Kwamudi, the black headman, stood before Orman. "My people go back," he
said; "not stay in Bansuto country and be killed."
"You can't go back," growled Orman. "You signed up for the whole trip.
You tell 'em they got to stay; or, by George, I'll--"
"We not sign up to go Bansuto country; we not sign up be killed. You go
back, we come along. You stay, we go back. We go daylight." He turned
and walked away.
Orman started up angrily from his camp chair, seizing his ever ready
whip. "I'll teach you, you black----!" he yelled.
White, who had been standing beside him, seized him by the shoulder.
"Stop!" His voice was low but his tone peremptory. "You can't do that!
I haven't interfered before, but now you've got to listen to me. The
lives of all of us are at stake."
"Don't you interfere, you meddlin' old fool," snapped Orman. "This is
my show, and I'll run it my way."
"You'd better go soak your head, Tom," said O'Grady; "you're full of
hootch. The major's right. We're in a tight hole, and we won't ever get
out of it on Scotch." He turned to the Englishman. "You handle things,
Major. Don't pay any attention to Tom; he's drunk. Tomorrow he'll be
sorry--if he sobers up. We're all back of you. Get us out of the mess
if you can. How long would it take to get out of this Bansuto country
if we kept on in the direction we want to go?"
Orman appeared stunned by this sudden defection of his assistant. It
left him speechless.
White considered O'Grady's question. "If we were not too greatly
delayed by the trucks, we could make it in two days," he decided
finally.
"And how long would it take us to reach the location we're headed for
if we have to go back and go around the Bansuto country?" continued
O'Grady.
"We couldn't do it under two weeks," replied the major. "We'd be lucky
if we made it in that time. We'd have to go way to the south through a
beastly rough country."
"The studio's put a lot of money into this already," said O'Grady, "and
we haven't got much of anything to show for it. We'd like to get onto
location as quick as possible. Don't you suppose you could persuade
Kwamudi to go on? If we turn back, we'll have those beggars on our neck
for a day at least. If we go ahead, it will only mean one extra day
of them. Offer Kwamudi's bunch extra pay if they'll stick--it'll be a
whole lot cheaper for us than wastin' another two weeks."
"Will Mr. Orman authorize the bonus?" asked White.
"He'll do whatever I tell him, or I'll punch his fool head," O'Grady
assured him.
Orman had sunk back into his camp chair and was staring at the ground.
He made no comment.
"Very well," said White. "I'll see what I can do. I'll talk to Kwamudi
over at my tent, if you'll send one of the boys after him."
White walked over to his tent, and O'Grady sent a black boy to summon
the headman; then he turned to Orman. "Go to bed, Tom," he ordered,
"and lay off that hootch."
Without a word, Orman got up and went into his tent.
"You put the kibosh on him all right, Pat," remarked Noice, with a
grin. "How do you get away with it?"
O'Grady did not reply. His eyes were wandering over the camp, and there
was a troubled expression on his usually smiling face. He noted the air
of constraint, the tenseness; as though all were waiting for something
to happen, they knew not what.
He saw his messenger overhaul Kwamudi and the headman turn back toward
White's tent. He saw the blacks silently making their little cooking
fires. They did not sing or laugh, and when they spoke they spoke in
whispers.
The Arabs were squatting in the _muk'aad_ of the sheykh's _beyt_. They
were a dour lot at best; and their appearance was little different
tonight than ordinarily, yet he sensed a difference.
Even the whites spoke in lower tones than usual and there was less
chaffing. And from all the groups constant glances were cast toward the
surrounding forest.
Presently he saw Kwamudi leave White and return to his fellows; then
O'Grady walked over to where the Englishman was sitting in a camp
chair, puffing on a squat briar. "What luck?" he asked.
"The bonus got him," replied White. "They will go on, but on one other
condition."
"What is that?"
"His men are not to be whipped."
"That's fair enough," said O'Grady.
"But how are you going to prevent it?"
"For one thing, I'll throw the whip away; for another, I'll tell Orman
we'll all quit him if he doesn't lay off. I can't understand him; he
never was like this before. I've worked with him a lot during the last
five years."
"Too much liquor," said White; "it's finally got him."
"He'll be all right when we get on location and get to work. He's
been worrying too much. Once we get through this Bansuto country
everything'll be jake."
"We're not through it yet, Pat. They'll get some more of us tomorrow
and some more the next day. I don't know how the blacks will stand it.
It's a bad business. We really ought to turn around and go back. It
would be better to lose two weeks time than to lose everything, as we
may easily do if the blacks quit us. You know we couldn't move through
this country without them."
"We'll pull through somehow," O'Grady assured him. "We always do. Well,
I'm goin' to turn in. Good-night, Major."
The brief equatorial twilight had ushered in the night. The moon had
not risen. The forest was blotted out by a pall of darkness. The
universe had shrunk to a few tiny earth fires surrounded by the huddled
forms of men and, far above, a few stars.
Obroski paused in front of the girls' tent and scratched on the flap.
"Who is it?" demanded Naomi Madison from within.
"It's me, Stanley."
She bade him enter; and he came in to find her lying on her cot beneath
a mosquito bar, a lantern burning on a box beside her.
"Well," she said peevishly, "it's a wonder any one came. I might lie
here and die for all any one cares."
"I'd have come sooner, but I thought of course Orman was here."
"He's probably in his tent soused."
"Yes, he is. When I found that out I came right over."
"I shouldn't think you'd be afraid of him. I shouldn't think you'd be
afraid of anything." She gazed admiringly on his splendid physique, his
handsome face.
"Me afraid of that big stiff!" he scoffed. "I'm not afraid of anything,
but you said yourself that we ought not to let Orman know about--about
you and me."
"No," she acquiesced thoughtfully, "that wouldn't be so good. He's got
a nasty temper, and there's lots of things a director can do if he gets
sore."
"In a picture like this he could get a guy killed and make it look like
an accident," said Obroski.
She nodded. "Yes. I saw it done once. The director and the leading man
were both stuck on the same girl. The director had the wrong command
given to a trained elephant."
Obroski looked uncomfortable. "Do you suppose there's any chance of his
coming over?"
"Not now. He'll be dead to the world 'til morning."
"Where's Rhonda?"
"Oh, she's probably playing contract with Bill West and Baine and old
man Marcus. She'd play contract and let me lie here and die all alone."
"Is she all right?"
"What do you mean, all right?"
"She wouldn't tell Orman about us--about my being over here--would she?"
"No, she wouldn't do that--she ain't that kind."