A fat, unwholesome-looking creature, half native, half Belgian, waddled
across the open space towards the hut in which the two strangers had
been housed. He was followed at a little distance by two sturdy natives
bearing a steaming pot which they carried on a pole between them. Trent
set down his revolver and rose to his feet.
“What news, Oom Sam?” he asked. “Has the English officer been heard of?
He must be close up now.”
“No news,” the little man grunted. “The King, he send some of his own
supper to the white men. 'They got what they want,' he say. 'They start
work mine soon as like, but they go away from here.' He not like them
about the place! See!”
“Oh, that be blowed!” Trent muttered. “What's this in the pot? It don't
smell bad.”
“Rabbit,” the interpreter answered tersely. “Very good. Part King's own
supper. White men very favoured.”
Trent bent over the pot which the two men had set upon the ground. He
took a fork from his belt and dug it in.
“Very big bones for a rabbit, Sam,” he remarked doubtfully.
Sam looked away. “Very big rabbits round here,” he remarked. “Best keep
pot. Send men away.”
Trent nodded, and the men withdrew.
“Stew all right,” Sam whispered confidentially. “You eat him. No fear.
But you got to go. King beginning get angry. He say white men not to
stay. They got what he promised, now they go. I know King--know this
people well! You get away quick. He think you want be King here! You got
the papers--all you want, eh?”
“Not quite, Sam,” Trent answered. “There's an Englishman, Captain
Francis, on his way here up the Coast, going on to Walgetta Fort. He
must be here to-morrow. I want him to see the King's signature. If he's
a witness these niggers can never back out of the concession. They're
slippery devils. Another chap may come on with more rum and they'll
forget us and give him the right to work the mines too. See!”
“I see,” Sam answered; “but him not safe to wait. You believe me. I
know these tam niggers. They take two days get drunk, then get devils,
four--raving mad. They drunk now. Kill any one to-morrow--perhaps you.
Kill you certain to-morrow night. You listen now!”
Trent stood up in the shadow of the overhanging roof. Every now and then
came a wild, shrill cry from the lower end of the village. Some one was
beating a frightful, cracked drum which they had got from a trader. The
tumult was certainly increasing. Trent swore softly, and then looked
irresolutely over his shoulder to where Monty was sleeping.
“If the worst comes we shall never get away quickly,” he muttered. “That
old carcase can scarcely drag himself along.”
Sam looked at him with cunning eyes.
“He not fit only die,” he said softly. “He very old, very sick man, you
leave him here! I see to him.”
Trent turned away in sick disgust.
“We'll be off to-morrow, Sam,” he said shortly. “I say! I'm beastly
hungry. What's in that pot?”
Sam spread out the palms of his hands.
“He all right, I see him cooked,” he declared. “He two rabbits and one
monkey.”
Trent took out a plate and helped himself.
“All right,” he said. “Be off now. We'll go to-morrow before these
towsly-headed beauties are awake.”
Sam nodded and waddled off. Trent threw a biscuit and hit his companion
on the cheek.
“Here, wake up, Monty!” he exclaimed. “Supper's come from the royal
kitchen. Bring your plate and tuck in!”
Monty struggled to his feet and came meekly towards where the pot stood
simmering upon the ground.
“I'm not hungry, Trent,” he said, “but I am very thirsty, very thirsty
indeed. My throat is all parched. I am most uncomfortable. Really
I think your behaviour with regard to the brandy is most unkind and
ungenerous; I shall be ill, I know I shall. Won't you--”
“No, I won't,” Trent interrupted. “Now shut up all that rot and eat
something.”
“I have no appetite, thank you,” Monty answered, with sulky dignity.
“Eat something, and don't be a silly ass!” Trent insisted. “We've a hard
journey before us, and you'll need all the strength in your carcase
to land in Buckomari again. Here, you've dropped some of your precious
rubbish.”
Trent stooped forward and picked up what seemed to him at first to be
a piece of cardboard from the ground. He was about to fling it to its
owner, when he saw that it was a photograph. It was the likeness of a
girl, a very young girl apparently, for her hair was still down her
back and her dress was scarcely of the orthodox length. It was not
particularly well taken, but Trent had never seen anything like it
before. The lips were slightly parted, the deep eyes were brimming with
laughter, the pose was full of grace, even though the girl's figure was
angular. Trent had seen as much as this, when he felt the smart of a
sudden blow upon the cheek, the picture was snatched from his hand, and
Monty--his face convulsed with anger--glowered fiercely upon him.
“You infernal young blackguard! You impertinent meddling blockhead! How
dare you presume to look at that photograph! How dare you, sir! How dare
you!”
Trent was too thoroughly astonished to resent either the blow or the
fierce words. He looked up into his aggressor's face in blank surprise.
“I only looked at it,” he muttered. “It was lying on the floor.”
“Looked at it! You looked at it! Like your confounded impertinence, sir!
Who are you to look at her! If ever I catch you prying into my concerns
again, I'll shoot you--by Heaven I will!”
Trent laughed sullenly, and, having finished eating, lit his pipe.
“Your concerns are of no interest to me,” he said shortly; “keep 'em to
yourself--and look here, old 'un, keep your hands off me! I ain't a safe
man to hit let me tell you. Now sit down and cool off! I don't want any
more of your tantrums.”
Then there was a long silence between the two men. Monty sat where Trent
had been earlier in the night at the front of the open hut, his eyes
fixed upon the ever-rising moon, his face devoid of intelligence, his
eyes dim. The fire of the last few minutes had speedily burnt out. His
half-soddened brain refused to answer to the sudden spasm of memory
which had awakened a spark of the former man. If he had thoughts at
all, they hung around that brandy bottle. The calm beauty of the African
night could weave no spell upon him. A few feet behind, Trent, by the
light of the moon, was practising tricks with a pack of greasy cards.
By and by a spark of intelligence found its way into Monty's brain. He
turned round furtively.
“Trent,” he said, “this is slow! Let us have a friendly game--you and
I.”
Trent yawned.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Single Poker or Euchre, eh?”
“I do not mind,” Monty replied affably. “Just which you prefer.”
“Single Poker, then,” Trent said.
“And the stakes?”
“We've nothing left to play for,” Trent answered gloomily, “except
cartridges.”
Monty made a wry face. “Poker for love, my dear Trent,” he said,
“between you and me, would lack all the charm of excitement. It would
be, in fact, monotonous! Let us exercise our ingenuity. There must be
something still of value in our possession.”
He relapsed into an affectation of thoughtfulness. Trent watched him
curiously. He knew quite well that his partner was dissembling, but he
scarcely saw to what end. Monty's eyes, moving round the grass-bound
hut, stopped at Trent's knapsack which hung from the central pole. He
uttered a little exclamation.
“I have it,” he declared. “The very thing.”
“Well!”
“You are pleased to set an altogether fictitious value upon half bottle
of brandy we have left,” he said. “Now I tell you what I will do. In a
few months we shall both be rich men. I will play you for my I O U, for
fifty pounds, fifty sovereigns, Trent, against half the contents of that
bottle. Come, that is a fair offer, is it not? How we shall laugh at
this in a year or two! Fifty pounds against a tumblerful--positively
there is no more--a tumblerful of brandy.”
He was watching Trent's face all the time, but the younger man gave
no sign. When he had finished, Trent took up the cards, which he had
shuffled for Poker, and dealt them out for Patience. Monty's eyes were
dim with disappointment.
“What!” he cried. “You don't agree! Did you understand me? Fifty pounds,
Trent! Why, you must be mad!”
“Oh, shut up!” Trent growled. “I don't want your money, and the brandy's
poison to you! Go to sleep!”
Monty crept a little nearer to his partner and laid his hand upon his
arm. His shirt fell open, showing the cords of his throat swollen and
twitching. His voice was half a sob.
“Trent, you are a young man--not old like me. You don't understand my
constitution. Brandy is a necessity to me! I've lived on it so long that
I shall die if you keep it from me. Remember, it's a whole day since I
tasted a drop! Now I'll make it a hundred. What do you say to that? One
hundred!”
Trent paused in his game, and looked steadfastly into the eager face
thrust close to his. Then he shrugged his shoulders and gathered up the
cards.
“You're the silliest fool I ever knew,” he said bluntly, “but I suppose
you'll worry me into a fever if you don't have your own way.”
“You agree?” Monty shrieked. Trent nodded and dealt the cards.
“It must be a show after the draw,” he said. “We can't bet, for we've
nothing to raise the stakes with!”
Monty was breathing hard and his fingers trembled, as though the ague of
the swamps was already upon him. He took up his cards one by one, and as
he snatched up the last he groaned. Not a pair!
“Four cards,” he whispered hoarsely. Trent dealt them out, looked at
his own hand, and, keeping a pair of queens, took three more cards. He
failed to improve, and threw them upon the floor. With frantic eagerness
Monty grovelled down to see them--then with a shriek of triumph he threw
down a pair of aces.
“Mine!” he said. “I kept an ace and drew another. Give me the brandy!”
Trent rose up, measured the contents of the bottle with his forefinger,
and poured out half the contents into a horn mug. Monty stood trembling
by.
“Mind,” Trent said, “you are a fool to drink it and I am a fool to let
you! You risk your life and mine. Sam has been up and swears we must
clear out to-morrow. What sort of form do you think you'll be in to walk
sixty miles through the swamps and bush, with perhaps a score of these
devils at our heels? Come now, old 'un, be reasonable.”
The veins on the old man's forehead stood out like whipcord.
“I won it,” he cried. “Give it me! Give it me, I say.”
Trent made no further protest. He walked back to where he had been
lying and recommenced his Patience. Monty drank off the contents of the
tumbler in two long, delicious gulps! Then he flung the horn upon the
floor and laughed aloud.
“That's better,” he cried, “that's better! What an ass you are, Trent!
To imagine that a drain like that would have any effect at all, save to
put life into a man! Bah! what do you know about it?”
Trent did not raise his head. He went on with his solitary game and, to
all appearance, paid no heed to his companion's words. Monty was not in
the humour to be ignored. He flung himself on the ground opposite to his
companion.
“What a slow-blooded sort of creature you are, Trent!” he said. “Don't
you ever drink, don't you ever take life a little more gaily?”
“Not when I am carrying my life in my hands,” Trent answered grimly. “I
get drunk sometimes--when there's nothing on and the blues come--never
at a time like this though.”
“It is pleasant to hear,” the old man remarked, stretching out his
limbs, “that you do occasionally relax. In your present frame of
mind--you will not be offended I trust--you are just a little heavy as
a companion. Never mind. In a year's time I will be teaching you how to
dine--to drink champagne, to--by the way, Trent, have you ever tasted
champagne?”
“Never,” Trent answered gruffly “Don't know that I want to either.”
Monty was compassionate. “My young friend,” he said, “I would give my
soul to have our future before us, to have your youth and never to have
tasted champagne. Phew! the memory of it is delicious!”
“Why don't you go to bed?” Trent said. “You'll need all your strength
to-morrow!”
Monty waved his hand with serene contempt.
“I am a man of humours, my dear friend,” he said, “and to-night my
humour is to talk and to be merry. What is it the philosophers tell
us?--that the sweetest joys of life are the joys of anticipation. Here
we are, then, on the eve of our triumph--let us talk, plan, be happy.
Bah! how thirsty it makes one! Come, Trent, what stake will you have me
set up against that other tumblerful of brandy.”
“No stake that you can offer,” Trent answered shortly. “That drop of
brandy may stand between us and death. Pluck up your courage, man, and
forget for a bit that there is such a thing as drink.”
Monty frowned and looked stealthily across towards the bottle.
“That's all very well, my friend,” he said, “but kindly remember that
you are young, and well, and strong. I am old, and an invalid. I need
support. Don't be hard on me, Trent. Say fifty again.
“No, nor fifty hundred,” Trent answered shortly. “I don't want your
money. Don't be such a fool, or you'll never live to enjoy it.”
Monty shuffled on to his feet, and walked aimlessly about the hut. Once
or twice as he passed the place where the bottle rested, he hesitated;
at last he paused, his eyes lit up, he stretched out his hand
stealthily. But before he could possess himself of it Trent's hand was
upon his collar.
“You poor fool!” he said; “leave it alone can't you? You want to poison
yourself I know. Well, you can do as you jolly well like when you are
out of this--not before.”
Monty's eyes flashed evil fires, but his tone remained persuasive.
“Trent,” he said, “be reasonable. Look at me! I ask you now whether I
am not better for that last drop. I tell you that it is food and wine
to me. I need it to brace me up for to-morrow. Now listen! Name your own
stake! Set it up against that single glass! I am not a mean man, Trent.
Shall we say one hundred and fifty?”
Trent looked at him half scornfully, half deprecatingly.
“You are only wasting your breath, Monty,” he said. “I couldn't touch
money won in such a way, and I want to get you out of this alive.
There's fever in the air all around us, and if either of us got a touch
of it that drop of brandy might stand between us and death. Don't worry
me like a spoilt child. Roll yourself up and get to sleep! I'll keep
watch.”
“I will be reasonable,” Monty whined. “I will go to sleep, my friend,
and worry you no more when I have had just one sip of that brandy! It is
the finest medicine in the world for me! It will keep the fever off. You
do not want money you say! Come, is there anything in this world which I
possess, or may possess, which you will set against that three inches of
brown liquid?”
Trent was on the point of an angry negative. Suddenly he
stopped--hesitated--and said nothing. Monty's face lit up with sudden
hope.
“Come,” he cried, “there is something I see! You're the right sort,
Trent. Don't be afraid to speak out. It's yours, man, if you win it.
Speak up!”
“I will stake that brandy,” Trent answered, “against the picture you let
fall from your pocket an hour ago.”