"Master of the forest," explained Timbani glibly, "I come because I
desire your happiness. The Ochori are very rich, for Sandi loves them.
If you go to them Sandi will be sorry."
The bushman sniffed. "I went to them and I was sorry," he said,
significantly.
"I have a ju-ju," said the eager Timbani, alarmed at the lack of
enthusiasm. "He will help you; and will give you signs."
Sakola eyed him with a cold and calculating eye. In the silence of the
forest they stared at one another, the escaped prisoner with his breast
filled with hatred of his overlord, and the squat figure on the stool.
Then Sakola spoke.
"I believe in devils," he said, "and I will try your ju-ju. For I will
cut you a little and tie you to the top of my tree of sacrifice. And if
you are alive when the sun sets, behold I will think that is a good
sign, and go once again into the Ochori land. But if you are dead, that
shall be a bad sign, and I will not fight."
When the sun set behind the golden green of the tree tops, the stolid
crowd of bushmen who stood with their necks craning and their faces
upturned, saw the poor wreck of a man twist slowly.
"That is a good sign," said Sakola, and sent messengers through the
forest to assemble his fighting men.
Twice he flung a cloud of warriors into the Ochori territory. Twice the
chiefs of the Ochori hurled back the invader, slaying many and taking
prisoners.
About these prisoners. Sanders, who knew something of the gentle
Ochori, had sent definite instructions.
When news of the third raid came, Bosambo gave certain orders.
"You march with food for five days," he said to the heads of his army,
"and behold you shall feed all the prisoners you take from the grain you
carry, giving two hands to each prisoner and one to yourself."
"But, lord," protested the chief, "this is madness, for if we take many
prisoners we shall starve."
Bosambo waved him away. "M'bilini," he said, with dignity, "once I was
a Christian--just as my brother Sandi, was once a Christian--and we
Christians are kind to prisoners."
"But, lord Bosambo," persisted the other, "if we kill our prisoners and
do not bring them back it will be better for us."
"These things are with the gods," said the pious Bosambo vaguely.
So M'bilini went out against the bushmen and defeated them. He brought
back an army well fed, but without prisoners.
Thus matters stood when Big Ben Hold came leisurely up the river, his
canoe paddled close in shore, for here the stream does not run so
swiftly.
It had been a long journey, and the big man in the soiled white ducks
showed relief as he stepped ashore on the Ochori beach and stretched his
legs.
He had no need to inquire which of the party approaching him was
Bosambo. For the chief wore his red plush robe, his opera hat, his
glass bracelets, and all the other appurtenances of his office.
Big Ben had come up the river in his own good time and was now used to
the way of the little chiefs.
His interpreter began a conversational oration, but Bosambo cut him
short.
"Nigger," he said, in English, "you no speak 'um--I speak 'um fine
English. I know Luki, Marki, John, Judas--all fine fellers. You, sah,"
he addressed the impressed Mr. Hold, "you lib for me? Sixpence--four
dollar, good-night, I love you, mister!"
He delivered his stock breathlessly.
"Fine!" said Mr. Hold, awestricken and dazed.
He felt at home in the procession which marched in stately manner
towards the chief's hut; it was as near a circus parade as made no
difference.
Over a dinner of fish he outlined the object of his search and the
reason for his presence.
It was a laborious business, necessitating the employment of the
despised and frightened interpreter until the words "ki-chu" were
mentioned, whereupon Bosambo brightened up.
"Sah," interrupted Bosambo, "I savee al dem talk; I make 'um English one
time good."
"Fine," said Mr. Hold gratefully, "I get you, Steve."
"You lookum ki-chu," continued Bosambo, "you no find 'um; I see 'um; I
am God-man--Christian; I savee Johnny Baptist; Peter cut 'um head
off--dam' bad man; I savee Hell an' all dem fine fellers."
"Tell him----" began Big Ben.
"I spik English same like white man!" said the indignant Bosambo. "You
no lib for make dem feller talky talk--I savee dem ki-chu."
Big Ben sighed helplessly. All along the river the legend of the ki-chu
was common property. Everybody knew of the ki-chu--some had seen those
who had seen it. He was not elated that Bosambo should be counted
amongst the faithful.
For the retired showman had by this time almost salved his conscience.
It was enough, perhaps, that evidence of the ki-chu's being should be
afforded--still he would dearly have loved to carry one of the alleged
fabulous creatures back to America with him.
He had visions of a tame ki-chu chained to a stake on his Boston lawn;
of a ki-chu sitting behind gilded bars in a private menagerie annexe.
"I suppose," said Mr. Hold, "you haven't seen a ki-chu--you savee--you
no look 'um?"
Bosambo was on the point of protesting that the ki-chu was a familiar
object of the landscape when a thought occurred to him.
"S'pose I find 'um ki-chu you dash[#] me plenty dollar?" he asked.
[#] Give.
"If you find me that ki-chu," said Mr. Hold slowly, and with immense
gravity, "I will pay you a thousand dollars."
Bosambo rose to his feet, frankly agitated.
"Thousan' dollar?" he repeated.
"A thousand dollars," said Big Ben with the comfortable air of one to
whom a thousand dollars was a piece of bad luck.
Bosambo put out his hand and steadied himself against the straw-plaited
wall of his hut.
"You make 'um hundred dollar ten time?" he asked, huskily, "you make 'um
book?"
"I make 'um book," said Ben, and in a moment of inspiration drew a
note-book from his pocket and carefully wrote down the substance of his
offer.
He handed the note to the chief, and Bosambo stared at it
uncomprehendingly.
"And," said Big Ben, confidentially leaning across and tapping the knee
of the standing chief with the golden head of his cane, "if you----"
Bosambo raised his hand, and his big face was solemn.
"Master," he said, relapsing into the vernacular in his excitement,
"though this ki-chu lives in a village of devils, and ghosts walk about
his hut, I will bring him."
The next morning Bosambo disappeared, taking with him three hunters of
skill, and to those who met him and said, "Ho! Bosambo; where do you
walk?" he answered no word, but men who saw his face were shocked, for
Bosambo had been a Christian and knew the value of money.
Eight days he was absent, and Big Ben Hold found life very pleasant, for
he was treated with all the ceremony which is usually the privilege of
kings.
On the evening of the eighth day Bosambo returned, and he brought with
him the ki-chu.
Looking at this wonder Big Ben Hold found his heart beating faster.
"My God!" he said, and his profanity was almost excusable.
For the ki-chu exceeded his wildest dreams. It was like a man, yet
unlike. Its head was almost bald, the stick tied bit-wise between his
teeth had been painted green and added to the sinister appearance of the
brute. Its long arms reaching nearly to its knees were almost human,
and the big splayed feet dancing a never-ceasing tattoo of rage were
less than animal.
"Lord," said Bosambo proudly, "I have found the ki-chu!"
The chief's face bore signs of a fierce encounter. It was gashed and
lacerated. His arms, too, bore signs of rough surgical dressing.
"Three hunters I took with me," said Bosambo, "and one have I brought
back, for I took the ki-chu as he sat on a tree, and he was very
fierce."
"My God!" said Big Ben again, and breathed heavily.
They built a cage for the ki-chu, a cage of heavy wooden bars, and the
rare animal was screened from the vulgar gaze by curtains of native
cloth.
It did not take kindly to its imprisonment.
It howled and gibbered and flung itself against the bars, and Bosambo
viewed its transports with interest.
"Lord," he said, "this only I ask you: that you take this ki-chu shortly
from here. Also, you shall not show it to Sandi lest he be jealous that
we send away from our country so rare a thing."
"But," protested Mr. Hold to the interpreter, "you tell the chief that
Mr. Sanders just wants me to catch the ki-chu--say, Bosambo, you savee,
Sandi wantee see dem ki-chu?"
They were sitting before the chief's hut on the ninth day of the
American's visit. The calm of evening lay on the city, and save for the
unhappy noises of the captive no sound broke the Sabbath stillness of
the closing day.
Bosambo was sitting at his ease, a bundle of English banknotes suspended
by a cord about his neck, and the peace of heaven in his heart.
He had opened his mouth to explain the idiosyncrasies of the
Commissioner when----
"Whiff--snick!"
Something flicked past Big Ben's nose--something that buried its head in
the straw of the hut with a soft swish!
He saw the quivering arrow, heard the shrill call of alarm and the
dribbling roll of a skin-covered drum.
Then a hand like steel grasped his arm and flung him headlong into the
hut, for Sakola's headman had come in person to avenge certain
indignities and the city of the Ochori was surrounded by twenty thousand
bushmen.
Night was falling and the position was desperate. Bosambo had no doubt
as to that. A wounded bushman fell into his hands--a mad little man,
who howled and spat and bit like a vicious little animal.
"Burn him till he talks," said Bosambo--but at the very sight of fire
the little man told all--and Bosambo knew that he spoke the truth.
The _lokali_ on the high watch tower of the city beat its staccato call
for help and some of the villagers about answered.
Bosambo stood at the foot of the rough ladder leading to the tower,
listening.
From east and south and north came the replies--from the
westward--nothing. The bushmen had swept into the country from the
west, and the _lokalis_ were silent where the invader had passed.
Big Ben Hold, an automatic pistol in his hand, took his part in the
defence of the city. All through that night charge after charge broke
before the defences, and at intervals the one firearm of the defending
force spat noisily out into the darkness.
With the dawn came an unshaven Sanders. He swept round the bend of the
river, two Hotchkiss guns banging destructively, and the end of the bush
war came when the rallied villagers of the Ochori fell on the left flank
of the attackers and drove them towards the guns of the _Zaire_.
Then it was that Bosambo threw the whole fighting force of the city upon
the enemy.
Sanders landed his Houssas to complete the disaster; he made his way
straight to the city and drew a whistling breath of relief to find Big
Ben Hold alive, for Big Ben was a white man, and moreover a citizen of
another land. The big man held out an enormous hand of welcome.
"Glad to see you," he said.
Sanders smiled.
"Found that ki-chu?" he asked derisively, and his eyes rose
incredulously at the other's nod.
"Here!" said Mr. Hold triumphantly, and he drew aside the curtains of
the cage.
It was empty.
"Hell!" bellowed Big Ben Hold, and threw his helmet on the ground
naughtily.
"There it is!" He pointed across the open stretch of country which
separated the city from the forest. A little form was running swiftly
towards the woods. Suddenly it stopped, lifted something from the
ground, and turned towards the group. As its hands came up, Sergeant
Abiboo of the Houssas raised his rifle and fired; and the figure
crumpled up.
"My ki-chu!" wailed the showman, as he looked down at the silent figure.
Sanders said nothing. He looked first at the dead Sakola, outrageously
kidnapped in the very midst of his people, then he looked round for
Bosambo, but Bosambo had disappeared.
At that precise moment the latter was feverishly scraping a hole in the
floor of his hut wherein to bank his ill-gotten reward.
*CHAPTER X*
*THE CHILD OF SACRIFICE*
Out of the waste came a long, low wail of infinite weariness. It was
like the cry of a little child in pain. The Government steamer was
drifting at the moment. Her engine had stopped whilst the engineer
repaired a float which had been smashed through coming in contact with a
floating log.
Assistant-Commissioner Sanders, a young man in those days, bent his
head, listening. Again the wail arose; this time there was a sob at the
end of it. It came from a little patch of tall, coarse elephant grass
near the shore.
Sanders turned to his orderly.
"Take a canoe, O man," he said in Arabic, "and go with your rifle." He
pointed. "There you will find a monkey that is wounded. Shoot him,
that he may suffer no more, for it is written, 'Blessed is he that
giveth sleep from pain.'"
Obedient to his master's order, Abiboo leapt into a little canoe, which
the _Zaire_ carried by her side, and went paddling into the grass.
He disappeared, and they heard the rustle of elephant grass; but no shot
came.