TREACHERY
The region which lies behind the West African coast is not a pleasant
one to traverse, and bad fortune seemed to attend Maxwell's expedition
from the time it marched out of the seaboard settlement, where he had
had trouble with certain French officials, as well as with the black
head man from whom he hired his carriers. All of this Dane remembered
when he halted, one burning afternoon, shoulder-deep in the tall grass
of a swamp, worn out in body and perplexed in mind. Few Europeans are
capable of much exertion in that country, especially during the hottest
part of the afternoon; but the hammock boys were too weary to drag their
burdens farther, and there was urgent need for haste. Dane accordingly
had taxed his strength to the utmost during the last few hours. The tall
grass stems were almost too hot to touch, and foul mire bubbled about
their roots. At least a league of it, through which, slashed by
saw-edged blades and stabbed by broken stalks, the expedition must force
its way, stretched toward an inland ridge of higher ground that rose
from the morass. Beyond this, in turn, flat-topped hills dimmed by a
yellow heat haze cut the horizon.
As Dane halted, a naked carrier stumbled, and, dropping the deal case
from his woolly crown, splashed him all over. Another straightway fell
over his prostrate comrade, and began a spirited attack upon him when
they scrambled to their feet again. Dane was too weary to rebuke either
in the fashion they would best understand; but a man of dusky color
undertook the duty for him, with the barrel of a gaspipe gun, and the
combatants, desisting, found new places in the straggling line. A few
picked men in flowing white draperies with flintlock guns on their
shoulders were already floundering through the swamp ahead. Behind them,
almost and wholly naked negroes, many wearing on their forehead the blue
band which marks the amphibious Kroo, went splashing by, each bearing a
deal case or tarred cloth package upon his crown. Then the rearguard,
tall and soldierly men with the blood of the Arab in them, who carried
old-fashioned rifles in spite of certain regulations, came up with
Maxwell. They wore a ragged white uniform, swore by the Prophet, and
were, as Dane subsequently discovered, reliable fighting men. The
Krooboys carried a cutlass-shaped matchet, a by no means despicable
weapon when rubbed keen with a file.
Maxwell differed in outward appearance from the somewhat fastidious
gentleman Dane had known in Scotland. His cotton jacket was badly rent,
sun-baked mire clung thickly about his leggings, and one side of his big
sun-helmet had been flattened in. The raw condition of his face and neck
betokened the power of the last few days' sun, and he blinked a little
because his eyes had suffered by the change from the forest shadow to
the dazzling brightness and the fibrous dust of the grass.
"Don't let your particular scarecrows get too far ahead of you, Hilton,"
he cautioned. "I should hardly have suspected you of any inclination to
stop and admire the scenery after the opinion you recently expressed
concerning this country."
"I'd willingly burn or flood the whole of it if I could," Dane replied
irritably. "Miss Castro was not mistaken when she mentioned the shadow
that crept up from behind. Ill luck has certainly followed us from the
beginning, and it is time we turned round and endeavored to settle up
accounts with whoever is the cause of it."
"You may have an opportunity to-night, or earlier," said Maxwell. "When,
in spite of warnings, two white men insist on visiting a region which
was specially made for black men, they can't expect to be comfortable.
What is it that excites your particular indignation?"
The malarial fever contracted in other parts of the tropics had, as not
infrequently happens, returned upon Dane in Africa. His head ached
intolerably, every joint seemed stiff, and he swept his hand round the
horizon as he answered vaguely.
"Everything! Why was it that, after drinking at a village well, two of
our carriers died? Why should venomous insects crawl into my boots and
from underneath my pillow? Or a guide, who declared he knew the country,
bog us waist-deep in a quagmire, where we lost half our ammunition?
Doesn't it strike you that the sequence of accidents is not all due to
coincidence?"
"And, in addition to all this, you will be wondering why you are
prostrate with fever to-morrow, if you excite yourself at the present
temperature. Forget your grievances until your turn comes, and then
strike the harder. Meanwhile, we have been stalked since we passed the
last village, and the sooner we reach yonder dry ground, and build a
breastwork, the better."
Knowing that this was good counsel, Dane did his best, finding a savage
comfort in the thought that at last he would probably have the
satisfaction of seeing his persecutors; but the grass was tall and
matted, the temperature suffocating, and when they lost sight of the
islet the morass appeared interminable. Such civilization as may be
found in West Africa is only skin-deep. That is to say, it pertains to
the coast, and is occasionally hard to discover there. In many places it
still extends less than a day's march from the black troops' barracks,
and the white man who travels beyond that distance takes his own risks,
which are sometimes considerable. Dane already had cause to realize
this, and he was accordingly thankful when at last the expedition,
floundering out of the swamp, reached the strip of firmer earth. Here a
breastwork of deal cases and branches was built, and camp pitched among
the giant buttresses staying the cottonwood trunks.
"I think," said Maxwell cheerfully, when they lingered over a frugal
meal, "if any misguided bushmen try to rush this camp to-night they will
regret it. I will see to the sentries and keep first watch while you
rest. You look as though you needed sleep."
Dane certainly did, having enjoyed little sleep worth mentioning since
he left the coast. Indeed, he could scarcely keep his eyes open, and he
wondered vacantly that Maxwell, who seemed proof against the climate,
should show no sign of fatigue. When he unrolled his strip of matting
and water-proof inside the little tent, the African sunset was flaming
in the west, and the cottonwoods crowning the ridge stood out black as
ebony against its almost unearthly brilliancy. Among them fantastic
figures, some naked as when they first entered the world, some draped in
white and blue, crouched about the cooking fires; while, seen between
two mighty buttresses of living wood which stayed ponderous trunks, men
with matchets and long guns were curled up beneath the breastwork. The
wood smoke drifted in filmy wisps athwart the lonely camp, the swamp
steamed like a cauldron, and the chirruping of countless frogs rose out
of the vapor. Then the brief brilliancy faded, and thick impenetrable
darkness suddenly rolled down. The faint coolness that came with it
brought sleep to Dane, and it was midnight when Maxwell's voice roused
him.
"Get up and stand by with your rifle! There are bushmen in the grass!"
he said.
Half-awake, Dane groped for the breastwork, falling over several negroes
on the way, and when he reached it the blackness was Egyptian. There was
nothing visible beyond the loom of shadowy trunks, but Dane could hear
unseen men breathing heavily, the click-clack of flintlocks, and the
rasp of a file along a matchet blade. Then a faint crackle which drew
nearer came out of the grass, and instantly a blaze of weird blue
radiance leaped up, showing Maxwell's spare figure perched recklessly
aloft upon the breastwork with a port-fire held high above him. Its
glare beat along the matchet blades, the gun-barrels, and the oily skin
of the men beneath, and showed black patches which might have been arms
or heads among the grass. Then it died out; and Dane pitched the rifle
to his shoulder at Maxwell's shout. There was neither challenge nor
parley. They were now beyond civilized jurisdiction, and the right of
any man to existence in that country depends upon the strength of his
hand.
The heel-plate jarred on his shoulder, the barrel jumped in his left
hand, red sparks flickered along the breastwork, and the sputtering roar
of the flintlocks was repeated among the trunks. Dane fancied a scream
rose in answer from the grass, and once or twice a long gun flashed;
then the firing slackened, and it was heartsome to hear Maxwell laugh.
He came stumbling toward Dane, and held up a second port-fire whose
light showed no trace of any assailant. The silence that followed grew
oppressive. It was, however, suddenly broken. A rifle flashed in the
rear of the camp, a bullet whirred close by Dane's head; and Maxwell,
dropping the flare, set his foot upon it.
"The second time! That was a good rifle, and fired by one of our own
men," he said. "Take this nigger, Hilton, crawl in on him, and,
disregarding anything which may happen, get that man--alive if you can.
He is worth all the rest of the expedition."
Crouching low, crawling on hands and knees, and slipping from trunk to
trunk, the pair worked backward in a semicircle, though, instead of
following, it was the negro who led the white man. It seemed to Dane
that he was making noise enough to waken the dead, but his dusky
companion had probably owed his life to his powers of silent motion, and
his progress was as noiseless as that of a serpent. Still, a clamor
which broke out at the rear of the camp drowned the sound of Dane's
passage, and presently a fire commenced to crackle behind the serried
trunks. Rising partly upright, he could see naked figures outlined
against it flitting with burdens on their heads into the swamp.
Nevertheless, Maxwell's instructions were explicit, and, when the negro
beckoned, he sank down again.
The fire tossed higher, and Dane surmised that somebody had lighted the
dried grass to divert attention from the deserters or a fresh attack.
Its purport, however, was in the meantime a side issue, for, as the
radiance came flickering athwart the trunks, it revealed something dim
and shadowy crouching among the roots of a neighboring cottonwood. The
blurred shape might have escaped notice had not the line of steel before
it glimmered once or twice. With infinite caution Dane covered a few
more yards, and stooped behind a screen of trailers, with every nerve
quivering, and a heavy pistol clenched in his right hand. What had
become of the negro he did not know. Once the assassin raised his
weapon, and Dane laid the short pistol barrel upon his raised forearm,
hoping that the stiffness of the trigger might not spoil his aim; but he
lowered it again, for, evidently attracted by the increasing glare, the
man he stalked rose partly upright, glancing over his shoulder. His
caution betrayed him, for, hurling himself crashing through the
creepers, Dane fell upon him, driving the heavy pistol into the center
of the dusky face with his full weight behind it. The two went down, the
colored man undermost, clawing with greasy hands at his adversary's
throat. Their grip was feeble, for the first blow had got home; but time
was precious, and Dane, heaving his right shoulder clear, brought the
steel-bound butt down again.
There was a hollow groan; several men who came running up fell heavily
over the pair, and while one dragged the half-dazed white man clear,
the others lashed the prisoner fast with creeper ropes. Rising shakily,
Dane sent up a breathless shout.
"Stand fast and see that nobody gets in your way if you have him safe!"
cried Maxwell. "Don't trouble about the grass! It is damp among the
cottonwoods, and will soon burn out."
Dane waited ten long minutes, feeling thankful, meanwhile, that the one
spot where the ridge could be reached on that side through the quaggy
swamp was lighted by the fire. Then Maxwell joined him, and, trusting to
their subordinates' vigilance, they made the round of the knoll
together. A dozen carriers were missing; and their assailants had
vanished as mysteriously as they came.
"We shall miss the boys, but it might be fatal to try to follow them;
and at least we know whom we can trust," said Maxwell. "A treacherous
servant is worse to deal with than an open enemy. Our assailants were
evidently mere bush thieves, and not regular fighting men, or they would
probably have got in. Whether they expected help from the deserters, or
what share the man you seized had in the plot, I can't decide now; and,
in the meantime, it is of no great importance. We shall discover it
to-morrow."
Nobody in camp slept during the rest of the night, which was one of the
longest in Dane's recollection. Most of it he spent huddled among the
roots of a cottonwood while the heavy dew of the tropics splashed upon
him, straining ears and eyes alike for any sign of the enemy. There was,
however, no sound but the wailing of some night bird from all the
tangled grass; and except when now and then a murmur of negro voices
rose up, a deep impressive silence brooded over the camp. Dane could
hear his watch ticking, and there were times when he found it difficult
to master an impulse to cry aloud, or to commit any extravagance which
would break the tormenting stillness.
At last, however, the temperature fell a little. A faint chill air shook
the dew from the tangled creepers flung from mighty branch to branch,
and the darkness became less dense. The steam of the swamps grew
thicker, a streak of radiance broadened in the east, and suddenly as
night had fallen, the red sun leaped up. It was once more burning day,
and neither the dew-drenched white men, who stiffly straightened their
aching limbs, nor the stolid Africans, who rolled over in their lairs
among the undergrowth, were sorry to greet the light again. They were a
pitiful handful of travel-worn and somewhat dejected men, alone on a
contracted islet of dry soil in a limitless sea of mist whose white
waves were doubtless filled with unseen perils.
"Another day to be endured," said Maxwell, yawning as he spoke.
"Another, and another, until the long weeks swell into months, and then,
if nobody poisons or shoots us prematurely, we shall go back to England
and fancy we have been dreaming. Has it occurred to you yet, Hilton,
that the men who gain fortunes in Africa don't _win_ but _earn_ them
hardly? One might wonder why a beneficent Creator made this country."
"It was His Satanic Majesty who made West Africa, using for a model his
own dominions. A good many details prove it beside the temperature!"
It was eight o'clock in the morning and already fiercely hot, while the
brightness outside the shade of the cottonwoods grew dazzling, when
Maxwell, constituting himself at once prosecutor and judge, summoned
the prisoner before an informal court. He was a big man, draped in loose
cotton, and rather the hue of ocher than ebony; but his countenance was
ghastly as well as malevolent, for the pistol butt had left its mark on
it. A slackly rolled turban covered half his forehead, and he leaned
with his back against a cottonwood scowling upon his judge. Maxwell sat
on a camp-stool, not far away, with a rifle laid across his knee; Dane
lay in the grass beside him; and the carriers and the armed men were
drawn up in a half-circle behind them. Hitherto the would-be assassin,
who acted as headman or chief of a section, had done nothing to excite
Dane's suspicions.
"There is no law in this country but one, the _lex talionis_, while you
and I are responsible for the lives of all these about us," said
Maxwell. "It is a heavy responsibility, and I dare not allow any attempt
to betray them to pass unpunished. You need not translate this,
interpreter. Ask that fellow why he twice shot at the men whose bread
and salt he has eaten."
What the interpreter, who spoke a little of the fantastic English in use
along the coast, said, Dane did not know, but he spent some time over
it, and when he had finished the prisoner spat upon the ground
contemptuously.
"Damn fool man," explained the sable linguist. "He savvy too much and
done say nothing."
"That means he refuses to plead," said Maxwell. "Well, we will proceed
to inquire into his offenses as directly as possible. Listen carefully,
and don't mix up my questions more than you can help, interpreter."
Maxwell asked questions which astonished his companion, and it was plain
that he had for some time suspected a good deal. There was no lack of
testimony; for carrier and armed retainer in turn set forth, through the
black interpreter or in quaintest English, how the accused had told them
gruesome stories of the devils inhabiting the country they were
venturing into; had dropped hints that by seizing the provisions they
might enrich themselves for life; and had been seen communing with
mysterious strangers a few nights earlier. Dane listened with growing
indignation, for the simple tales made plain not only how venomous
insects got into his boots, but that on two occasions he had narrowly
escaped with his life.
"Ask them," said Maxwell grimly, "why nobody had the sense to tell me
this before."
"Them boy say you not done ask them, sah," answered the interpreter
convincingly.
"It's African logic, and there's no use expecting too much from any
nigger," said Maxwell aside. "The man's guilt is plainly evident; but
while presumably neither of us knows much of jurisprudence, I wish to
give him a fair chance of making his defense. We will do it in his own
speech, though I am inclined to fancy that he understands English.
Interpreter, try to make this clear to him."
Maxwell spoke for some minutes, pausing often for the linguist to
explain his meaning, and again astonished Dane. He traced the accused's
actions with surprising skill, showing how he had inspired a marauding
headman to plunder and leave them starving, and induced the carriers to
desert in the hope of precipitating a panic among the loyal. He also
connected him with several of the mysterious accidents which had
delayed the march.
"Tell him I give him a last chance. He has just five minutes to clear
himself in."
Maxwell laid his watch on the camp-stool between his knees, pointed
toward a lengthening shaft of brightness which approached the roots of a
tree, and then opened and closed the breach of his rifle significantly.
The dusky man before him showed no sign of fear, and his half-scornful,
wholly malevolent scowl, together with the intense silence, the
expectant black faces, and the glint of light on weapons, burnt itself
into Dane's memory. The five minutes seemed very long to him. Then, as
his comrade slowly replaced his watch in his pocket, the prisoner spoke
a few words disdainfully, and Dane could feel his fingers contract as he
waited for the interpreter's answer.
"Damn fool man," it came. "Say he only sorry he done miss you that time.
Very bad man, sah. Say no white man or coast nigger ever lib for get
into the Leopards' country."
"So," said Maxwell dryly. "That is to say, while he can prevent it,
which may not be long. Ask these boys what should be done with the man
who would have left them starving, or perhaps sold them for slaves to
some headman."
The camp boys had followed the evidence, and a clamor of voices answered
the query. Big eyes glistened, black thumbs were run along twinkling
matchet blades, and Dane distinguished ominous cries.
"You shoot him one time, sah! Give him to us and we done chop him!"
"It is the only possible verdict," Maxwell said with strange quietness.
"One returns to primitive customs in this part of Africa; and it is more
merciful that one should die than many. A curse upon the country! Must I
turn executioner?--but for the sake of all those about us, there is no
other way."
"What is your purpose?" Dane asked sharply, jumping to his feet.
Maxwell looked at him steadily with his lips firmly set and the color
mottled a little in his face.
"Give him thirty seconds to reach the grass. I might miss; these others
certainly would--and it will be a little easier that way. Do you
understand me, interpreter? If he can reach the swamp alive no man shall
harm him."
"You shall not do it!" Dane exclaimed hotly. "Heaven knows, the brute
deserves it; but you can't go home with your hands fouled by that
helpless wretch's blood! Pass him that rifle, and give me another, with
fifty yards to commence at, if you can't think of anything better. The
other is too much like murder!"
For a moment the returning color suffused Maxwell's forehead, and there
was a flash of anger in his eyes, but he was generally master of his
temper, and he answered calmly.
"I could not afford to lose you, Hilton. As I said, we have these men's
lives to answer for; and while that fellow lives theirs and our own are
equally in danger. That reminds me, I had forgotten something which may
or may not surprise you further. You yonder, strike off his turban!"
A Kroo did it with the haft of his machet, and Dane gasped with
astonishment, for there was a curiously shaped scar on the prisoner's
forehead.
"The cross-marked man," said Maxwell. "The rascal who betrayed and sold
poor Niven's carriers. He has, I think, one white man's death already to
answer for."
Dane, stooping, laid a hand on each of the speaker's shoulders. Maxwell
was a determined man, with virile brain and no lack of nervous energy;
but Dane had the advantage in stature and muscular strength, and was
glad that it was so. His leader was helpless in his grasp.
"You are perfectly right, Carsluith," he said stolidly. "If you were
not, it would be useless for me to try to convince you; but I give you
warning that the death of this man dissolves our partnership; and it
will, at least, not be your rifle which fires the fatal shot."
Maxwell smiled curiously.
"Do you suppose I am fond of bloodshed, or sorry that you have forced me
against my judgment?" he said. "On your head be it, and you can have the
murderer. I hope that neither of us will regret your clemency!"
He beckoned the interpreter, and when the latter had spoken, the
prisoner twice spat upon the ground, which was probably the most
insulting action that occurred to him; then, turning, without word or
sign, stalked into the grass. There was a harsh crackling, and, when his
ragged draperies vanished, a murmur of wonder from the camp boys.
Maxwell sighed as with relief.
"I am glad it is over; and whether we have done ill or well, time alone
will show, but neither of us has seen the last of the cross-marked man,"
he said. "In the meantime, we want more carriers and supplies. Go back
to the coast and get them. You will have much less trouble on the return
journey. I will stockade a camp in the hills yonder and wait for you."