On the instant the greatest disorder prevailed. As at a stroke the iron
discipline of Potsdam vanished, and despite his uniform and training,
and the curses of the German non-commissioned officers, the Cameroon
native became the untutored savage once again.
In the panic of the moment the native soldiers took to their heels,
evidently under the impression that they had been surprised by a British
force. And, as they ran, shots rang out repeatedly from somewhere in
the midst of the shrubbery that grew on the farther side of the gorge.
There was no question that the invisible man who commanded the ravine
from his hiding-place upon the mountain-side was a marksman of repute.
He fired in haste at running figures, and more than once his bullets
found their mark. The German-trained soldiers vanished as by a
conjuring-trick, disappearing round an angle of the gorge.
All this had happened in the space of a few seconds. Harry, taking his
field-glasses from their case, scanned the mountain that overtopped the
ravine, endeavouring to discover the form of the mysterious and terrible
marksman who had created such alarm.
Nowhere was any living soul to be seen. The mountain-side was as silent
as the grave. In the forest itself, hundreds of birds welcomed the
dazzling sunlight with the gladness of their songs.
"Who was it?" asked Jim.
"It must have been Cortes or Fernando," answered Harry, "but I can see
no sign of them. I expect one or the other will show himself in a
minute."
They waited for several minutes. At last Urquhart could bear the
suspense no longer. He lifted his hands to his mouth and let out a
long-drawn shout.
His voice was echoed from the hills, which were now wrapped in clouds,
but no voice came back in answer.
"I can’t understand it," he exclaimed.
Braid admitted that the whole thing was something of a mystery, for
which he could offer no sort of explanation.
And then, on a sudden, they saw a white-clad figure dashing over the
rocks. It was a man who came down from the mountain-side, fleet and
sure of foot. Upon his head he wore a turban. He was dressed in robes
of flowing white, and in his hand he carried a rifle.
Harry directed his field-glasses upon this extraordinary figure. Beyond
the fact that he was a tall man with a great black beard, he could see
little or nothing, by reason of the prodigious pace at which the man was
travelling. One thing, however, was perfectly certain: that this
man—who apparently was the marksman who had so effectively scattered
the Germans—was not one of the half-caste guides.
The running man came closer and closer, and the boys thought at first
that he was about to approach to within speaking distance of themselves.
But he turned off sharply to the left and disappeared in a belt of trees
almost as suddenly as he had come.
They waited for some minutes, thinking that he would show up again; but
that was the last they saw of him for some days, and it was not until
then that they discovered who he was. He came and vanished like a
thunderbolt that spreads destruction in its path. His rifle had spoken
at dawn, and almost every shot had been the signal for the death of a
human being. He came, and killed, and vanished. He was a three-day
mystery of the wild hills of the German Cameroons.
Throughout that morning they knew not what to do. They were without
guides; they had practically no provisions; and they had not the least
idea where they were or in which direction they should go.
Soon after midday the two boys held a consultation, admitting Peter
Klein to their counsels. But the ex-spy was no help to them; he was
incapable of giving advice. They told him of the man they had seen that
morning, the white figure on the mountain-side, but he only gaped and
shook his head. It was as if the physical and moral strain he had
undergone had actually made him mad.
Harry clung to hope as a drowning man lays hold upon a spar. He pointed
out that they were helpless without their guides, and argued that it was
wisest to remain where they were, in case either of the half-castes
should repair to their meeting-place and find them gone.
That night they lit a fire in the forest, and seated around this they
roasted some bananas—or rather plantains—they had found growing in the
bush. After they had eaten these, Harry and Klein lay down to sleep,
Jim Braid consenting to keep watch during the earlier hours of the
night.
When the moon had risen, and a mighty stillness reigned in the forest,
Jim Braid, who sat upon a boulder with his rifle upon his knees, heard
on a sudden a short cough immediately behind him. He turned quickly in
alarm.
Both Harry and Klein were sound asleep, and, seated on the ground
immediately between them, calmly biting the end from a cheroot, was the
figure of Fernando.
"You!" cried Braid, as soon as he could find his voice.
"Even myself," said the half-bred Spaniard. "Had I been a German, I
could have killed all three of you."
"You were as silent as a snake," said the other.
The man chuckled.
"Before I was a trader," said he, "I was a hunter of big game."
It was then that Braid awakened Harry and told him the news. The boy
was heartily glad to see the guide, whom he had certainly believed to be
dead.
"And your brother?" he asked.
"My brother is safe," said the man. "You did wisely to remain here. You
could never have got back to Calabar. The country swarms with German
troops."
"Then what are we to do?" asked Harry.
"Go north," said Fernando. "Go north at every risk, to Maziriland. My
brother has already struck out across the mountains. He and I know of a
place where they will never find us. I have come here to take you
there. Cortes awaits us. We must start at once. There is no time to
lose."