The odd man joining a party of two is by no means necessarily an
acquisition, or invariably bound to preserve and promote the harmony
already existing. In this case, however, the best happened. No more
harmonious trio could be imagined than this one, as, having recovered
the lost treasure, the expedition resumed its way. For Oakley proved to
be the best of good fellows, and though several years older than
Haviland, and with a great deal wider experience, he never for a moment
forgot that he was with them now solely in the capacity of a guest. If
his advice was asked he gave it, if not, he never by any chance
volunteered it. Ahern and Haviland were, of course, tried comrades; and
two years of sharing the same hardships, the same dangers, and the same
aims, had bound them together as no period of acquaintance within the
limits of conventional civilisation could ever have done.
The camp had been set for the day, whose full heat had already begun to
strike in through the shading trees. The tired bearers were lying
around, for the moon was again bright, and the marches were effected
during the comparatively cool hours of the night. Some were cooking
their root and grain diet, for game was exceedingly scarce, and they
seldom tasted meat--as to which, by the way, they expected soon to
strike a river, and all hands looked forward eagerly to a possible and
plenteous feed of sea-cow flesh. Haviland and Oakley were seated
together, consulting maps, the doctor the while was busy at the other
end of the camp with a porter who had somewhat badly hurt his foot.
"By the way, Haviland," said Oakley, suddenly, "do you believe in the
existence of that curious tribe of the Spider? I've known at least two
men who believe in it firmly. One claims to have actually come into
contact with it. If there is such a thing, we can't be far from its
reputed country."
"H'm!" answered Haviland, musingly. "The more experience you gain of
the interior, the more disinclined you are to say straight out that you
disbelieve in anything. Now, that Spider tribe, if it exists at all--
and, mind you, I don't say it doesn't--would be a good deal further to
the west than we are now. I don't think we have much to fear from it.
But there's a far nastier crowd than that, and within tolerable striking
distance, too. It's a Zulu-speaking tribe, not so very numerous, but
occupying difficult country, and the very deuce of a fighting mob. Some
say it's of direct Zulu origin, others that it originated in a split
among the Wangoni down on the lakes. But I don't want to rub against it
if I can help it. Ho, Kumbelwa!" he called.
In response there came up a magnificent specimen of a man. His skin was
of a dark rich copper colour, and save for a _mutya_ of cat's tails, he
wore no clothing whatever. His finely shaped head was shaven, and
crowned with the Zulu head-ring. In comparison with the inferior
natives who constituted the carrying staff--though some of these were of
powerful and muscular build--he looked like an emperor.
"_Nkose_!" he cried, saluting, with right hand uplifted.
Then Haviland, speaking in Zulu, questioned him at some length. The man
professed but a scant knowledge with regard to the tribe under
discussion. He could not even tell its name for certain. It was
reputed to change its name with every new king, and he had heard that a
new king had succeeded rather lately. He was said to be quite a young
man, but very stern and merciless in his rule. It was said, too, that
towards white men he entertained a most extraordinary hatred. Anyhow,
more than one who had entered his country had never been known to come
out again. He had made himself troublesome, too, to more than one
exploring party.
"Well, we'd better keep our eyes open, so as to give them a warm
reception if they bother us," said Oakley, when this was translated.
"I know, and that's why I'm not over-keen on this hippo-shoot when we
strike the river," said Haviland. "Far better go without meat a little
longer than get ourselves into a beastly unequal fight. And the banging
of guns can be heard a deuce of a distance. We'll call Somala, and get
his opinion."
But the Arab had not much to add to the Zulu's information. Him,
however, Oakley understood, and needed no translation.
"Did you ever notice those two chaps; what an extraordinary family
likeness there is between them?" said Haviland, as the two departed.
"If you clapped a turban and long clothes on to Kumbelwa he'd pass for
Somala's brother, and if you rigged out Somala in a _mutya_ and
head-ring he'd pass for a Zulu. The same type of face exactly."
"By Jove it is! Think there's a lot of Arab in the Zulu, then?"
"Not a doubt about it. You see, the Zulus didn't originally belong
where they now are. They came down from the north, somewhere about
where we are now, I shouldn't wonder. They had another custom, too,
which was Mohammedan, as most of the other tribes have at the present
day, but Tshaka stopped it among them. And I have a theory that the
head-ring is a survival of the turban."
"That might be. But, I say, Haviland, you seem to have got their lingo
all right. Were you much in the country?"
"A good bit. I haven't got it by any means all right, though I know a
great number of words, but my grammar's of the shakiest. I often set
them roaring with laughter over some absurd mistake; and I don't even
know what it is myself. By the way, there was a chap at school with
me--a Zulu from Zululand. He conceived a sort, of attachment for me
because I smacked a fellow's head for bullying him when he first came,
and he was a useful chap too; first-rate at egg-hunting, and we got into
all sorts of rows together. The other fellows used to call him
`Haviland's Chum,' to rag me, you know; but I didn't mind it. Well, he
taught me some of his lingo, and made me want to see his country."
"I wonder they took a black chap in an English school," said Oakley.
"So did I. So did most of us. But he was put there by a missionary,
and old Bowen was nuts on the missionary business."
"Old Bowen? Was that at Saint Kirwin's, then?"
"Yes. Why, were you ever there?"
"No. By the way, what sort of a chap was old Bowen?"
"A regular old Tartar. I hated him like poison the last part of the
time I was there; but right at the end--at the time I lost my poor old
dad--he was awfully decent. He's a good chap at bottom, is Nick--a real
good chap."
"It's extraordinary how small the world is," said Oakley. "The old chap
happens to be an uncle of mine, on the maternal side, and I own I like
him better in that capacity than I should as a headmaster; but, as you
say, he's a real good chap at bottom."
"What a rum thing!" declared Haviland. "Yes, as you say, the world is
small indeed. Yet when I was in Zululand, I tried to find out about
Cetchy--we called him that at Saint Kirwin's, after Cetywayo of course,
his real name was Mpukuza--but could simply hear nothing whatever about
him. The world wasn't small in that instance. Hallo! There's
something up over yonder."
There was. Excitement had risen and spread among the bearers, causing
them to spring up and peer cautiously forth, notwithstanding that the
heat was sweltering, and the hour was that of rest. The sentry on that
side had passed the word that people were approaching the camp.
The ground there was thinly timbered, and it was seen in a moment that
these new arrivals, whoever they might be, were fugitives. They bore
the unmistakable look of men and women--for there were several women
among them--flying for their lives. They were not even aware of the
proximity of the camp until right into it; and then, at the sight of
armed men confronting them, they fell on their faces with a howl for
mercy.
"Who are these, Somala?" said Haviland, not without a touch of anxiety;
foreseeing the possibility of the flight of these people drawing down
some formidable enemy upon his expedition.
And, indeed, their tidings confirmed his worst misgivings. They were
natives of a small tribe, themselves of indifferent physique. Their
village had been attacked the evening before, and burned, but they,
being outside, had escaped. They had heard rumours of Mushad being out
with a strong force. Without doubt, he it was who had assailed them.
The name of the dreaded slave-hunting chief caused Haviland, and indeed
others who heard it, to look grave.
"Well," he said, "give these people food, such as we have, and let them
go on their way."
But this dictum was greeted by the refugees with a howl of dismay. If
they went on further, why, then they were already dead, they protested.
Would not the great white lords protect them? They would be safe within
the shadow of their camp. Even Mushad would not dare interfere with
them there.
"Wouldn't he?" said Haviland, in English. "I'm pretty sure he would--
and will. These wretched devils have just about brought a hornet's nest
about our ears, I more than expect. What are we to do, doctor?"
"Why, get out into more open country and beat them off. I figure out
that this is just the way Mushad would take, in any event; so, perhaps,
it's just as well these poor devils turned up to warn us."
"What do you say, Oakley?"
"I'm entirely with the doctor."
"Right. A couple of miles ahead, by the lay of the ground, we ought to
find just the position we want."
Within ten minutes of the order being issued the camp was struck. Every
man took up his load, and the whole line filed briskly forth through the
steaming, sweltering forenoon heat. There was no hanging back. The
excitement of impending battle lent a springiness to the step of some,
the instinct of self-preservation to that of others; the refugees the
while chanting the most fulsome praises in honour of their new
protectors.
"There's the very place we want!" cried Haviland, when they had thus
advanced a couple of miles. "Looks as if it had been made on purpose."
The ground had been growing more and more open, and now the spot to
which he referred was a ring of trees surmounting a rise. This would
afford an excellent defensive position if they were called upon to
fight, and ample concealment in any case. In an inconceivably short
space of time the whole expedition was safely within it.
Nor had they been long there before the instinct of their leaders
realised that they had gained the place none too soon. Something like a
flash and gleam in the far distance caught their glance, to disappear
immediately, then reappearing again. The three white men, with their
powerful glasses, soon read the meaning of this. It was the gleam of
arms. A very large force indeed was advancing, taking a line which
should bring it very near their position. Would they be discovered and
attacked; or would the enemy, for such he undoubtedly was, fail to
detect their presence and pass on? Well, the next hour would decide.