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THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
HAROLD BINDLOSS
[Illustration: "AT DAWN THEY WERE STILL RIDING"--_Page 230_]
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF "PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN," "THE LONG
PORTAGE," "RANCHING FOR SYLVIA," ETC.
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR
BY CARLTON GLIDDEN
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_June, 1914_
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. A DANGEROUS BEQUEST 1
II. AN UNDERSTANDING 15
III. AT THE ELBOW POOL 30
IV. THE POACHER 43
V. THE TRYST AT HALLOWS BRIG 56
VI. DANE'S SILENCE 71
VII. A WARNING 85
VIII. TREACHERY 96
IX. TEMPTATION 110
X. RIDEAU'S BARGAIN 125
XI. THE TRAIL OF THE LEOPARD 137
XII. WEALTH IN SIGHT 149
XIII. PESTILENCE 163
XIV. AN EVENTFUL DECISION 177
XV. THE BOARDING OF THE KABUNDA 189
XVI. ILLUMINATION 202
XVII. IN NEED OF HELP 214
XVIII. MAXWELL'S CONFIDENCE 227
XIX. THE DANGEROUS SENORITA 240
XX. MAXWELL'S LAST MARCH 251
XXI. RELIEF 262
XXII. ON TO THE COAST 274
XXIII. AN EYE FOR AN EYE 285
XXIV. THE ESCAPE 297
XXV. THE HEART OF BONITA CASTRO 311
XXVI. REWARDED 320
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
CHAPTER I
A DANGEROUS BEQUEST
It was very hot in the little West African factory where trader Niven
lay dying. The sea breeze had died away, and though sunset drew near, it
was not yet time for the spicy airs from the inland forest to mitigate
the temperature. The dust lay still in the sun-scorched compound, about
which the palm fronds hung motionless, and only the roar of breakers on
the beach broke through the drowsy silence.
Two white men lounged in cane chairs upon the veranda which encircled
the building. Both were limp, gaunt of frame, and pallid in face,
because the climate they lived in is particularly unhealthy. Neither had
enjoyed much education, or felt the lack of it in the trade they
followed, while the cocktail jug on the little table betokened their
favorite relaxation. Redmond and Gilby were West Coast traders who lived
far remote from intercourse with their fellows, except for the two
French rivals with whom they periodically quarreled. They concerned
themselves with little beyond the well-being of their factory, and
indulged each appetite on opportunity, knowing that on the morrow they
might suddenly die. Yet they had their strong points, including a
tenacious regard for their employers' interests, which led them to toil
twelve hours daily when sick of fever if trade was good, and sometimes
defy the French authorities, and an inconsistent generosity, as the
result of which they had camped in the store shed, and turned over their
own quarters to the man who stood behind them, and his stricken
companion. The former was of very different type.
"You have done your best for the poor devil," said Redmond, glancing
regretfully from him toward the empty jug. "But if I know anything about
coast fever--and I ought to--Niven will get his release to-night. Still
rambling about that fortune, I suppose?"
Carsluith Maxwell nodded, and Gilby commented meditatively: "It may be
all a fever fancy, and it may be true. Niven was well known in this
afflicted colony years ago, and there is gold up yonder. In fact, right
away from here to the Volta you can find the color in the rivers, but
there's very little of it that will pay for the washing, and few British
mining companies that distribute much in dividends. Still, the old
Portuguese took a good deal out, if the tales are true, and one gets
small lots now and then put up in quills."
Redmond laughed maliciously.
"The last quills Gilby took in contained brass filings, and the firm
wrote off their nominal value against our commission. Gilby had been
drinking cocktails all that day. He may be right about the gold, but
it's my firm opinion that unless the French send up a strong column and
root out the Leopards, no white man will ever find it. You have heard
about them, Maxwell?"
Maxwell was a man of discretion, and though he had ventured beyond the
fringe of the Leopards' country, he only said:
"I don't know much about them. Do you?"
"He does not," said Gilby. "Neither does any white man; unless perhaps
it's Rideau, or Niven. They are supposed to be members of one of the
secret leagues run by the bush magicians in connection with the cult of
the Ju-Ju; and if you want to know just what kind of devil a Ju-Ju is,
you need not ask me. Anyway, from what one hears, those fellows can't be
all impostors. They could apparently give our amateur necromancers
points in hypnotism, and what they don't know about poisons is not worth
learning. They're no fools at bush politics either; and have managed to
run Shaillu's kingdom, and keep white men out of it pretty successfully.
It is believed that Shaillu would be glad to rule it without them, in
his own way."
Maxwell knew all this, and a little more which his informant apparently
did not; but he made no comment, and asked only one question:
"Who is Rideau?"
"He says he is a Frenchman," answered Gilby. "One would suppose that he
ought to know; but after a dispute about the count of some monkey skins,
Clancy of Axim once asked in public if there was not a dash of the tar
brush in him, and was taken ill suddenly that night--which may, of
course, have been a coincidence. In any case, he goes trading inland;
and though he brings down a little gum, nobody knows exactly what he
buys or sells. As you have heard, it's a ghastly country, and there's a
heavy penalty for supplying niggers with modern rifles. The little
French commandant would give a good deal to fix a charge on him."
"Thanks. I will remember if I meet him; but it is about time I returned
to my patient," said Maxwell, and the other two looked after him until
he disappeared round a corner of the dwelling.
"A curious man," Gilby commented. "He's probably like the parrot, for he
says very little. Still, it is not everybody who would have turned back
with his expedition on the very odd chance of saving a crazy countryman.
It is just possible, however, he was glad to, after the bushmen had
scared him."
"African parrots never think, unless it's about the pricking inside
them," said Redmond. "You wouldn't either, if a nigger had fed you with
broken glass, so you'd die as soon as he'd sold you, and keep the demand
up. You're wrong, as usual, in other ways, too. If I'm a judge of
character, there are no niggers in Africa who could scare that man."
Meanwhile Maxwell had seated himself on the opposite veranda, and, after
a glance at a trestle couch which showed him that Niven was apparently
asleep, was gazing out to sea. He was close on the age of thirty, of
average stature, but spare and sinewy. His sallow face had been further
darkened by the African sun, and though now its expression and that of
the dark eyes was thoughtful, it was the face of a resolute man.
Carsluith Maxwell was also, in a somewhat somber fashion, a handsome
man; and though some of his fair acquaintances described him as too
silent, and others as too sardonic, all agreed that he was interesting.
Maxwell described himself as an individual of unsettled habits, born
with fastidious tastes and no means to gratify them--which, he said,
explained his wanderings in search of a fortune. He did not add that his
chief ambition was to restore to its former prosperity an old Border
stronghold which, with every acre of its grass parks and stony plow-land
heavily encumbered, stood behind the shores of Solway. Carsluith
Maxwell, who some day would be master of Culmeny, had inherited more
than a trace of the silent grimness of the old moss-troopers from whom
he sprang.
Turning presently, he saw that Niven was wide awake and looking out to
sea. Their acquaintance had been brief, and dated from the night when
Niven reeled into the camp of a small French expedition, alone,
fever-stricken, and half-crazy. Seeing that he would die in the forest
when the expedition continued its march, Maxwell abandoned his
prospecting journey and turned back to the coast with him. The African
malaria often attacks a white man's brain as well as his body; and
during most of the time Niven had talked erratically. Now, however,
Maxwell noticed that he appeared sensible and sane.
"Good to come back to, isn't it?" he said, glancing at the sea, athwart
which the track of the sunset beat luridly. "I used to long for it in
the forest when Lyle and I first set up the one factory which ever stood
more than twelve months in Shaillu's country. That reminds me! I have a
good deal to tell you, and, considering that I may not last out
to-morrow, it's high time I began. I have given you a good deal of
trouble, but you may not regret it when I have done."
"I shall not regret it in any case," said Maxwell quietly. He was seldom
emphatic in speech.
"You are like Lyle, and that's partly why I'm going to tell you. He and
I went up into Shaillu's country long ago, and the Leopards tried to
poison us. They wanted no white men there, and did not like free trade.
They also tried other ways; but if our lives were in our own hands, we
held them tight--and any man might face the devil with a partner like
Lyle. You will understand presently why I'm commencing at the beginning.
Well, we nursed each other through fevers, and twice stood behind a
stockade with the rifle barrels burning our hands; but we made money,
and I think the Leopards grew afraid of us because we lived in spite of
them. Of course, we had our friends, because the brown traders from the
North had to pay a heavy toll to the Leopards before we came; and some
of them told us about gold having been washed out of a far-off river by
niggers who had a poor idea of its value. We were too busy to trouble
about ventures of that kind; and as the river flowed through No Man's
Land there was nobody to sell us a marketable concession."
The sunset was fading off the waters when Niven paused to gather breath,
while his strained voice sank to a deeper tone as he proceeded:
"There was a dispute as to who owned some gum we had paid for, and two
men were shot before we convinced the niggers that nobody could lay
violent hands upon our property. Then one of Shaillu's sub-headmen, who
said there had been a mistake somewhere, summoned us to a palaver to
talk the question over. We went, with twenty armed Krooboys scared
almost to death, who feared Lyle more than they did the niggers, and
were given a fair hearing. Several of the big Leopard men were there,
but the headman held us justified, and when we had made everybody a
present the palaver ended in revelry. I warned Lyle; but to fear
nothing, and be equally ready with smile or pistol, was always my
comrade's way.
"We came back safely; but he dragged himself up the stairway with his
face all twisted the next night, and I knew what had happened before he
told me. 'Those devils have poisoned me,' said he."
It was almost dark now, and the white mist from the forest slid in
ghostly wreaths past the little factory. Niven shivered before he
proceeded:
"Have you ever seen a comrade poisoned by the bushmen--when they meant
to hurt him? No! Then you have something to be thankful for. Lyle, by
worse luck, was young and strong, and took an unconscionable time dying;
I don't know that I did well when I took the pistol from him. For three
mortal hours I suffered all with him, and there was no power left in me
when at last he let his head drop on the table. There are things it is
not fit to remember which one can never forget. Then I knew all that the
man had been to me; and what I must do was plain before me.
"I sent the chief Leopard man a message, with a token which, in
accordance with his own superstitions, made it more impressive, that
sooner or later I would demand full satisfaction, or, if I died too
soon, would pass the debt on in a way he understood; and I had not
forgotten when a new trading combination made me general manager. You
see, I needed money, and could wait very patiently. I also made money,
and, when badly sick, let the firm send me home, a fairly prosperous
man, to recruit in England. It was there I met the woman I married; and
she was worlds too good for me. I even forgot Lyle, and what we had
done in Africa; and--for one looks at things differently over
there--hoped for nothing better than to end my days in peace and
security."
Niven so far had spoken sensibly, but he ceased when the thick hot
African darkness rolled down like a curtain, and was silent a space. The
land breeze had delayed its coming, the temperature was almost
insupportable, and the roar of the breakers set the whole factory
vibrating in unison. It is possible that the fever gathered strength, as
it often does, at nightfall; for the sick man's speech was slow and
disjointed when he began again. It was also evident that he was a little
hazy in his mind.
"Poor Elsie died, and left me very lonely. Without her the life grew
tame, and I would lie awake thinking of Africa and Lyle. He was growing
impatient, and tried to warn me it was time I went back again. The
warnings grew plainer, and at last I went. I had, so far as it was in
me, trusted one man and loved one woman, and both of them had gone. The
trading firms had forgotten my name, but I remembered the gold in the
Leopard's country, and determined, if I could find it, to hire my own
fighting boys, and hunt down the whole accursed league. There is no law
but the right of the strongest hand in Shaillu's country. I went up with
fifty Krooboys; and perhaps the Leopards remembered and were afraid of
me, for we had almost reached the place in safety, when one of the
sicknesses common up there seized us. I left most of the boys behind in
camp with my headman, and pushed on for the river where the gold was
said to be. I found it--or Lyle found it for me."
Maxwell thought that no sane man would have attempted single-handed to
try conclusions with the almost omnipotent league, but he sat still,
with a composure that was characteristic of him, asking no questions,
though the simple statement had roused his most eager interest. It was
some time before Niven proceeded.
"I turned back to camp, and found none of all the boys I left there.
Perhaps the headman had sold them. He had, you must remember, a curious
cross-shaped scar upon his forehead. I don't know where the rest went,
or what I did, being fever-crazy, and it must have been Lyle who brought
me to the Frenchman's camp. Of course, Lyle is dead--I buried him with
my own hands under the first big cottonwood behind the factory long
ago--but he has never forgotten me. There was good alluvial gold in that
river; and when I go you will find a record of my journey, with sketches
and compass bearings, under my pillow. I'll bequeath it to you, with my
curse upon the men who killed poor Lyle, on this condition: If you meet
the Leopards--and whoever goes up there will--you will remember my
quarrel with them, and how my partner died."
"After what I have heard about their doings, I can promise that," said
Maxwell quietly.
"I think we both can trust you. You look that kind of man," said Niven.
"I should never have told you if you hadn't. The two things go together,
for the Leopard headmen will know I have passed the quarrel on. You
can't take one without the other."
Niven sank into sleep or unconsciousness presently, and Maxwell sat
beside him considering what he had heard. He could see that there was a
burden attached to the legacy; but he had no profession, and was not a
rich man. It was true that he would shortly succeed to Culmeny, and had
inherited the family pride in the ancient estate; but, when the interest
had been paid, the rental of the poor, encumbered lands would provide
the barest living. He determined that if there was gold in the Leopards'
country he would stake his life on the chance of finding it. After
coming to this decision he called a Krooboy to watch the sick man, and
retired to snatch a few hours' badly needed sleep. Sleep, however, was
some time in coming. The mildewed building was insufferably hot, and the
thunder of the surf sufficient to keep awake any man who had lately
emerged from the hush of the twilight forest; but at last Maxwell sank
into fitful slumber. It afterward was evident that the Krooboy, too, had
slumbered.
Several hours had passed when Maxwell awakened suddenly, and sat up
listening. Through the deep monotone of the breakers he could hear the
land breeze sigh eerily about the building. A snake rustled in the
thatch, and loose boards creaked as they soaked in the damp; but
although there was nothing suspicious in all this, Maxwell felt that
something unusual had roused him. Men acquire an almost instinctive
prevision of danger in the eternal shadow of the African bush.
Suddenly a detonation shook the building. Maxwell, leaping from his
couch, ran along the veranda and burst, breathless, into Niven's room.
Bright moonlight streamed in through the window, and he saw the sick man
lying propped up on one elbow, with a pistol smoking in his hand. Niven
appeared perfectly sane, and his voice was steady when he spoke.
"My fingers are shaky, and this is a hard pull-off, or I'd have shown
you the man who betrayed me," he said. "It was my book he wanted."
Maxwell, who was quick in action, sprang out upon the veranda and made a
circuit of the building. The dusty compound beneath it was clear as
noonday under the moon, but, save for two startled Krooboys and trader
Redmond who crossed it at a run, nobody moved therein, and Maxwell
hardly considered it possible that any fugitive would have had time to
reach the bush. He returned and told Niven so.
"You must have been mistaken," he said.
The sick trader laughed harshly.
"I am not in the least mistaken. I saw the man with the scar on his
forehead as plainly as I see you. He must have been one of the Leopards;
and, whether it's magic or trickery, those fellows are fiendishly
clever. You won't be astonished at stranger things before they have done
with you. Take the book now, and keep it, if you can. If a man called
Rideau ever hears you have it and wants to trade with you, distrust him
as you would the devil. If he says I ever made any bargain with him, it
will be a lie!"
Maxwell went out and allayed Redmond's curiosity by a promise to confer
with him in the morning; then he returned to watch beside Niven, who
slept tranquilly during the remainder of the night. After breakfast
Maxwell told Redmond as much of the story as appeared judicious; but the
trader did not, as he partly expected, laugh at it.
"Of course, it may have been all a delusion, and it may not," he said.
"If so, it's a coincidence that I heard Rideau has just arrived at the
next beach; and one of my boys, who seemed afraid of it, picked this up
in the bush. It's a trifle that has a significance in the country your
sick friend rambled through."
The trader handed Maxwell a little tuft of leopard's fur braided with
fiber.
"If Niven has told you any of his secrets it might be good policy not to
mention it," he cautioned; "and Gilby and I are not curious. This
factory is sufficiently remunerative and deadly for us."
Niven grew rapidly weaker all day, and when Maxwell asked him at sunset
whether he had any messages to send to friends in the old country, he
did not appear to recognize him.
"They're all dead a long time ago," he said ramblingly. "Poor Elsie, who
was worlds too good for me, lies in clean English earth a long way
across the sea; but Lyle, who understands everything and why I forgot
him, is waiting for me. I could not have a better comrade wherever he
is."
These were his last comprehensible words, for he passed out of
existence, sleeping, with the chill of early morning, and was, as usual,
laid to rest that day. Maxwell returned thoughtfully from the simple
funeral, feeling that the legacy might well prove an unmixed blessing.
On reaching the veranda stairway, he heard somebody moving softly about
what had been the sick man's room. He had good ears, and felt tolerably
certain that the next sound he caught was that made by cotton garments
being quickly unfolded or wrapped together. Somebody, it appeared, was
searching Niven's apparel. In spite of Maxwell's quickness, he had not
reached the doorway when a man came out of it and advanced, smiling
toward him. He was rather dark in face and full in flesh for an
European who had dwelt any time in Western Africa. He also was more
elaborately dressed, in spotless white duck, fine linen, and silk sash,
than the average trader; but if his lips were a trifle thick, and his
eyes cunning, he had an easy, good-humored air, and saluted Maxwell
gracefully.
"Monsieur Maxwell, is it not? I have the honor to present myself--Victor
Rideau," he said. "By grand misfortune, I arrive too late to change the
adieux with my friend of long time, the estimable Niven, and so wait to
ask if he left any paper for me. We have affair together, and there is
small debt he owe me, _voyez vous_?"
Maxwell was a man of keen perceptions, and he would have distrusted the
speaker even if he had not been warned against him.
"He left you no papers. Neither, so far as I can discover, did he leave
a single franc piece in money."
"Grand misfortune!" exclaimed Rideau. "Possible it is he tell you of his
affair. The estimable Niven, you understand, was old friend of me. That
is why I have the pleasure of wait your company."
"He told me very little about his business affairs, and the rest was
spoken in strict confidence," said Maxwell; and for a few seconds the
two men eyed each other--Maxwell curious but expressionless in face;
Rideau somewhat uneasy. The advantage was with the Briton, for he was
seldom loquacious, while the man of Latin extraction seemed to find the
silence irksome.
"You are perhaps busy," he said at length. "You grieve for the estimable
Niven. Me, I grieve for him also. So, if it is not intrusion, to-morrow,
by the morning, I come for condole with you."
Rideau withdrew, and Maxwell first packed his few belongings--a
homeward bound steamer was due to call on the morrow--and then sat down
to make a copy of the dead man's itinerary, with the sketches attached
to it. He was surprised to find that, mad or sane, Niven had noted the
magnetic direction of each day's march, as well as taken cross bearings
of prominent objects wherever there was open country. These details
increased his hopefulness; and when he had enclosed the copy in a sealed
envelope and handed it to the French postmaster, he buttoned the
original in an inside pocket and sat down on the veranda, smoking
thoughtfully.
"It appears that other men beside myself believe Niven actually did find
gold up there, as two attempts to steal his diary seem to prove," he
reflected. "Whoever goes up to look for it will probably have to deal
with Monsieur Victor Rideau as well as the Leopards; and a little delay
in setting about the search may throw him off the scent. The first
necessity is a reliable partner, and I can think of nobody better than
Hyslop."
The homeward bound mailboat arrived before Rideau the next day, and when
she stopped at the first port connected by cable, Maxwell despatched a
message to London:
"_Wire Hyslop to meet me by Malemba._"
Before the steamer proceeded he received the answer:
"_Hyslop dead South America, according to Dane._"
"Poor Andrew!" thought Maxwell. "That is check number one. Still, there
must be many suitable men at home, and I dare say I shall find one. Who
Dane is, Carslake, parsimonious as usual, does not explain."