After they had explained to Fernando how it had come about that Peter
Klein had joined their party, they set forward in a northerly direction,
guided by the half-caste. They passed through the forest and crossed a
wide valley. Thence they traversed a great ridge of hills, at the end
of which they came to a mountain-top. This they began to ascend. There
were many places so steep and stony that they were often obliged to go
on all fours, and Klein, who was both weak and nervous, stood in
constant danger of his life.
Finally they gained the summit. The top of the mountain was shaped like
a bowl. It was evidently the crater of an extinct volcano. In one
place an enormous rock had a cleft in it like a sword-cut, and through
this Fernando led them. The cleft was so narrow that they were obliged
to walk sideways, like crabs. After a time the passage opened, and they
found themselves in a small arena in the centre of which a spring of
water bubbled to the surface. After the heat of the forest the air was
delightfully refreshing and cool.
When they had drunk their fill the guide took them to a place where a
boulder as round as a football and about five times the size, lay upon
the ground. This he rolled away, not without difficulty, and underneath
it was a hole about three feet across, like one of those "blowholes"
which can be seen in some of the caves of Cornwall or South Wales.
Fernando let himself down through the hole until he was hanging by his
hands; then he dropped, and they heard him alight upon the ground about
ten feet beneath. Braid followed next, and then Klein; Harry was the
last to descend into the darkness.
Below, they found themselves in what was evidently a pocket in the side
of the crater, a great rent caused by some volcanic disturbance in
bygone times. The place was a kind of low and narrow gallery. The
moonlight was admitted through several cracks in the walls.
At the farthermost end of the gallery a fire burnt, and at this a man
was seated, whom they found to be Cortes, the younger of the two guides.
When he saw them he rose to his feet without a word, walked deliberately
to the wall, and thrust his head into one of the fissures.
The two boys watched him in amazement. The man—who, it will be
remembered, was extremely slim and agile—wriggled like a snake.
Gradually, it became manifest that he was squeezing himself through with
the greatest difficulty. First his head, then his shoulders, then his
body, and finally his legs and feet disappeared through the wall.
"Where is he going?" asked Harry, turning to Fernando.
"He has gone to replace the stone upon the hole through which we came.
My brother is no fool. Life in the bush has taught us many things."
After a while the younger brother returned, squeezing himself again
through the narrow opening. When he came to the firelight there were
places upon his back and shoulders where his clothes had been torn, and
where the rents were stained with blood. He did not seem to mind these
wounds in the least, but laughed when Harry pointed them out.
"Here," said Fernando, "we are safe, and here we must stay for some
days, until the Germans have left the district. They will never find
us; no one could ever find us."
"We have food?" asked Harry.
Cortes pointed to a corner where lay the dead body of an antelope.
"I killed that this morning," said he. "Cooked, and in this cool
climate, it will keep for days. Besides, my brother and I can hunt upon
the mountain; but you and your two friends must remain here until the
Germans have left the district. Then we can continue our march towards
Maziriland."
In his heart Harry Urquhart felt more than gratitude towards these
strange, gallant men. They were loyal, faithful, courageous, and full
of infinite resource. They seemed to love adventure for its own sake,
after the manner of the old Spanish explorers—the followers of
Columbus—whose blood ran in their veins.
For three days the party remained in this singular hiding-place. Every
morning the brothers went out to hunt. Harry and Braid did not mind the
monotony of their temporary imprisonment, first, because they knew that
this was their only place of safety, and, secondly, because they were
glad enough of a few days’ rest after all the exertions and privations
they had undergone in the wilderness of the bush.
At midnight on the third night, something that was well-nigh miraculous
occurred. All were asleep except Harry Urquhart, who was doing his turn
on watch. He was walking to and fro along the gallery, and had reached
a spot immediately underneath the hole which was covered by the stone,
when suddenly a great shaft of moonlight shot down into the cave.
It was a moment before the boy realized what had happened—that the
stone had been rolled away. Before he had time to give the alarm, to
cry out, or bring his rifle to his shoulder, the stone was rolled back
again, and all was dim and silent as before.
He ran to the fire and woke up his companions. All sprang to their
feet. In a few breathless words Harry told them what had happened. Jim
Braid seized a lighted brand from the fire, which was burning brightly,
and carried this to the end of the gallery. Sure enough the stone was
back in its place.
"Are you sure," he asked, "you were not dreaming?"
"I can swear to it," said Harry.
"What’s that?" cried Braid, pointing to something white that lay upon
the floor.
Harry Urquhart stooped, and to his amazement picked up a letter, written
in German, which was addressed to:
"_Peter Klein, Coward_"
Here was a greater mystery than ever.
"This is apparently for you," said Harry, giving the letter to Klein.
The whole thing was amazing.
Klein opened the envelope with shaking hands. Then he took it to the
other end of the gallery, and, kneeling down, read it by the light of
the fire.
Presently he returned and handed the letter to Fernando, who had a fair
knowledge of the German language.
"Read that," said he. "How did it come here?" The man was as white as
a ghost.
The writer had evidently been at some pains to disguise his handwriting.
The letter was written in capital letters with a violet indelible
pencil. The message, when translated, was as follows:—
"I have something of importance to say to you. Leave your
hiding-place at once and alone."
"It is from von Hardenberg," said Klein. "He orders me to return to
him—at once."
"Orders you! And you will go?"
"I have no option. I dare not refuse."
"Dare not!"
At that a groan escaped from the man’s lips, and he threw out his hands
with a gesture of despair.
"You do not understand," he cried. "In London that man was in my power,
but in this wild country I am at his mercy; for there is one with him
who is pitiless and terrible, who carries his crimes as a jester jangles
his bells."
"Whom do you mean?" asked Harry.
"I mean the Arab sheikh. That man is a demon. There is nothing he
would not do for money. There were times when I travelled with them
when I thought that they meant to kill me. When I fell asleep at the
camp-fire, I could see in my dreams the cruel, piercing eyes of the
sheikh fixed upon me; they were like coals of living fire. Fool that I
was to come here!" he broke out in despair. "Why did I not stay where I
was safe?"
Fernando, turning to Harry, cut short the man’s whining words.
"I must know the truth," said he. "How did that letter come here? Who
wrote it?"
"It was written by my cousin," said Harry, "the man whom we follow; but
whether he himself brought it here or the rascal who serves him, I am
quite unable to say. At any rate," he added, with a smile, "your
hiding-place has been discovered."
The half-caste returned to the fire, where he sat down, holding out his
hands to warm them. He remained thus for some time, seemingly deep in
thought; then he returned to Harry.
"Just now," said he, "I heard mention of a sheikh. Is the man’s name by
any chance Bayram; for he is a devil, in truth."
"That is the name of the man who is with von Hardenberg."
"I did not know," said the other, and remained silent for a long time.
"You did not know?" repeated Harry.
"When I agreed to come with you I did not know that the Black Dog of the
Cameroons—as I and my brother call him—was to be our enemy. In all
the hills and plains and forests of this huge, amazing continent, from
the Sahara to Kilima-Njaro, from the Niger to the Nile, there is no man
more greatly to be feared than the Black Dog of the Cameroons. He knows
neither pity nor fear. There is hardly a valley in these mountains with
which he is not acquainted. Small wonder he discovered our
hiding-place! He is a foe who cannot be despised. Single-handed he
could keep an army of natives at bay. Almost every cartridge in his
bandolier, almost every bullet in the chamber of his rifle, means the
life’s blood of a human being. At one time he was the richest
slave-trader in Africa. But I heard the English hunted him down, and
that he was starving and penniless in London."
"It was he!" cried Harry, turning sharply to Braid. "He was the man we
saw that morning on the mountain-side, who fired into the German bivouac
at dawn."
"The sheikh was the man," said the guide. "You should have told me
before."
"I blame myself," said Harry. "I know now that I can trust you and your
brother with even more than life."
Fernando continued to speak in slow deliberate tones.
"If we are to come out of this alive," said he, "you will do well to
take me into your counsels. Moreover, you must follow my advice. I and
the Black Dog have an old score to pay. For myself, I am determined to
be a debtor no longer." Then, without changing his voice, he turned
calmly to Peter Klein. "You must go back to von Hardenberg," said he.
"No, no! not that!" Klein almost shrieked.
Fernando smiled grimly. He might have been one of his own hard-hearted
ancestors, presiding at the Spanish Inquisition.
"I fear to go!" cried Klein, his terror stamped on every feature. "They
will kill me! I know they will!"
Fernando laughed aloud.
"You will most certainly be killed," said he, "if you refuse to go. The
Black Dog has marked you for his own."
At these words the spy fell down upon his knees at Harry Urquhart’s
feet.
"Keep me with you!" he pleaded. "Give me your protection! It is to the
advantage of those men to kill me. They brought me here to do away with
my life. They do not intend that I shall live to claim my share of the
treasure, if they should ever find it."
Harry, somewhat roughly, told the man to get to his feet. Klein was an
arrant coward. Harry felt little pity for the man; yet he could not
find it in his heart to support Fernando’s heartless verdict.
"You have little right to demand our sympathy," said he. "You are an
enemy to my country and a spy; you are even a traitor to the rascals
whom formerly you were pleased to serve. You have merited the most
severe penalty which a state of war allows."
He was about to go on, when the man, losing all control of himself,
seized him by both hands and begged him to be merciful.
"I renounce everything!" he cried. "I admit my guilt, and ask you to
forgive me. I will give up all claim to a share in the treasure. I
swear to be faithful to you, if you will only get me out of this alive."
"We do not think of the treasure," said Urquhart. "We are here to
establish the innocence of an injured man and to checkmate von
Hardenberg."
"It was he who stole the Sunstone," uttered Klein.
"I know that," said Harry. "That is why we have followed him. He may
have the Black Dog of the Cameroons to aid him, but we have these two
gallant fellows, who do not seem to know what it is to fear, to
hesitate, or to give up hope."
He half turned, and with a motion of the hand indicated the two
brothers, who were seated side by side.
Fernando slowly shook his head.
"As you will," said he. "You have yet to learn that the Cameroons is no
place for clemency. I had a plan to trick the Black Dog. It was a
cruel plan perhaps. I meant to sacrifice this cur like a kid tied to a
stake to snare a tiger. However, let that pass. From to-night, I warn
you fairly, we will be even in greater danger than before. We have an
enemy to reckon with in the sheikh. At this very moment he waits on the
hill-side for his victim." Fernando pointed to Peter Klein.
"He means to take my life!" cried Klein, who was now pacing to and fro,
wringing his hands like one demented. "The moment they saw I was likely
to be of no use to them, that I was a coward who could neither handle a
rifle nor do a long day’s march without fatigue, they schemed to do away
with me. And what a place for a crime, these unknown, savage hills! In
these parts a human life is of no more importance than that of a
mosquito."
The man was overwrought, his nerves had been sadly shaken. He was on
the verge of lunacy with panic and alarm.
And yet, what he said was obviously the truth. To von Hardenberg his
presence was worse than useless, a mere encumbrance on the line of
march. In all probability Fernando was right; the Black Dog waited on
the hill-side to fall upon the poor, blind fool whom avarice had led so
far from the land where he could spy and inform in safety.
The two guides had listened to this dialogue with evident interest and
not a little amusement at the expense of Klein. It was Fernando who
again broke in upon their talk.
"We will test the sheikh," said he. "We will soon find out his
intentions."
At that he turned to his brother, and for some minutes the two spoke in
Spanish. After a while it was Cortes who approached Klein and touched
him on the arm.
"Get out of your clothes," said he. "I intend to wear them."
Peter Klein was glad enough of the chance of disguising his identity.
Cortes put on the tattered white ducks, torn in a score of places by the
thorn-trees in the bush, the pith helmet and the leather leggings, and
then returned to the fire.
There, he loaded his revolver and the magazine of his Lee-Metford
carbine. That done, without a word to his brother, he squeezed himself
through the crack in the wall, and disappeared beyond it.