THE GODS SPEAK
Through the ranks of the Kikuyu tribesmen behind and encircling
them, Jack and Frank could hear a murmur of fear that grew in volume
until the air was filled with cries of fright. The warriors forming
the inner ring of the circle shook with terror.
So, too, did those tallest of the Kikuyus forming the chief’s own
bodyguard. As for Chief Ruku-Ru, over his face spread an ashen hue.
But Frank’s programme was not yet complete. In the few minutes with
Bob and Matse in their tent beyond the grass-thatched village huts,
he had concocted a second step which he assumed would clinch their
hold over the chief and assure the complete terrorization of the
Kikuyus. Now he proceeded to put this into execution.
Standing alone in the midst of the great circle Of savage blacks,
facing the ashen chief, noting the spears of the bodyguard trembling
like forest trees in a strong wind as the hands which held them
shook with terror, he was filled with satisfaction. So far all had
gone well. Now to strike the final blow.
“Quick, Wimba,” he cried to the prisoner, who alone of that alien
multitude had any inkling as to the source of that mysterious voice
from the sky, yet who was not sufficiently civilized to be free
entirely from the terror which gripped the other blacks. “Quick,
Wimba. Translate for me.” And facing the chief, Frank cried:
“Oh, Chief Ruku-Ru, thou hast heard the response of our gods. To
show you there is none concealed within the council tree, who might
have said these things, for it is thence came the voice, I ask that
you order your warriors to discharge their arrows into the midst of
the foliage.”
Well Frank knew that in the great hollow on the back side the main
trunk, so opportunely found the previous night, the loudspeaker and
its connections would be safe from stray arrows. Furthermore, the
loop aerial employed was securely lashed amidst a thick bushy mass
of leaves, and likewise would be safe from harm.
But Chief Ruku-Ru was past giving any orders. He attempted to speak,
upon Wimba translating Frank’s words, but was unable to command his
stricken tongue. Nor did the warriors of his bodyguard upon hearing
Frank’s injunction show any inclination to shoot into the top of the
sacred tree. That they were terror-stricken was plain to be seen.
And equally plain was their reluctance to antagonize any
supernatural agency which Frank had invoked.
This Frank had counted upon. Drawing his revolver, he levelled it at
the treetops and himself announced that he would make the test. This
Wimba translated. Again a murmur of awe swept through the encircling
mass of natives.
Frank fired. Three shots he pumped into the treetop. Scarcely had
the echo died away, and before Chief Ruku-Ru or anybody else,
either, for that matter, could speak, than the voice from the air
rang again in the Kikuyu tongue.
“I am a Spirit,” it cried. “Neither white man’s thunder nor Kikuyu
arrows can avail against me. Obey, O Chief Ruku-Ru, or thy country
shall be laid under my spell. Set Wimba free.”
Neither Frank nor Jack could understand what was said. But well they
knew that Matse was merely uttering into the broadcasting phone in
their tent, while Bob manipulated the motor, those statements which
upon his signals Frank had arranged he should declaim. And that such
was the case was apparent from the profound and devastating effect
upon the chief and his followers.
It was unnecessary for Wimba to translate the messages from the air
for the boys’ benefit.
Chief Ruku-Ru managed upon the dying away of the mysterious voice to
gain some control over himself. Not for nothing was he chief. His
self-command was remarkable. The more so in view of the fact that he
was as profoundly impressed and terror-stricken by these
manifestations which Frank had evoked as was the meanest of his
followers.
He did not rise from his armchair throne, for the very good reason
that he feared his treacherous knees would give way beneath him. But
he did manage to speak.
Pointing to the two guards who clasped Wimba on either side, he
ordered them to release their prisoner. To Frank and Jack, tense and
anxious regarding the outcome of their experiment, his words were as
so much Greek. But they were left in no doubt as to their meaning.
The guards at once untied the cords binding Wimba’s wrists together
behind his back and unwound the heavier rope about his right ankle
tying him to a stake in the ground. Likewise they released their
grip on his arms. Then they bowed low to him.
A moment Wimba stood uncertain. He was dazed. He could hardly
believe his good fortune. He gazed first at the chief, then at the
encircling natives, half of whom were poised for flight, fearing a
further demonstration by the white man’s god, and finally brought
his eyes to bear upon Frank.
Then with an inarticulate cry of gratitude, he rushed across the
intervening space, and threw himself on the ground. Tears streaming
from his eyes, he clasped Frank’s feet and in broken sentences
thanked him for his deliverance.
“Get up, Wimba,” commanded Frank. “Tell Chief Ruku-Ru that our Great
Spirit is about to bless him for this deed.”
Once more Wimba faced the chief and in a voice trembling with
feeling he repeated Frank’s words.
Then Frank inflated the final step in his hastily-thought-out plan.
Setting his fingers to his lips he whistled. But this time only
twice. It was the agreed signal.
From the air boomed forth again the mysterious voice:
“O, Chief Ruku-Ru, thy name shall be great as an administrator of
justice. Thy tribe shall be fruitful, thy cattle fat, thy springs
filled with sweet water. I have spoken.”
Silence.
“Let’s make our getaway now, Frank,” whispered Jack. “We’ve gotten
out of this a whole lot better than we had any right to expect.
Don’t tempt fate too much.”
But filled with the confidence of success, Frank only smiled. He
whispered to Wimba, and the latter addressing Chief Ruku-Ru
announced that in honor of the occasion his white masters would that
night bring music from the air, and that they invited the whole
tribe to assemble after dusk before the council tree.
With this, leaving the chief and all the assemblage stunned, the
boys and Wimba departed. As they moved away, the Kikuyus opened a
passage for them in grotesque haste. Now that the strain of the
situation was over, both Frank and Jack were seized with an insane
desire to laugh. But they managed to control their emotions, and to
retain upon their faces a look of the most solemn gravity. Only when
at length they had passed out of earshot of the multitude and had
put the last of the grass-thatched huts behind them, did they give
way to their feelings. Then they flung themselves prone into the
long buffalo grass of the meadow separating the village from their
encampment and rolling over and over they simply howled with
laughter while Wimba watched them in the greatest astonishment.
“I’ll never forget that scene to my dying day,” laughed Jack,
finally.
“Nor I,” said Frank, weak from hysterical laughter. “Come on. Let’s
find Bob, and tell him how it worked out.”
Before he could strike away, however, Jack sobering turned to Wimba.
Laying a hand on Frank’s shoulder, he said:
“Wimba, here is the fellow who saved your life. It was his idea.
He’ll explain it all to you. It is to him you must give your thanks
first, and then to your comrade Matse who helped.”
“Oh, come, Jack,” said Frank uncomfortably. But Wimba threw himself
once more at Frank’s feet.
“My life belong you, baas,” he said in a choking voice.