AN EYE FOR AN EYE
The expedition wandered southward leisurely, and Dane grew more savagely
sullen as they passed dripping forest and foul morass in safety, until
at last he ordered his tent to be pitched one sunset, fully a hundred
yards from the camp. The light was failing when he stood outside it
looking about him with a curious suggestion of anticipation in his face.
They had reached the southern fringe of the Leopards' country, and
another week's march should place them in touch with French officials.
The forest was comparatively open, the cottonwoods growing well apart;
and gazing between the long rows of towering trunks streaked by blue
wood smoke, Dane could catch the shimmer of a sluggish creek. It was
deep and miry, and haunted, as he had seen, by huge saurians, but a
little produce evidently came down that way, for the bush path on either
side was connected by a native ferry.
As he made a last survey the light died out; and his lamp was lighted
when Amadu, Monday, and Bad Dollar came softly into the tent. Dane stood
upright, but the rest crouched low among the cases, that they might not
reveal their presence on the illuminated canvas. Monday growled a
protest as he noticed how his master's figure was projected against it
by the light; but his comments fell unheeded, for there was a definite
purpose behind the white man's imprudence.
"Again I found the footsteps," Amadu reported, using a mixture of
several tongues, as well as broken English. "The men who made them were
tired, and have doubtless followed us far. They will surely be satisfied
when they see us resting to-night."
Monday grinned wickedly; Bad Dollar flung back his woolly head and broke
into a silent laugh; and Dane felt a thrill of satisfaction as he
glanced at the speaker. The four formed a curiously assorted company;
but one purpose dominated each of them equally, and the leader was
contented with his assistants.
"One wore boots and trod in the soft places as no black man would," said
Amadu, reading the unspoken question in the white man's eyes. "Another
wore sandals, and went cunningly, as did the rest, walking as we do upon
our naked feet. Still, they left this behind them among the thorns."
He held out what Dane was not surprised to see, a small tuft of
leopard's fur, and laughed harshly.
"Ho, ho! We shall try whether they are devils with lead and steel!"
"The ferry canoe?" asked Dane briefly; and Amadu nodded.
"I go to see to it, and afterward it will need good witchcraft to find
it. If any one would go south in a hurry he must swim to-night."
"There are crocodiles in that stream," smiled Dane. "You will take men
you can trust and hide them where the path winds down to the water,
Amadu. Monday, you will see that until I call, no boy leaves the camp,
but let them lie down with their matchets beside them. Bad Dollar will
wait with me; and I will borrow Cappy Maxwell's gun to-night, Amadu."
Sitting low among the cases now, Dane made careful preparations for his
own share in the approaching tragedy. That it would prove one he felt
certain. He cleaned Maxwell's gun with a loving care, polishing the
inside of the barrel until it glistened, and touching each part of the
action with oil. The weapon was a heavy, single eight-bore, with a
rubber pad on the heel; part of this Dane cut away, leaving the steel
bare, because he knew that at close quarters the butt of a heavy gun may
prove as deadly as the muzzle. It was with a curious stirring of
recollections that he saw the dead man's initials cut into the elevated
rib, and because of them his face was the sterner as he laid down the
weapon. At short range in the darkness it was likely to prove more
formidable than any rifle, and--for Dane was wholly under the influence
of the monomania--his own safety counted for little if he could use it
with due effect.
Presently he reloaded half a dozen cartridges with heavy B pellets,
crimping the wads down almost affectionately, and thrust one into the
chamber and the rest into his pocket. Never were cartridges filled with
greater care. Then he laid two of the colored lights Maxwell had brought
beside the tent door, made sure he could find them by feeling alone, and
placed a tin match-box in one pocket where it could be most quickly
grasped.
At last all was ready, and Dane sat perched high on a deal case between
the lamp and the canvas for a while. Any one in the forest could, of
course, see him clearly; but though Dane expected his foes would strike
that night he did not fear a long-range shot. Rideau, he knew, must have
recognized that his late associate could lay a formidable complaint
before the authorities, who, regarding his inland journeys with
suspicion, would be glad to fasten any charge upon him, and perhaps
equally glad of an excuse to send an expedition up into the Leopards'
country.
After lying for a time on the matting at one end of the tent, he rose
and turned the lamp out; the watching then was not cheerful, and it was
comforting to feel the weight of the big gun upon his knee. The last hum
of voices had died away in camp, the fires burned low, and except for an
occasional floundering beside the creek, the bush was strangely silent.
The darkness was now intense. The wild animals would await moonrise to
begin their hunting; what Dane expected would happen before then. He
could not see Bad Dollar, who crouched somewhere near the entrance of
the tent, though he heard his file grate softly upon a matchet, and
could picture him running a black thumb along the keen-edged blade at
every cessation.
Confused memories crowded upon Dane, with Maxwell stalking through them
all. He saw him again, alert, indomitable, resourceful, quelling the
mutinous, cheering the dejected, and tending the sick. He saw him
gasping his life away in that very tent, with, regardless of his own
agony, words which would brighten all his partner's future upon his
lips; and again a gust of passion stirred the lonely man in every fiber.
It passed, and--for Dane was not for the time being wholly sane--left
behind it a coldly murderous resolution.
Suddenly there was a touch upon his leg. Without a sound Bad Dollar had
wriggled toward him. Turning as silently as he could, Dane crawled to
the entrance, where he crouched with his right heel beneath him, behind
the drawn-back sheeting which hung slackly. It was so dark that he could
scarcely distinguish the nearest cottonwood; but though his ears failed
to localize any definite sound he became conscious of some danger
approaching. Under different circumstances Dane would have felt
distinctly uneasy, knowing, as he did, that the thick gloom sheltered
those who sought his life. Then, however, he feared only that he had not
accurately loaded the cartridge, or that the damp had spoiled the
fulminating mixture inside its cap; and his fingers were woodenly steady
as they tightened on the gun.
He felt with one hand for the socket of the signal light and found it,
stretched out a foot and pressed it against Bad Dollar when he touched
him again warningly; and then the vague sensation of impending danger
grew into shape at a recognizable sound. Noiselessly almost, but not
quite, somebody or something was crawling toward the tent.
Dane suspended his very respiration as he strained his eyes, and
listened. He could see nothing, and his ears seemed filled with a dull
throbbing, but in spite of this he could hear the faintest of rustlings
on two sides of the tent at once, and knew that, because no white man
could move in such a manner, his dusky enemies were coming. One seemed
to be making for the end of the tent, where his bed was spread; the
other was creeping toward the entrance to prevent the escape of the
victim in case his comrade failed at the first attempt. It was done with
so little noise that Dane found it hard to realize he had creatures of
flesh and blood to deal with, and not the malevolent devils the bushmen
believed in. Bad Dollar made no further movement, and Dane crouched
woodenly still, only sliding his forefinger inside the guard of the
trigger when at last a spray of leaves swished softly a few yards away.
Then he heard somebody breathing close beside him, and knew that sudden
death stood hidden behind the slacker sheeting which began to roll back
very slowly; and yet, while the throbbing in his ears grew louder, he
remained impassive another few seconds. He had awaited that moment
patiently; and he meant to strike decisively, for his dead comrade's
sake. There was no light. The night was black and thick; but some sense
beside that of the optic nerve made it evident that part of the moving
sheeting was more rigid than the rest because it rested against human
flesh. Knowing that at the next move the assassin would fall over him,
Dane felt for that portion of the sheeting with the muzzle of the gun
while his forefinger contracted on the trigger.
The barrel found something that yielded as he added the last ounce of
pressure; there was a detonation; the white man fell backward with his
eyes filled with smoke and two fingers gashed by the trigger guard; and
something that struggled convulsively fell upon the canvas and bore it
down.
The tent collapsed behind Dane as he slipped from under it; but knowing
how the heavy B-shot would at that distance smash through bone and
muscle, he paid no more attention to this assailant. First he snapped
out the spent cartridge and crammed another home, then, striking a
match, touched the signal light. It smoldered for a moment, then a
column of blue fire swept aloft, and its radiance which beat athwart the
towering trunks showed a striking spectacle.
Close behind the white man a shapeless heap of fur and black flesh lay
quivering upon the over-turned tent. Half-seen for a second a dim
figure, whose garments were not those of a native, vanished among the
remoter trunks. Men with weapons came flitting out of the shadows which
shrouded the camp; and about thirty yards away a monstrous object with
the head of a beast and the legs of a man was slinking toward a creeper
festoon. Dane flung the gun to his shoulder and fired as it ran, but the
glare of the light beat transversely along the barrel, blinding him.
Springing clear of the filmy smoke, he saw the second assailant was
still running, and he sprang forward without waiting to reload. The
light would last but a few more seconds. Still, the object moved at
twice his speed, and might have escaped but that as he blundered on,
choking in his haste, a diminutive figure ran forth to meet it, and the
beast flung an upper limb aloft. Dane saw the spear which had been meant
for his destruction draw back to stab; but the negro, Bad Dollar, sprang
sideways, and his broad matchet, long filed to a razor-edge, flared
under the last flicker of the light as he swung it round his head. Then
there was sudden darkness, a thud and a crash.
Dane, guessing that Bad Dollar's matchet had bitten deep, and that his
carrier comrades would see his victim did not escape, turned at top-most
speed in the direction of the creek. Men came running behind him; but a
heavier sound was audible through the patter of their feet, and he knew
that one who was not barefooted fled for his life near ahead. He was
running fast, but Dane, flinging the gun down, knew that he was gaining,
and remembered that the man he sought would find his passage barred
across the creek. So they ran, straining every sinew in a desperate
race. Now and then one smashed through a thorn brake, or staggered,
catching his foot in a creeper vine, but neither went down, and the
gurgle of the creek grew nearer all the time. Dane raised his voice, and
though his cry was barely articulate it proved sufficient, and as
Amadu's hail came back in answer the footsteps before him grew slower,
and a tongue of flame shot up.
So far there had been no miscarriage, and to furnish light for the
climax a torch had been kept ready by one of Amadu's men. It showed
first the group of grim black figures which guarded the narrow path to
the water through tall cane, and then a man in European dress who stood
still, gasping with fear and rage.
It was Victor Rideau.
"See that no boy fires on him unless he moves!" Dane made shift to cry;
and Rideau, turning, met him face to face.
"I have expected you a long time," Dane said brokenly, for the race had
taxed his strength, and once more he was shaken by a fit of futile rage.
"Now I can't tell you how I regret we did not meet just five minutes
earlier."
This was an adequate expression of the pursuer's feelings, for as his
enemy stood gazing about him in abject terror, Dane felt he could not
strike him down in cold blood, and he longed fiercely that he might be
provoked to some fresh violence.
"Can you understand, you thief and midnight assassin, that there is not
enough room in this country for both of us?"
"I comprehend nothing, camarade," Rideau answered calmly. "What would
you of me?"
"Satisfaction!" Dane tried to choke down his fury. "There is a long
account between us, and we could have settled it with less difficulty
if you had had the courage of your confederates a few minutes ago. As it
is, you can choose between a dash for the forest and a volley as you go,
or a journey down to the coast in my custody. There you will be turned
over to the authorities. I reserve myself the privilege, if they do not
render you incapable of further mischief."
Rideau laughed.
"There I should denounce you for the plunder and killing of the
Indigene. The Administration has no charge against me. I am good friend
of the sous official, me. My friend, you are excite, and talk
foolishly."
"If the chief of the Administration is a friend of yours, his own words
don't bear it out. I can substantiate quite sufficient against you; and
unless I'm greatly mistaken, the man with the cross on his forehead lies
riddled with big shot beside my tent. A number of my boys will swear to
his identity. In the meantime I have no further words to waste with you.
I intend to give the Administration the first opportunity for rewarding
you. It will be time for me to take further steps if they do not profit
by it as I think they will."
Dane felt that he was weak; but even in his passion there were things he
could not do, and his enemy's helplessness was his protection. Also, he
knew that justice is tempered with discretion throughout much of that
country, and he hoped that if the Authorities suspected Rideau of
different offenses, but could not convict him, they would see that this
charge did not miscarry.
The assumption of indifference faded from Rideau's face, and with a
swift glance over his shoulder he drew out his hand from under his
jacket. Dane afterward decided that he saw, what all the rest were too
intent to notice, that the torch was burning out; for with an evident
effort and a shrug of his shoulders he answered quietly.
"La bas they laugh at you, and I make you pay. Alors, when I am impotent
I surrender to the force majeure."
Dane, calling to Amadu, strode forward with the failing light upon him.
Unarmed as he was, this was distinctly foolish, and he might have paid
for his folly, for just before the negro dropped the torch Rideau flung
one hand up, and simultaneously with a thin flash something hummed past
the Briton's head. There was bewildering darkness, and Dane ran straight
in upon his enemy, or where he supposed him to be, determined in spite
of the pistol to end the feud there and then. Rideau, however, had
beaten him again, for the growth about the water-side began crackling,
and when some of Amadu's men fired into it, the sound did not cease, and
they only came near destroying their master, who plunged savagely
through the bending stems.
He fell into a pit of slime, sinking to the waist, and lost precious
time floundering in its oozy grip before he dragged himself out. Then
there was further ooze with matted roots which fouled his feet, while a
sound behind him showed that the negroes were following. It was Amadu
who, when he had waded up to the shoulders and sought for room to swim,
dragged him backward by main force; and though Dane struggled, he was
held fast in a grasp against which he was powerless.
"If the white man is alive he makes no sound," he said. "No man could
find him in this darkness, but perhaps they who crawl along the bottom
will. Still, when one brings the canoe up we will look for him."
As his reason returned to him Dane realized that the search would be
useless. A hundred men might fail to find a fugitive who cowered
motionless amid the luxuriant aquatic growth, though, as Amadu had
suggested, the scaled inhabitants of the river would be less likely to
miss him. Still, when somebody brought up a canoe he encouraged them by
extravagant offers of cloth, and then turned back hurriedly toward the
camp. It would, while the confusion lasted, lie open to attack; and Dane
hoped that his enemy, if he succeeded in crossing the river, would leave
a trail behind him which could be followed on the morrow.
Reaching his overturned tent he found a group of curious negroes
clustered about it, and because a fire had been lighted, there was light
to show that the huddled mass of fur and dusky skin lay where it had
fallen. The canvas was foul with half-coagulated stains whose color made
it unnecessary to inquire if the wound had been fatal. Dane had no
compunction. The man who had been slain when seeking his life with
devilish cunning was one of the league which had struck down his
comrade. Stooping with a shudder of disgust, he stripped the leopard's
fur from the face beneath, and was not surprised to see that a
cross-shaped scar on the forehead showed lividly.
"Where is the other? There were two?" he asked; and it was with relief
that he saw Bad Dollar, whom he had forgotten, shamble toward him and
then turn beckoning. Dane followed the negro, who held high a blazing
brand, toward where another monstrous object lay full length among the
trampled undergrowth. The fur had fallen partly clear of the flesh
beneath, and he saw that Bad Dollar's matchet had done its work.
"Come here, all of you," called Dane. "Tell them to look at this man's
neck, Monday, and say if they know the meaning of what there is about
it."
Monday talked with some of the negroes, who, chattering excitedly, bent
with fear and hesitation, to examine the tattooed device.
"Them boy say this yellow nigger and them other be big cappy among them
Leopard, sah," Monday interpreted. "That be the Ju-Ju mark, and no
common nigger done wear him, sah."
"Cappy Maxwell was right again," said Dane. "Make me a bed in the camp
and burn that tent to-morrow, Monday. I could not sleep in it--and I
think until I leave this ghastly country I shall not sleep again. See to
the sentries and let the rest lie down while they can. We lib for go on
again with the sun."