ONE GOOD TURN
Camp was broken at the first faint streaks of dawn the next day. Mr.
Hampton was eager to penetrate farther up-country in order to get
into a big game region of which he had heard reports. And by the
time day had fully broken, the column was on its way.
Looking back from the top of a little hill, the three boys could see
the village of Chief Ruku-Ru, which they had skirted, still sleeping
after its exciting night. Ahead, through the long buffalo grass,
wound the bearers under the direction of Wimba and Matse, each man
either carrying a bundle on his head or else supporting on his
shoulders one end of a pole from which was slung one of the more
bulky articles of equipment, while a companion upheld the other.
Then they dropped down on the other side of the rise, and the
village was lost to view.
“I wonder if we’ll ever pass that way again,” mused Jack.
“If we do,” said Frank, “there’ll be an ebony, chieftain looking for
War Chief Mikalwa’s scalp.”
“What do you mean, looking for my scalp?” demanded Bob.
“Oh, nothing,” said Frank, airily. “Only when Chief Ruku-Ru goes to
put on his headpiece after we’ve left and thinks he’s going to hear
a concert, how do you think he’ll regard you?”
Bob laughed. “Well he had a good time with it last night. And,
besides, possession of that set will always mean something to him.
It’s white man’s magic. And that alone will raise him in the esteem
of his people.”
After putting the village behind them, the party settled down to
continuous travel, for the big game country for which Mr. Hampton
was heading lay ten days travel to the northwest. The marches were
made in the early morning and late afternoon. During the heat of the
day, there was a halt of four hours, as travel would have been too
arduous and, indeed, dangerous in the extreme under that blazing
sun.
Hot though the days were, however, the nights were cool. And so the
boys hot only managed to hold out without falling ill, but even
enjoyed the trip. Their irrepressible spirits, moreover, came to the
fore. And on several occasions they played practical jokes on each
other which were the cause of much laughter on the part of Mr.
Hampton and Niellsen.
One such occurred after they had been on the march more than a week
and were encamped one night near the bank of a river on the edge of
the big game country.
The day had been hot and breathless, but the night had turned cool.
And after camp was pitched, the boys with Mr. Hampton and Niellsen
were gathered about a camp fire not far from their tent. Niellsen
who had taken motion pictures in many out-of-the-way corners of the
world had been telling of some of his experience.
“And so,” he concluded, “when I turned back my bed before jumping in
that night, I found a puff-adder all curled up nicely there for a
snooze. You fellows have often asked me why I always look into my
bed before hopping in. Well, that’s the reason.”
“Brrr,” shuddered Bob, “if there’s anything I detest it’s a snake.
And puff-adders are the deadliest in the world, aren’t they?”
“They are that,” said Niellsen, emphatically. “While that is true,
though,” added Mr. Hampton, “yet the deaths from snake bites are
remarkably few in Africa. The natives have various antidotes. And
many a man who has been bitten by one or other of the various
poisonous snakes of Africa, even by the puff-adder, has failed to
die of his injury. However, I for one have no desire to be bitten.
Well, let’s turn in, fellows. We want to make an early start
tomorrow and try and find some place where we can ford this river.”
Then, noting with surprise the absence of Jack and Frank, whom he
had failed to see slip away several minutes before, he asked what
had become of them. But so quiet had been their departure that
neither of the others had noted it.
“Maybe they’ve already turned in,” said Niellsen, getting up and
stretching.
All three set out for their tents, and a look into that shared by
the three boys showed Jack and Frank already snuggled down in their
“flea” bags.
Good nights were said, and then Mr. Hampton and Niellsen parting
company with Bob went to their tent. So fatigued was the big fellow
after an arduous day of marching that he was half-asleep, while
disrobing, and he tumbled into his sleeping bag unaware of the fact
that his comrades watched his every movement alertly through slitted
eyelids.
One long sigh he gave, the kind a fellow emits just before settling
down to a good night’s sleep. He squirmed once or twice, making
himself comfortable. Then his eyes closed and he fall into that
half-waking, half-sleeping stage from which insensibly one drifts
into profound slumber.
Suddenly his every nerve quivered. He was just on the point of
drawing his body together and springing up, blankets and all, when
he recalled the advice given him for just such an emergency and by
an effort of will controlled his nerves so that he lay perfectly
still and motionless. But what an effort was required! For big Bob
felt something clammy and cold touch his leg, something alive,
something that moved and wriggled and was gliding alongside his body
toward his head.
Undoubtedly, it was a snake. Into his mind leaped recollection of
what had been said only a short time previously about the camp fire
on the subject of snakes.
Niellsen had said puff-adders were the deadliest of snakes, and
likewise that they preferred to coil themselves in a fellow’s
bedding. This must be a puff-adder, nothing less.
If a fellow exhibited no sign of life when in the vicinity of a
snake, Mr. Hampton had earlier declared, the reptile might fail to
become alarmed and might glide away without striking. It was his
only chance. And big Bob, suffering agonies of mental torture,
nevertheless exercised an iron self-control and lay without moving a
muscle.
But not for long could he or anyone control himself under such
conditions. Hot eyeballs glaring into the darkness began to see
pinwheels and rockets. He felt as if his chest would burst. In
another moment, he must let go, and leap up, no matter what the
consequences.
All this time the clammy something had been creeping farther and
farther up Bob’s body. Now it came to his thigh, and then he could
feel it on his abdomen. Bob couldn’t stand the torture of passivity
any longer. He was just on the verge of crying out in horror, when
realization came to him with a jolt that the something, whatever it
was, was crawling, not gliding, crawling on four legs. Therefore, it
couldn’t be a snake.
One bound shot Bob out of his blankets. He seized an electric torch
which he always kept near at hand, and whirling about focused its
brilliant gleam upon his “flea” bag. There, in the middle of the
blankets, blinking in the white glare, sat an insignificant little
green frog.
Which felt the smaller—the surprised froglet or the chagrined Bob—it
is difficult to say.
Suddenly a flash of realization came to him. He saw it all. Frank
and Jack had slipped away and preceded him to the tent. Camp was
near the river bank. It would have been easy enough to walk along
the edge of the stream with a flashlight, and by its glare surprise
a frog and capture it. Easy enough, indeed; and, undoubtedly, that
was what had been done. Then the two rascals had put the frog in his
blankets.
Assured of this, Bob’s first idea was to tumble his comrades out of
bed at once and roughhouse them. He had been badly scared. In fact,
his nerves still quivered. He considered they had gone a bit too far
in the matter of practical joking. Then he decided against instant
action.
That was just what they would be looking for. Undoubtedly, they were
awake and watching his every movement, enjoying his discomfiture. If
he started to tumble them about, they would join forces against him.
The result would be a rough-and-tumble combat, endangering the
safety of various articles of equipment scattered about the tent.
“I’ll not give them any satisfaction,” thought Bob. “I’ll just turn
in, and not say anything. They’ll be worried as to what I mean to
do. And when my chance comes—”
Switching off the flashlight, and tossing the frog aside, he crawled
back into his blankets. Once he believed he heard a subdued chuckle,
whether on the part of Frank or Jack he could not decide. But
nothing was said to him.
As for the others, they felt foolish. Both experienced an
uncomfortable sense that their practical-joke had been too startling
in character. Besides, old Bob had robbed them of their enjoyment by
refusing to display resentment.
Presently, all three were asleep.
But Bob was first to wake. He had an infallible system. If he
decided on retiring that he wanted to wake at a certain hour, at
that hour he would wake. It is a power many people possess. Bob
called it “setting his mental alarm clock.”
At four-thirty his eyes flew open and after a few seconds spent in
collecting his thoughts, he carefully surveyed the interior of the
tent without stirring or making a sound. Darkness had gone, and a
dim gray light penetrated the tent walls, making it possible to
distinguish objects. Bob could see his comrades, both sleeping
soundly. He smiled in satisfaction.
Crawling out of his blankets, he dressed with infinite caution to
avoid making any sound which might disturb the sleepers. Then he
stole away to the bearers’ camp. The Negroes still slept, but Bob
shook Wimba into wakefulness and then held whispered consultation
with him.
“Move fast, now,” he concluded, “so as to get ’em before they wake.”
Wimba, whose primitive nature took the keenest relish in practical
jokes, nodded vigorously. Then he wakened half a dozen of the
bearers and spoke to them in their own tongue. All grinned and
several, glancing toward Bob sat at one side watching them, laughed
outright and nodded as if in encouragement.
This was enough for Bob, who felt certain the surprise he was
planning for his comrades, in return for the trick played upon him
the previous night, would go through successfully, if only the
Negroes did not delay overlong in their necessary preparations.
Regarding the latter, however, a glance assured him there was not
going to be any undue delay, for the Negroes selected were rapidly
becoming most fearsome looking objects, as they daubed faces and
bodies with the ghastly white clay used as war paint by the Kikuyu
warrior when he is about to go on the warpath.
“All ready, baas,” reported Wimba, approaching Bob with one of the
bepainted bearers trailing behind him and tying his wrists loosely
behind his back. For Wimba was to appear to be taken prisoner by a
party of Kikuyus from the Bone Crusher’s clan, and to that end he
was being tied up.
Bob was delighted with the speed displayed.
“Very good, Wimba,” he said. “I’ll slip back into my tent now and
crawl into bed. Now, you’re sure you understand what to say?”
The jolly black laughed. “Oh, me un’erstand, baas. Him funny. Leave
to Wimba.”
“Good,” said Bob. “Then I’ll be off. Do you follow in five minutes.”
As he approached his tent, Bob wondered whether his comrades had
waked yet by any chance. It was too early for them. But if they had
waked, and had noted his absence, the probability was they would
become suspicious when Wimba and the “war party” appeared on the
scene.
A hasty look about, however, reassured him. The boys had not moved
from the positions in which he had left them. They were sleeping
evenly. If either had been snoring, Bob would have suspected
feigning. But such was not the case.
Smiling satisfiedly, he hastily disrobed and got back into his
“flea” bag. Hardly had he settled down again, than Wimba poked his
head into the tent and, catching Bob’s meaning glance and nod of the
head, shouldered his way inside, hands bound behind him. And close
at his heels came six of the most fearful looking warriors one could
find in all Africa.