the Great King, beyond the mountains. Here it was repulsed and its pacific intentions doubted. The M'gimi formed a camp a day's march from the Ochori border, and were on the thin line which separates unemployment from anarchy when Bosambo, Chief of the Ochori, who had learnt of their presence, came upon the scene.
Bosambo was a born politician. He had the sense of opportunity and that strange haze of hopeful but indefinite purpose which is the foundation of the successful poet and statesman,but which, when unsuccessfully developed, is described as "temperament."
Bones, paying a business call upon the Ochori, found a new township grown up on the forest side of the city. He also discovered evidence of discontent in Bosambo's harassed people, who had been called upon to provide fish and meal for the greater part of six thousand men who were too proud to work.
"Master," said Bosambo, "I have often desired such an army as this, for my Ochori fighters are few. Now, lord, with these men I can hold the Upper River for your King, and Sandi and none dare speak against him. Thus would N'poloyani, who is your good friend, have done."
"But who shall feed these men, Bosambo?" demanded Bones hastily.
"All things are with God," replied Bosambo piously.
Bones collected all the available information upon the matter and took it back to headquarters.
"H'm," said Sanders when he had concluded his recital, "if it were any other man but Bosambo ... you would require another battalion, Hamilton."
"But what has Bosambo done?" asked Patricia Hamilton, admitted to the council.
"He is being Napoleonic," said Sanders, with a glance at the youthful authority on military history, and Bones squirmed and made strange noises. "We will see how it works out. Howon earth is he going to feed them, Bones?"
"Exactly the question I asked, sir an' Excellency," said Bones in triumph. "'Why, you silly old ass——'"
"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed the startled Sanders.
"That is what I said to Bosambo, sir," explained Bones hastily. "'Why, you silly old ass,' I said, 'how are you going to grub 'em?' 'Lord Bones,' said Bosambo, 'that's the jolly old problem that I'm workin' out.'"
How Bosambo worked out his problem may be gathered.
"There is some talk of an Akasava rising," said Sanders at breakfast one morning. "I don't know why this should be, for my information is that the Akasava folk are fairly placid."
"Where does the news come from, sir?" asked Hamilton.
"From the Isisi king—he's in a devil of a funk, and has begged Bosambo to send him help."
That help was forthcoming in the shape of Bosambo's new army, which arrived on the outskirts of the Isisi city and sat in idleness for a month, at the end of which time the people of the Isisi represented to their king that they would, on the whole, prefer war to a peace which put them on half rations in order that six thousand proud warriors might live on the fat of the land.
The M'gimi warriors marched back to the Ochori, each man carrying a month's supply ofmaize and salt, wrung from the resentful peasants of the Isisi.
Three weeks after, Bosambo sent an envoy to the King of the Akasava.
"Let no man know this, Gubara, lest it come to the ears of Sandi, and you, who are very innocent, be wrongly blamed," said the envoy solemnly. "Thus says Bosambo: It has come to my ears that the N'gombi are secretly arming and will very soon send a forest of spears against the Akasava. Say this to Gubara, that because my stomach is filled with sorrow I will help him. Because I am very powerful, because of my friendship with Bonesi and his cousin, N'poloyani, who is also married to Bonesi's aunt, I have a great army which I will send to the Akasava, and when the N'gombi hear of this they will send away their spears and there will be peace."
The Akasava chief, a nervous man with the memory of all the discomforts which follow tribal wars, eagerly assented. For two months Bosambo's army sat down like a cloud of locusts and ate the Akasava to a condition bordering upon famine.
At the end of that time they marched to the N'gombi country, news having been brought by Bosambo's messengers that the Great King was crossing the western mountains with a terrible army to seize the N'gombi forests. How long this novel method of provisioning his army might have continued may only be guessed, for in the midst of Bosambo's plans for maintaining anarmy at the expense of his neighbours there was a great happening in the Morjaba country.
S'kobi, the fat chief, had watched the departure of his warriors with something like relief. He was gratified, moreover (native-like), by the fact that he had confounded Sanders. But when the Commissioner had gone and S'kobi remembered all that he had said, a great doubt settled like a pall upon his mind. For three days he sat, a dejected figure, on the high carved stool of state before his house, and at the end of that time he summoned S'gono, the M'joro.
"S'gono," said he, "I am troubled in my stomach because of certain things which our lord Sandi has said."
Thereupon he told the plebeian councillor much of what Sanders had said.
"And now my M'gimi are with Bosambo of the Ochori, and he sells them to this people and that for so much treasure and food."
"Lord," said S'gono, "is my word nothing? Did I not say that I would raise spears more wonderful than the M'gimi? Give me leave, King, and you shall find an army that shall grow in a night. I, S'gono, son of Mocharlabili Yoka, say this!"
So messengers went forth to all the villages of the Morjaba calling the young men to the king's hut, and on the third week there stood on a plateau beneath the king's palaver house a most wonderful host.
"Let them march across the plain and make the Dance of Killing," said the satisfied king, and S'gono hesitated.
"Lord King," he pleaded, "these are new soldiers, and they are not yet wise in the ways of warriors. Also they will not take the chiefs I gave them, but have chosen their own, so that each company have two leaders who say evil things of one another."
S'kobi opened his round eyes.
"The M'gimi did not do this," he said dubiously, "for when their captains spoke they leapt first with one leg and then with the other, which was beautiful to see and very terrifying to our enemies."
"Lord," begged the agitated S'gono, "give me the space of a moon and they shall leap with both legs and dance in a most curious manner."
A spy retailed this promise to a certain giant chief of the Great King who was sitting on the Morjaba slopes of the mountains with four thousand spears, awaiting a favourable moment to ford the river which separated him from the rich lands of the northern Morjaba.
This giant heard the tidings with interest.
"Soon they shall leap without heads," he said, "for without the M'gimi they are little children. For twenty seasons we have waited, and now comes our fine night. Go you, B'furo, to the Chief of The-Folk-beyond-the-Swamp and tell him that when he sees three fires on this mountain he shallattack across the swamp by the road which he knows."
It was a well-planned campaign which the Great King's generals and the Chief of The-People-beyond-the-Marsh had organized. With the passing of the warrior caste the enemies of the Morjaba had moved swiftly. The path across the swamp had been known for years, but the M'gimi had had one of their camps so situated that no enemy could debouch across, and had so ordered their dispositions that the northern river boundary was automatically safeguarded.
Now S'gono was a man of the fields, a grower and seller of maize and a breeder of goats. And he had planned his new army as he would plan a new garden, on the basis that the nearer the army was to the capital, the easier it was to maintain. In consequence the river-ford was unguarded, and there were two thousand spears across the marshes before a scared minister of war apprehended any danger.
He flung his new troops against the Great King's chief captain in a desperate attempt to hold back the principal invader. At the same time, more by luck than good generalship, he pushed the evil people of the marsh back to their native element.
For two days the Morjaba fought desperately if unskilfully against the seasoned troops of the Great King, while messengers hurried east and south, seeking help.
Bosambo's intelligence department may have shown remarkable prescience in unearthing the plot against the peace and security of the Morjaba, or it may have been (and this is Sanders's theory) that Bosambo was on his way to the Morjaba with a cock and bull story of imminent danger. He was on the frontier when the king's messenger came, and Bosambo returned with the courier to treat in person.
"Five thousand loads of corn I will give you, Bosambo," said the king, "also a hundred bags of salt. Also two hundred women who shall be slaves in your house."
There was some bargaining, for Bosambo had no need of slaves, but urgently wanted goats. In the end he brought up his hirelings, and the people of the Morjaba city literally fell on the necks of the returned M'gimi.
The enemy had forced the northern defences and were half-way to the city when the M'gimi fell upon their flank.
The giant chief of the Great King's army saw the ordered ranks of the old army driving in his flank, and sent for his own captain.
"Go swiftly to our lord, the King, and say that I am a dead man."
He spoke no more than the truth, for he fell at the hand of Bosambo, who made a mental resolve to increase his demand on the herds of S'kobi in consequence.
For the greater part of a month Bosambo was awelcome visitor, and at the end of that time he made his preparations to depart.
Carriers and herdsmen drove or portered his reward back to the Ochori country, marching one day ahead of the main body.
The M'gimi were summoned for the march at dawn, but at dawn Bosambo found himself alone on the plateau, save for the few Ochori headmen who had accompanied him on his journey.
"Lord," said S'kobi, "my fine soldiers do not go with you, for I have seen how wise is Sandi who is my father and my mother."
Bosambo choked, and as was usual in moments of intense emotion, found refuge in English.
"Dam' nigger!" he said wrathfully, "I bring um army, I feed um, I keep um proper—you pinch um! Black t'ief! Pig! You bad feller! I speak you bad for N'poloyani—him fine feller."
"Lord," said the uncomprehending king, "I see that you are like Sandi for you speak his tongue. He also said 'Dam' very loudly. I think it is the word white folk say when they are happy."
Bosambo met Bones hurrying to the scene of the fighting, and told his tale.
"Lord," said he in conclusion, "what was I to do, for you told nothing of the ways of N'poloyani when his army was stolen from him. Tell me now, Tibbetti, what this man would have done."
But Bones shook his head severely.
"This I cannot tell you, Bosambo," he said, "for if I do you will tell others, and my lord N'poloyani will never forgive me."
Unexpected things happen in the Territories which Mr. Commissioner Sanders rules. As for example: Bones had gone down to the beach to "take the mail." This usually meant no more than receiving a mail-bag wildly flung from a dancing surf-boat. On this occasion Bones was surprised to discover that the boat had beached and had landed, not only the mail, but a stranger with his baggage.
He was a clean-shaven, plump man, in spotless white, and he greeted Bones with a friendly nod. "Morning!" he said. "I've got your mail."
Bones extended his hand and took the bag without evidence of any particular enthusiasm.
"Sanders about?" asked the stranger.
"Mr. Sanders is in residence, sir," said Bones, ponderously polite.
The other laughed. "Show the way," he said briskly.
Bones looked at the new-comer from the ventilator of his pith helmet to the soles of his pipe-clayed shoes. "Excuse me, dear old sir," hesaid, "have I the honour of addressin' the Secretary of State for War?"
"No," answered the other in surprise. "What made you think that?"
"Because," said Bones, with rising wrath, "he's the only fellow that needn't say 'please' to me."
The man roared with laughter. "Sorry," he said. "Pleaseshow me the way."
"Follow me, sir," said Bones.
Sanders was not "in residence," being, in fact, inspecting some recent—and native—repairs to the boilers of theZaire.
The stranger drew up a chair on the stoep without invitation and seated himself. He looked around. Patricia Hamilton was at the far end of the stoep, reading a book. She had glanced up just long enough to note and wonder at the new arrival. "Deuced pretty girl that," said the stranger, lighting a cigar.
"I beg your pardon?" said Bones.
"I say that is a deuced pretty girl," said the stranger.
"And you're a deuced brute, dear sir," said Bones, "but hitherto I have not commented on the fact."
The man looked up quickly. "What are you here," he asked—"a clerk or something?"
Bones did not so much as flush. "Oh, no," he said sweetly. "I am an officer of Houssas—rank, lieutenant. My task is to tame the uncivilizedbeast an' entertain the civilized pig with a selection of music. Would you like to hear our gramophone?"
The new-comer frowned. What brilliant effort of persiflage was to follow will never be known, for at that moment came Sanders.
The stranger rose and produced a pocket-book, from which he extracted a card and a letter. "Good morning, Commissioner!" he said. "My name's Corklan—P. T. Corklan, of Corklan, Besset and Lyons."
"Indeed," said Sanders.
"I've got a letter for you," said the man.
Sanders took the note, opened it, and read. It bore the neat signature of an Under-Secretary of State and the embossed heading of the Extra-Territorial Office, and it commended Mr. P. T. Corklan to Mr. Commissioner Sanders, and requested him to let Mr. Corklan pass without let or hindrance through the Territories, and to render him every assistance "compatible with exigencies of the Service" in his "inquiries into sugar production from the sweet potato."
"You should have taken this to the Administrator," said Sanders, "and it should bear his signature."
"There's the letter," said the man shortly. "If that's not enough, and the signature of the Secretary of State isn't sufficient, I'm going straight back to England and tell him so."
"You may go to the devil and tell him so," saidSanders calmly; "but you do not pass into these Territories until I have received telegraphic authority from my chief. Bones, take this man to your hut, and let your people do what they can for him." And he turned and walked into the house.
"You shall hear about this," said Mr. Corklan, picking up his baggage.
"This way, dear old pilgrim," said Bones.
"Who's going to carry my bag?"
"Your name escapes me," said Bones, "but, if you'll glance at your visitin' card, you will find the name of the porter legibly inscribed."
Sanders compressed the circumstances into a hundred-word telegram worded in his own economical style.
It happened that the Administrator was away on a shooting trip, and it was his cautious secretary who replied—
"Administration to Sanders.—Duplicate authority here. Let Corklan proceed at own risk. Warn him dangers."
"You had better go along and tell him," said Sanders. "He can leave at once, and the sooner the better."
Bones delivered the message. The man was sitting on his host's bed, and the floor was covered with cigar ash. Worst abomination of all, was a large bottle of whisky, which he had produced from one of his bags, and a reeking glass, which he had produced from Bones's sideboard.
"So I can go to-night, can I?" said Mr. Corklan. "That's all right. Now, what about conveyance, hey?"
Bones had now reached the stage where he had ceased to be annoyed, and when he found some interest in the situation. "What sort of conveyance would you like, sir?" he asked curiously.
(If you can imagine him pausing half a bar before every "sir," you may value its emphasis.)
"Isn't there a steamer I can have?" demanded the man. "Hasn't Sanders got a Government steamer?"
"Pardon my swooning," said Bones, sinking into a chair.
"Well, how am I going to get up?" asked the man.
"Are you a good swimmer?" demanded Bones innocently.
"Look here," said Mr. Corklan, "you aren't a bad fellow. I rather like you."
"I'm sorry," said Bones simply.
"I rather like you," repeated Mr. Corklan. "You might give me a little help."
"It is very unlikely that I shall," said Bones. "But produce your proposition, dear old adventurer."
"That is just what I am," said the other. He bit off the end of another cigar and lit it with the glowing butt of the old one. "I have knocked about all over the world, and I have done everything. I've now a chance of making a fortune.There is a tribe here called the N'gombi. They live in a wonderful rubber country, and I am told that they have got all the ivory in the world, and stacks of rubber hidden away."
Now, it is a fact—and Bones was surprised to hear it related by the stranger—that the N'gombi are great misers and hoarders of elephant tusks. For hundreds of years they have traded ivory and rubber, and every village has its secret storehouse. The Government had tried for years to wheedle the N'gombi into depositing their wealth in some State store, for riches mean war sooner or later. They lived in great forests—the word N'gombi means "interior"—in lands full of elephants and rich in rubber trees.
"You are a regular information bureau," said Bones admiringly. "But what has this to do with your inquiry into the origin of the candy tree?"
The man smoked in silence for awhile, then he pulled from his pocket a big map. Again Bones was surprised, because the map he produced was the official map of the Territories. He traced the river with his fat forefinger.
"Here is the N'gombi country from the east bank of the Isisi, and this is all forest, and a rubber tree to every ten square yards."
"I haven't counted them," said Bones, "but I'll take your word."
"Now, what does this mean?" Mr. Corklan indicated a twisting line of dots and dashes whichbegan at the junction of the Isisi River and the Great River, and wound tortuously over five hundred miles of country until it struck the Sigi River, which runs through Spanish territory. "What is that?" he asked.
"That, or those," said Bones, "are the footprints of the mighty swoozlum bird that barks with its eyes an' lives on buttered toast an' hardware."
"I will tell you what I know it is," said the man, looking up and looking Bones straight in the eye—"it is one of those secret rivers you are always finding in these 'wet' countries. The natives tell you about 'em, but you never find 'em. They are rivers that only exist about once in a blue moon, when the river is very high and the rains are very heavy. Now, down in the Spanish territory"—he touched Bones's knee with great emphasis—"they tell me that their end of the secret river is in flood."
"They will tell you anything in the Spanish territory," said Bones pleasantly. "They'd tell you your jolly old fortune if you'd cross their palms with silver."
"What about your end?" asked the man, ignoring the scepticism of his host.
"Our end?" said Bones. "Well, you will find out for yourself. I'd hate to disappoint you."
"Now, how am I going up?" asked the man after a pause.
"You can hire a canoe, and live on the land, unless you have brought stores."
The man chuckled. "I've brought no stores. Here, I will show you something," he said. "You are a very good fellow." He opened his bag and took out a tight packet which looked like thin skins. There must have been two or three hundred of them. "That's my speciality," he said. He nipped the string that tied them together, stripped one off, and, putting his lips to one end, blew. The skin swelled up like a toy balloon. "Do you know what that is?"
"No, I cannot say I do," said Bones.
"You have heard of Soemmering's process?"
Bones shook his head.
"Do you know what decimal 1986 signifies?"
"You've got me guessing, my lad," said Bones admiringly.
The other chuckled, threw the skins into his bag, and closed it with a snap. "That's my little joke," he said. "All my friends tell me it will be the death of me one of these days. I like to puzzle people"—he smiled amiably and triumphantly in Bones's face—"I like to tell them the truth in such a way they don't understand it. If they understood it—Heavens, there'd be the devil to pay!"
"You are an ingenious fellow," said Bones, "but I don't like your face. You will forgive my frankness, dear old friend."
"Faces aren't fortunes," said the other complacently, "and I am going out of this country with money sticking to me."
"I'm sorry for you," said Bones, shaking his head; "I hate to see fellows with illusions."
He reported all that occurred to the Commissioner, and Sanders was a little worried.
"I wish I knew what his game is," he said; "I'd stop him like a shot, but I can't very well in the face of the Administrator's wire. Anyway, he will get nothing out of the N'gombi. I've tried every method to make the beggars bank their surpluses, and I have failed."
"He has got to come back this way, at any rate," said Hamilton, "and I cannot see that he will do much harm."
"What is the rest of his baggage like?"
"He has a case of things that look like concave copper plates, sir," said Bones, "very thin copper, but copper. Then he has two or three copper pipes, and that is about his outfit."
Mr. Corklan was evidently no stranger to the coast, and Bones, who watched the man's canoe being loaded that afternoon, and heard his fluent observations on the slackness of his paddlers, realized that his acquaintance with Central Africa was an extensive one. He cursed in Swahili and Portuguese, and his language was forcible and impolite. "Well," he said at last, "I'llbe getting along. I'll make a fishing village for the night, and I ought to reach my destination in a week. I shan't be seeing you again, so I'll say good-bye."
"How do you suppose you're going to get out of the country?" asked Bones curiously.
Mr. Corklan laughed. "So long!" he said.
"One moment, my dashin' old explorer," said Bones. "A little formality—I want to see your trunks opened."
A look of suspicion dawned on the man's face. "What for?"
"A little formality, my jolly old hero," said Bones.
"Why didn't you say so before?" growled the man, and had his two trunks landed. "I suppose you know you're exceeding your duty?"
"I didn't know—thanks for tellin' me," said Bones. "The fact is, sir an' fellow-man, I'm the Custom House officer."
The man opened his bags, and Bones explored. He found three bottles of whisky, and these he extracted.
"What's the idea?" asked Mr. Corklan.
Bones answered him by breaking the bottles on a near-by stone.
"Here, what the dickens——"
"Wine is a mocker," said Bones, "strong drink is ragin'. This is what is termed in the land of Hope an' Glory a prohibition State, an' I'm entitled to fine you five hundred of the brightest an' bestfor attemptin' to smuggle intoxicants into our innocent country."
Bones expected an outburst; instead, his speech evoked no more than a snigger.
"You're funny," said the man.
"My friends tell me so," admitted Bones. "But there's nothin' funny about drink. Acquainted as you are with the peculiar workin's of the native psychology, dear sir, you will understand the primitive cravin' of the untutored mind for the enemy that we put in our mouths to steal away our silly old brains. I wish you 'bon voyage.'"
"So long," said Mr. Corklan.
Bones went back to the Residency and made his report, and there, for the time being, the matter ended. It was not unusual for wandering scientists, manufacturers, and representatives of shipping companies to arrive armed with letters of introduction or command, and to be dispatched into the interior. The visits, happily, were few and far between. On this occasion Sanders, being uneasy, sent one of his spies to follow the adventurer, with orders to report any extraordinary happening—a necessary step to take, for the N'gombi, and especially the Inner N'gombi, are a secretive people, and news from local sources is hard to come by.
"I shall never be surprised to learn that a war has been going on in the N'gombi for two months without our hearing a word about it."
"If they fight amongst themselves—yes," said Captain Hamilton; "if they fight outsiders, there will be plenty of bleats. Why not send Bones to overlook his sugar experiments," he added.
"Let's talk about something pleasant," said Bones hastily.
It was exactly three months later when he actually made the trip.
"Take theZaireup to the bend of the Isisi," said Sanders one morning, at breakfast, "and find out what Ali Kano is doing—the lazy beggar should have reported."
"Any news from the N'gombi?" asked Hamilton.
"Only roundabout stories of their industry. Apparently the sugar merchant is making big experiments. He has set half the people digging roots for him. Be ready to sail at dawn."
"Will it be a dangerous trip?" asked the girl.
"No. Why?" smiled Sanders.
"Because I'd like to go. Oh, please, don't look so glum! Bones is awfully good to me."
"Better than a jolly old brother," murmured Bones.
"H'm!" Sanders shook his head, and she appealed to her brother.
"Please!"
"I wouldn't mind your going," said Hamilton, "if only to look after Bones."
"S-sh!" said Bones reproachfully.
"If you're keen on it, I don't see why you shouldn't—if you had a chaperon."
"A chaperon!" sneered Bones. "Great Heavens! Do, old skipper, pull yourself together. Open the jolly old window and give him air. Feelin' better, sir?"
"A chaperon! How absurd!" cried the girl indignantly. "I'm old enough to be Bones's mother! I'm nearly twenty—well, I'm older than Bones, and I'm ever so much more capable of looking after myself."
The end of it was that she went, with her Kano maid and with the wife of Abiboo to cook for her. And in two days they came to the bend of the river, and Bones pursued his inquiries for the missing spy, but without success.
"But this I tell you, lord," said the little chief who acted as Sanders's agent, "that there are strange things happening in the N'gombi country, for all the people have gone mad, and are digging up their teeth (tusks) and bringing them to a white man."
"This shall go to Sandi," said Bones, realizing the importance of the news; and that same evening he turned the bow of theZairedown stream.
Thus said Wafa, the half-breed, for he was neither foreign Arab nor native N'gombi, yet combined the cunning of both—
"Soon we shall see the puc-a-puc of Governmentturn from the crookedness of the river, and I will go out and speak to our lord Tibbetti, who is a very simple man, and like a child."
"O Wafa," said one of the group of armed men which stood shivering on the beach in the cold hours of dawn, "may this be a good palaver! As for me, my stomach is filled with fearfulness. Let us all drink this magic water, for it gives us men courage."
"That you shall do when you have carried out all our master's works," said Wafa, and added with confidence: "Have no fear, for soon you shall see great wonders."
They heard the deep boom of theZaire'ssiren signalling a solitary and venturesome fisherman to quit the narrow fair-way, and presently she came round the bend of the river, a dazzling white craft, showering sparks from her two slender smoke-stacks and leaving behind her twin cornucopias of grey smoke.
Wafa stepped into a canoe, and, seeing that the others were preparing to follow him, he struck out swiftly, manœuvring his ironwood boat to the very waters from whence a scared fisherman was frantically paddling.
"Go not there, foreigner," wailed the Isisi Stabber-of-Waters, "for it is our lord Sandi, and his puc-a-puc has bellowed terribly."
"Die you!" roared Wafa. "On the river bottom your body, son of a fish and father of snakes!"
"O foreign frog!" came the shrill retort. "O poor man with two men's wives! O goatless——"
Wafa was too intent upon his business to heed the rest. He struck the water strongly with his broad paddles, and reached the centre of the channel.
Bones of the Houssas put up his hand and jerked the rope of the siren.
Whoo-o-o—woo-o-op!
"Bless his silly old head," said Bones fretfully, "the dashed fellow will be run down!"
The girl was dusting Bones's cabin, and looked round. "What is it?" she asked.
Bones made no reply. He gripped the telegraph handle and rung the engines astern as Yoka, the steersman, spun the wheel.
Bump! Bump! Bumpity bump!
The steamer slowed and stopped, and the girl came out to the bridge in alarm. TheZairehad struck a sandbank, and was stranded high, if not dry.
"Bring that man on board," said the wrathful Bones. And they hauled to his presence Wafa, who was neither Arab nor N'gombi, but combined the vices of both.
"O man," said Bones, glaring at the offender through his eyeglass, "what evil ju-ju sent you to stop my fine ship?" He spoke in the Isisi dialect, and was surprised to be answered in coast Arabic.
"Lord," said the man, unmoved by the wrathof his overlord, "I come to make a great palaver concerning spirits and devils. Lord, I have found a great magic."
Bones grinned, for he had that sense of humour which rises superior to all other emotions. "Then you shall try your magic, my man, and lift this ship to deep water."
Wafa was not at all embarrassed. "Lord, this is a greater magic, for it concerns men, and brings to life the dead. For, lord, in this forest is a wonderful tree. Behold!"
He took from his loose-rolled waistband a piece of wood. Bones took it in his hand. It was the size of a corn cob, and had been newly cut, so that the wood was moist with sap. Bones smelt it. There was a faint odour of resin and camphor. Patricia Hamilton smiled. It was so like Bones to be led astray by side issues.
"Where is the wonder, man, that you should drive my ship upon a sandbank! And who are these?" Bones pointed to six canoes, filled with men, approaching theZaire. The man did not answer, but, taking the wood from Bones's hand, pulled a knife from his belt and whittled a shaving.
"Here, lord," he said, "is my fine magic. With this wood I can do many miracles, such as making sick men strong and the strong weak."
Bones heard the canoes bump against the side of the boat, but his mind was occupied with curiosity.
"Thus do I make my magic, Tibbetti," droned Wafa.
He held the knife by the haft in the right hand, and the chip of wood in his left. The point of the knife was towards the white man's heart.
"Bones!" screamed the girl.
Bones jumped aside and struck out as the man lunged. His nobbly fist caught Wafa under the jaw, and the man stumbled and fell. At the same instant there was a yell from the lower deck, the sound of scuffling, and a shot.
Bones jumped for the girl, thrust her into the cabin, sliding the steel door behind him. His two revolvers hung at the head of his bunk, and he slipped them out, gave a glance to see whether they were loaded, and pushed the door.
"Shut the door after me," he breathed.
The bridge deck was deserted, and Bones raced down the ladder to the iron deck. Two Houssas and half a dozen natives lay dead or dying. The remainder of the soldiers were fighting desperately with whatever weapons they found to their hands—for, with characteristic carefulness, they had laid their rifles away in oil, lest the river air rust them—and, save for the sentry, who used a rifle common to all, they were unarmed.
"O dogs!" roared Bones.
The invaders turned and faced the long-barrelled Webleys, and the fight was finished. Later, Wafa came to the bridge with bright steel manacleson his wrist. His companions in the mad adventure sat on the iron deck below, roped leg to leg, and listened with philosophic calm as the Houssa sentry drew lurid pictures of the fate which awaited them.
Bones sat in his deep chair, and the prisoner squatted before him. "You shall tell my lord Sandi why you did this wickedness," he said, "also, Wafa, what evil thought was in your mind."
"Lord," said Wafa cheerfully, "what good comes to me if I speak?" Something about the man's demeanour struck Bones as strange, and he rose and went close to him.
"I see," he said, with a tightened lip. "The palaver is finished."
They led the man away, and the girl, who had been a spectator, asked anxiously: "What is wrong, Bones?"
But the young man shook his head. "The breaking of all that Sanders has worked for," he said bitterly, and the very absence of levity in one whose heart was so young and gay struck a colder chill to the girl's heart than the yells of the warring N'gombi. For Sanders had a big place in Patricia Hamilton's life. In an hour theZairewas refloated, and was going at full speed down stream.
Sanders held his court in the thatched palaver house between the Houssa guard-room and thelittle stockade prison at the river's edge—a prison hidden amidst the flowering shrubs and acacia trees.
Wafa was the first to be examined. "Lord," he said, without embarrassment, "I tell you this—that I will not speak of the great wonders which lay in my heart unless you give me a book[6]that I shall go free."
Sanders smiled unpleasantly. "By the Prophet, I say what is true," he began confidentially; and Wafa winced at the oath, for he knew that truth was coming, and truth of a disturbing character. "In this land I govern millions of men," said Sanders, speaking deliberately, "I and two white lords. I govern by fear, Wafa, because there is no love in simple native men, save a love for their own and their bellies."
"Lord, you speak truth," said Wafa, the superior Arab of him responding to the confidence.
"Now, if you make to kill the lord Tibbetti," Sanders went on, "and do your wickedness for secret reasons, must I not discover what is that secret, lest it mean that I lose my hold upon the lands I govern?"
"Lord, that is also true," said Wafa.
"For what is one life more or less," asked Sanders, "a suffering smaller or greater by the side of my millions and their good?"
"Lord, you are Suliman," said Wafa eagerly."Therefore, if you let me go, who shall be the worse for it?"
Again Sanders smiled, that grim parting of lip to show his white teeth. "Yet you may lie, and, if I let you go, I have neither the truth nor your body. No, Wafa, you shall speak." He rose up from his chair. "To-day you shall go to the Village of Irons," he said; "to-morrow I will come to you, and you shall answer my questions. And, if you will not speak, I shall light a little fire on your chest, and that fire shall not go out except when the breath goes from your body. This palaver is finished."
So they took Wafa away to the Village of Irons, where the evil men of the Territories worked with chains about their ankles for their many sins, and in the morning came Sanders.
"Speak, man," he said.
Wafa stared with an effort of defiance, but his face was twitching, for he saw the soldiers driving pegs into the ground, preparatory to staking him out. "I will speak the truth," he said.
So they took him into a hut, and there Sanders sat with him alone for half an hour; and when the Commissioner came out, his face was drawn and grey. He beckoned to Hamilton, who came forward and saluted. "We will get back to headquarters," he said shortly, and they arrived two hours later.