IN THE BED OF THE RIVER
It was a fortunate circumstance that within three days two
homeward-bound ships called at the little coast town where the
Commissioner for the Alebi district made his headquarters. Fortunate,
for it allowed Lambaire and Whitey to travel homewards by one ship, and
Cynthia Sutton by the other. Amber went to the beach where the heavy
surf-boat waited--to see her off.
“I ought to be taking my ticket with you,” he said, “or, better
still, follow you secretly, so that when you sit down to dinner
to-night--enter Amber in full kit, surprise of lady--curtain.”
She stood watching him seriously. The heat of the coast had made her
face whiter and finer drawn. She was in Amber’s eyes the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen. Though he could jest, his heart was heavy
enough and hungry enough for tears.
“I wish you would come,” she said simply, and he knew her heart at that
moment.
“I’ll stay.” He took her hand in both of his. “There’s a chance, though
it is a faint one, that your brother is alive. Sanders says there is
no doubt that those men left him to die--there is no proof that he is
dead. I shall stay long enough to convince myself one way or the other.”
The boat was ready now, and Sanders was discreetly watching the steamer
that lay anchored a mile from the shore in four fathoms of water.
“Au revoir,” she said, and her lip trembled.
Amber held out his arms to her, and she came to him without fear. He
held her tight for the space of a few seconds, and she lifted her face
to his.
“Au revoir, my love,” he whispered, and kissed her lips.
* * * * *
Amber left the next morning for the Alebi, and with him went Abiboo, a
taciturn sergeant of Houssas and Sanders’ right-hand man.
It was a conventional African journey into the bush.
The monotony of hot marches by day, of breathless humming nights, of
village palavers, of sudden tropical storms where low-lying yellow
clouds came tumbling and swirling across the swaying tree-tops, and
vivid lightnings flickered incessantly through the blue-dark forest.
The party followed the beaten track which led from village to village,
and at each little community inquiries were made, but no white man had
been seen since Lambaire and Whitey had passed.
On the twenty-eighth day of the march, the expedition reached the place
where Lambaire had said Sutton died. Here, in accordance with his
plans, Amber established something of a permanent camp.
Accompanied by Abiboo he inspected the spot where the handkerchief and
diamonds had been found, and the depression where the “grave” had been
located.
“Master,” said Abiboo, “it was here that a hole had been dug.”
“I see no hole,” said Amber. He spoke in Arabic: there was a time
when Captain Ambrose Grey had been a secretary of legation, and his
knowledge of Arabic was a working one.
An examination of the ground showed the depression to be the dried bed
of a watercourse. Amber explored it for a mile in either direction
without discovering any sign of the opening which Abiboo had led him to
expect. In some places it was overgrown with a thick tangle of elephant
grass and a variety of wild bramble which is found in African forests.
“Water has been here,” said Abiboo, “but _cala cala_,” which means long
ago.
The fact that the grave had disappeared proved nothing. The heavy rains
which they had experienced on the march would have been sufficient to
wash down the débris and the loose earth which had stood about the hole.
For three weeks Amber pursued his investigations. From the camp he sent
messengers to every village within a radius of fifty miles, without
finding any trace of Sutton.
Regretfully he decided to give up the search; two of his carriers had
gone down with beri-beri, and the rainy season was getting nearer and
nearer. Worse than this the Isisi--Alebi folk--were restless. He had
had advice of crucifixions and dances, and Sanders had sent him six
more soldiers to strengthen his escort.
The occasional storms had been followed by irregular downpours, and he
himself had had an attack of fever.
“I will stay two more days,” he told Abiboo; “if by then I find
nothing, we strike camp.”
That night, as he sat in his tent writing a letter to Cynthia, there
came a summons from Abiboo.
“Master,” said the Houssa, “one of my men has heard a shot.”
Amber slipped on his jacket and stepped out of the tent.
“Where--in what direction?” he asked. It was pitch-dark, and a gentle
drizzle of rain was falling.
“Towards the east,” said the native.
Amber returned to the tent for his electric lamp and together they
stood listening.
Far away they heard a noise like that made by a cat in pain; the long
howls came faintly in their direction.
“That is a wounded leopard,” said Abiboo. Amber was thinking rapidly.
Save for the gentle murmur of rain, there was no sound in the forest.
It was certainly not the night for a leopard to advertise his presence.
“If there is a white man in the forest,” said Amber, “he would come
for this.” He slipped his revolver from his pocket and fired two shots
in the air. He waited, but there came no answer. At intervals of half
a minute he emptied the chambers of the weapon without eliciting any
reply.
For the greater part of an hour Amber remained listening. The cries
of the leopard--if leopard it was--had died down to a whimper and had
ceased. There was nothing to be gained by a search that night; but
as soon as daylight came, Amber moved out with two Houssa guards and
Abiboo.
It was no light task the party had set itself, to beat six square miles
of forest, where sapling and tree were laced together with rope upon
rope of vegetation. It was well into the afternoon when Abiboo found
the spoor of a wild beast.
Following it they came to flecks of dried blood. It might have been--as
Amber realized--the blood of an animal wounded by another. Half an
hour’s trailing brought them to a little clearing, where stretched at
the foot of a tree lay the leopard, dead and stiff.
“H’m,” said Amber, and walked up to it. There was no sign of the
laceration which marks the beast wounded in fight.
“Turn it over.”
The men obeyed, and Amber whistled. There was an indisputable bullet
wound behind the left shoulder.
Amber knelt down, and with his hunting knife cut down in search of
the bullet. He found it after a long search and brought it to light.
It was a flattened Webley revolver bullet. He went back to camp in a
thoughtful mood that night.
If it was Sutton’s revolver, where was Sutton? Why did he hide himself
in the forest? He had other problems to settle to his satisfaction, but
these two were uppermost in his mind.
The day had been a fine one, and the customary storm had not
eventuated. A beautiful moonlight night had followed the most glorious
of sunsets. It was such a night as only Africa sees, a night of silver
light that touched all things tenderly and beautified them. Amber had
seen such nights in other parts of the great Continent, but never had
he remembered such as this.
He sat in a camp chair at the entrance of his tent speculating upon the
events of the day. Who was this mysterious stranger that went abroad
at night? For the matter of that, what had the leopard been doing to
invite his death?
He called up Abiboo from the fire round which the Houssas were
squatting.
“It is strange to me, Abiboo,” he said, “that the white man should
shoot the leopard.”
“Lord, so I have said to my men,” said Abiboo, “and they think, as I,
that the leopard was creeping into a place that sheltered the white
master.”
Amber smoked a reflective pipe. It occurred to him that the place where
they had come upon the first blood-stains had been near to a similar
dried-up waterway. When he came to give the matter fuller consideration
he realized that it was a continuation of the river bed near which they
were encamped. Following its course he might come upon the spot under
an hour. It was a perfect night for investigation--at any rate, he
resolved to make an attempt.
He took with him four soldiers including the sergeant, who led the
way with the lamp. The soldiers were necessary, for a spy had come in
during the day with news that the warlike folk of the “Little Alebi”
had begun to march in his direction.
Though the river bed made a well-defined path for the party, it
was fairly “hard-going.” In places where the deputation made an
impenetrable barrier they had to climb up the steep banks and make a
détour through the forest.
Once they came upon a prowling leopard who spat furiously at the
brilliant white glow of the electric lamp and, turning tail, fled. Once
they surprised a bulky form that trumpeted loudly and went blundering
away through the forest to safety.
After one of these détours they struck a clear smooth stretch.
“It must be somewhere near,” began Amber, when Abiboo raised his hand
abruptly. “Listen,” he whispered.
They stood motionless, their heads bent. Above the quiet of the forest
came a new sound.
“Click--click!” It was faint, but unmistakable.
Amber crept forward.
The river bed turned abruptly to the right, and pressing closely to the
right bank he dropped to his knees and crawled cautiously nearer the
turn. He got his head clear of the bush that obstructed his view and
saw what he saw.
In the centre of the river, plain to see in the bright moonlight, a
man in shirt and trousers was digging. Every now and again he stooped
and gathered the earth in both hands and laughed, a low chuckling
laugh that made Amber’s blood run cold to hear. Amber watched for five
minutes, then stepped out from his place of concealment.
“Bang!”
A bullet whistled past him and struck the bank at his side with a thud.
Quick as thought, he dropped to cover, bewildered. The man who dug had
had his back to him--somebody else had fired that shot!
He looked round at the sergeant.
“Abiboo,” he said grimly, “this is a bad palaver: we have come to save
a man who desires to kill us.”
Crawling forward again he peeped out: the man had disappeared.
Taking the risk of another shot, Amber stepped out into the open.
“Sutton!” he called clearly. There was no answer.
“Sutton!” he shouted,--only the echo came to him. Followed by his men
he moved forward.
There was a hole in the centre of the watercourse, and a discarded
spade lay beside it. He picked it up and examined it. The blade was
bright from use, the haft was polished smooth from constant handling.
He put it down again and took a swift survey of the place.
He was in what was for all the world like a railway cutting. The dead
river had worn its deepest channel here. On the moonlit side of the
“cutting” he could see no place that afforded shelter. He walked along
by the bank which lay in the shadow, moving the white beam of his lamp
over its rugged side.
He thought he saw an opening a little way up. A big dead bush half
concealed it--and that dead bush was perched at such an angle as to
convince Amber that it owed its position to human agency.
Cautiously he began to climb till he lay under the opening. Then
swiftly he plucked the dead brush away.
“Bang!”
He felt the powder burn his face and pressed himself closer to the
earth. Abiboo in the bed of the river below came with a leap up the
side of the bank.
“_Ba--lek!_” shouted Amber warningly.
A hand, grasping a heavy army revolver, was thrust out through the
opening, the long black muzzle pointing in the direction of the
advancing Houssa. Amber seized the wrist and twisted it up with a jerk.
“Damn!” said a voice, and the pistol dropped to the ground.
Still holding the wrist, Amber called gently, “Sutton!” There was a
pause.
“Who are you?” said the voice in astonishment.
“You’ll remember me as Amber.” There was another little pause.
“The devil you are!” said the voice; “let go my wrist, and I’ll come
out--thought you were the Alebi folk on the warpath.”
Amber released the wrist, and by-and-by there struggled through a grimy
tattered young man, indisputably Sutton.
He stood up in the moonlight and shook himself. “I’m afraid I’ve been
rather uncivil,” he said steadily, “but I’m glad you’ve come--to the
‘River of Stars.’” He waved his hand towards the dry river bed with a
rueful smile.
Amber said nothing.
“I should have left months ago,” Sutton went on; “we’ve got more
diamonds in this hole than---- Curse the beastly things!” he said
abruptly. He stooped down to the mouth of the cave.
“Father,” he called softly, “come out--I want to introduce you to a
sportsman.”
Amber stood dumbfounded and silent as the other turned to him.
“My father isn’t very well,” he said with a catch in his voice; “you’ll
have to help me get him away.”