THE MEETING IN THE DESERT
Now I do not propose to describe all our journey to Kendahland, or at
any rate the first part thereof. It was interesting enough in its way
and we met with a few hunting adventures, also some others. But there
is so much to tell of what happened to us after we reached the place
that I have not the time, even if I had the inclination to set all
these matters down. Let it be sufficient, then, to say that although
owing to political events the country happened to be rather disturbed
at the time, we trekked through Zululand without any great difficulty.
For here my name was a power in the land and all parties united to help
me. Thence, too, I managed to dispatch three messengers, half-bred
border men, lean fellows and swift of foot, forward to the king of the
Mazitu, as Hans had suggested that I should do, advising him that his
old friends, Macumazana, Watcher-by-Night, and the yellow man who was
named Light-in-Darkness and Lord-of-the-Fire, were about to visit him
again.
As I knew we could not take the wagons beyond a certain point where
there was a river called the Luba, unfordable by anything on wheels, I
requested him, moreover, to send a hundred bearers with whatever escort
might be necessary, to meet us on the banks of that river at a spot
which was known to both of us. These words the messengers promised to
deliver for a fee of five head of cattle apiece, to be paid on their
return, or to their families if they died on the road, which cattle we
purchased and left in charge of a chief, who was their kinsman. As it
happened two of the poor fellows did die, one of them of cold in a
swamp through which they took a short cut, and the other at the teeth
of a hungry lion. The third, however, won through and delivered the
message.
After resting for a fortnight in the northern parts of Zululand, to
give time to our wayworn oxen to get some flesh on their bones in the
warm bushveld where grass was plentiful even in the dry season, we
trekked forward by a route known to Hans and myself. Indeed it was the
same which we had followed on our journey from Mazituland after our
expedition in search for the Holy Flower.
We took with us a small army of Zulu bearers. This, although they were
difficult to feed in a country where no corn could be bought, proved
fortunate in the end, since so many of our cattle died from tsetse bite
that we were obliged to abandon one of the wagons, which meant that the
goods it contained must be carried by men. At length we reached the
banks of the river, and camped there one night by three tall peaks of
rock which the natives called “The Three Doctors,” where I had
instructed the messengers to tell the Mazitu to meet us. For four days
we remained here, since rains in the interior had made the river quite
impassable. Every morning I climbed the tallest of the “Doctors” and
with my glasses looked over its broad yellow flood, searching the wide,
bush-clad land beyond in the hope of discovering the Mazitu advancing
to meet us. Not a man was to be seen, however, and on the fourth
evening, as the river had now become fordable, we determined that we
would cross on the morrow, leaving the remaining wagon, which it was
impossible to drag over its rocky bottom, to be taken back to Natal by
our drivers.
Here a difficulty arose. No promise of reward would induce any of our
Zulu bearers even to wet their feet in the waters of this River Luba,
which for some reason that I could not extract from them they declared
to be _tagati_, that is, bewitched, to people of their blood. When I
pointed out that three Zulus had already undertaken to cross it, they
answered that those men were half-breeds, so that for them it was only
half bewitched, but they thought that even so one or more of them would
pay the penalty of death for this rash crime.
It chanced that this happened, for, as I have said, two of the poor
fellows did die, though not, I think, owing to the magical properties
of the waters of the Luba. This is how African superstitions are kept
alive. Sooner or later some saying of the sort fulfils itself and then
the instance is remembered and handed down for generations, while other
instances in which nothing out of the common has occurred are not
heeded, or are forgotten.
This decision on the part of those stupid Zulus put us in an awkward
fix, since it was impossible for us to carry over all our baggage and
ammunition without help. Therefore glad was I when before dawn on the
fifth morning the nocturnal Hans crept into the wagon, in the after
part of which Ragnall and I were sleeping, and informed us that he
heard men’s voices on the farther side of the river, though how he
could hear anything above that roar of water passed my comprehension.
At the first break of dawn again we climbed the tallest of the “Doctor”
rocks and stared into the mist. At length it rolled away and there on
the farther side of the river I saw quite a hundred men who by their
dress and spears I knew to be Mazitu. They saw me also and raising a
cheer, dashed into the water, groups of them holding each other round
the middle to prevent their being swept away. Thereupon our silly Zulus
seized their spears and formed up upon the bank. I slid down the steep
side of the “Great Doctor” and ran forward, calling out that these were
friends who came.
“Friends or foes,” answered their captain sullenly, “it is a pity that
we should walk so far and not have a fight with those Mazitu dogs.”
Well, I drove them off to a distance, not knowing what might happen if
the two peoples met, and then went down to the bank. By now the Mazitu
were near, and to my delight at the head of them I perceived no other
than my old friend, their chief general, Babemba, a one-eyed man with
whom Hans and I had shared many adventures. Through the water he
plunged with great bounds and reaching the shore, greeted me literally
with rapture.
“O Macumazana,” he said, “little did I hope that ever again I should
look upon your face. Welcome to you, a thousand welcomes, and to you
too, Light-in-Darkness, Lord-of-the-Fire, Cunning-one whose wit saved
us in the battle of the Gate. But where is Dogeetah, where is Wazeela,
and where are the Mother and the Child of the Flower?”
“Far away across the Black Water, Babemba,” I answered. “But here are
two others in place of them,” and I introduced him to Ragnall and
Savage by their native names of Igeza and Bena.
He contemplated them for a moment, then said:
“This,” pointing to Ragnall, “is a great lord, but this,” pointing to
Savage, who was much the better dressed of the two, “is a cock of the
ashpit arrayed in an eagle’s feathers,” a remark I did not translate,
but one which caused Hans to snigger vacuously.
While we breakfasted on food prepared by the “Cock of the Ashpit,” who
amongst many other merits had that of being an excellent cook, I heard
all the news. Bausi the king was dead but had been succeeded by one of
his sons, also named Bausi, whom I remembered. Beza-Town had been
rebuilt after the great fire that destroyed the slavers, and much more
strongly fortified than before. Of the slavers themselves nothing more
had been seen, or of the Pongo either, though the Mazitu declared that
their ghosts, or those of their victims, still haunted the island in
the lake. That was all, except the ill tidings as to two of our
messengers which the third, who had returned with the Mazitu, reported
to us.
After breakfast I addressed and sent away our Zulus, each with a
handsome present from the trade goods, giving into their charge the
remaining wagon and our servants, none of whom, somewhat to my relief,
wished to accompany us farther. They sang their song of good-bye,
saluted and departed over the rise, still looking hungrily behind them
at the Mazitu, and we were very pleased to see the last of them without
bloodshed or trouble.
When we had watched the white tilt of the wagon vanish, we set to work
to get ourselves and our goods across the river. This we accomplished
safely, for the Mazitu worked for us like friends and not as do hired
men. On the farther bank, however, it took us two full days so to
divide up the loads that the bearers could carry them without being
overladen.
At length all was arranged and we started. Of the month’s trek that
followed there is nothing to tell, except that we completed it without
notable accidents and at last reached the new Beza-Town, which much
resembled the old, where we were accorded a great public reception.
Bausi II himself headed the procession which met us outside the south
gate on that very mound which we had occupied in the great fight, where
the bones of the gallant Mavovo and my other hunters lay buried. Almost
did it seem to me as though I could hear their deep voices joining in
the shouts of welcome.
That night, while the Mazitu feasted in our honour, we held an _indaba_
in the big new guest house with Bausi II, a pleasant-faced young man,
and old Babemba. The king asked us how long we meant to stay at
Beza-Town, intimating his hope that the visit would be prolonged. I
replied, but a few days, as we were travelling far to the north to find
a people called the Kendah whom we wished to see, and hoped that he
would give us bearers to carry our goods as far as the confines of
their country. At the name of Kendah a look of astonishment appeared
upon their faces and Babemba said:
“Has madness seized you, Macumazana, that you would attempt this thing?
Oh surely you must be mad.”
“You thought us mad, Babemba, when we crossed the lake to Rica Town,
yet we came back safely.”
“True, Macumazana, but compared to the Kendah the Pongo were but as the
smallest star before the face of the sun.”
“What do you know of them then?” I asked. “But stay—before you answer,
I will speak what I know,” and I repeated what I had learned from Hans,
who confirmed my words, and from Harût and Marût, leaving out, however,
any mention of their dealings with Lady Ragnall.
“It is all true,” said Babemba when I had finished, “for that old woman
of whom Light-in-the-Darkness speaks, was one of the wives of my uncle
and I knew her well. Hearken! These Kendah are a terrible nation and
countless in number and of all the people the fiercest. Their king is
called Simba, which means Lion. He who rules is always called Simba,
and has been so called for hundreds of years. He is of the Black Kendah
whose god is the elephant Jana, but as Light-in-Darkness has said,
there are also the White Kendah who are Arab men, the priests and
traders of the people. The Kendah will allow no stranger within their
doors; if one comes they kill him by torment, or blind him and turn him
out into the desert which surrounds their country, there to die. These
things the old woman who married my uncle told me, as she told them to
Light-in-Darkness, also I have heard them from others, and what she did
not tell me, that the White Kendah are great breeders of the beasts
called camels which they sell to the Arabs of the north. Go not near
them, for if you pass the desert the Black Kendah will kill you; and if
you escape these, then their king, Simba, will kill you; and if you
escape him, then their god Jana will kill you; and if you escape him,
then their white priests will kill you with their magic. Oh! long
before you look upon the faces of those priests you will be dead many
times over.”
“Then why did they ask me to visit them, Babemba?”
“I know not, Macumazana, but perhaps because they wished to make an
offering of you to the god Jana, whom no spear can harm; no, nor even
your bullets that pierce a tree.”
“I am willing to make trial of that matter,” I answered confidently,
“and any way we must go to see these things for ourselves.”
“Yes,” echoed Ragnall, “we must certainly go,” while even Savage, for I
had been translating to them all this while, nodded his head although
he looked as though he would much rather stay behind.
“Ask him if there are any snakes there, sir,” he said, and foolishly
enough I put the question to give me time to think of other things.
“Yes, O Bena. Yes, O Cock of the Ashpit,” replied Babemba. “My uncle’s
Kendar wife told me that one of the guardians of the shrine of the
White Kendah is such a snake as was never seen elsewhere in the world.”
“Then say to him, sir,” said Savage, when I had translated almost
automatically, “that shrine ain’t a church where _I_ shall go to say my
prayers.”
Alas! poor Savage little knew the future and its gifts.
Then we came to the question of bearers. The end of it was that after
some hesitation Bausi II, because of his great affection for us,
promised to provide us with these upon our solemnly undertaking to
dismiss them at the borders of the desert, “so that they might escape
our doom,” as he remarked cheerfully.
Four days later we started, accompanied by about one hundred and twenty
picked men under the command of old Babemba himself, who, he explained,
wished to be the last to see us alive in the world. This was
depressing, but other circumstances connected with our start were
calculated to weigh even more upon my spirit. Thus the night before we
left Hans arrived and asked me to “write a paper” for him. I inquired
what he wanted me to put in the paper. He replied that as he was going
to his death and had property, namely the £650 that had been left in a
bank to his credit, he desired to make a “white man’s will” to be left
in the charge of Babemba. The only provision of the said will was that
I was to inherit his property, if I lived. If I died, which, he added,
“of course you must, Baas, like the rest of us,” it was to be devoted
to furnishing poor black people in hospital with something comforting
to drink instead of the “cow’s water” that was given to them there.
Needless to say I turned him out at once, and that testamentary
deposition remained unrecorded. Indeed it was unnecessary, since, as I
reminded him, on my advice he had already made a will before we left
Durban, a circumstance that he had quite forgotten.
The second event, which occurred about an hour before our departure,
was, that hearing a mighty wailing in the market-place where once Hans
and I had been tied to stakes to be shot to death with arrows, I went
out to see what was the matter. At the gateway I was greeted by the
sight of about a hundred old women plastered all over with ashes,
engaged in howling their loudest in a melancholy unison. Behind these
stood the entire population of Beza-Town, who chanted a kind of chorus.
“What the devil are they doing?” I asked of Hans.
“Singing our death-song, Baas,” he replied stolidly, “as they say that
where we are going no one will take the trouble to do so, and it is not
right that great lords should die and the heavens above remain
uninformed that they are coming.”
“That’s cheerful,” I remarked, and wheeling round, asked Ragnall
straight out if he wished to persevere in this business, for to tell
the truth my nerve was shaken.
“I must,” he answered simply, “but there is no reason why you and Hans
should, or Savage either for the matter of that.”
“Oh! I’m going where you go,” I said, “and where I go Hans will go.
Savage must speak for himself.”
This he did and to the same effect, being a very honest and faithful
man. It was the more to his credit since, as he informed me in private,
he did not enjoy African adventure and often dreamed at nights of his
comfortable room at Ragnall whence he superintended the social
activities of that great establishment.
So we departed and marched for the matter of a month or more through
every kind of country. After we had passed the head of the great lake
wherein lay the island, if it really was an island, where the Pongo
used to dwell (one clear morning through my glasses I discerned the
mountain top that marked the former residence of the Mother of the
Flower, and by contrast it made me feel quite homesick), we struck up
north, following a route known to Babemba and our guides. After this we
steered by the stars through a land with very few inhabitants, timid
and nondescript folk who dwelt in scattered villages and scarcely
understood the art of cultivating the soil, even in its most primitive
form.
A hundred miles or so farther on these villages ceased and
thenceforward we only encountered some nomads, little bushmen who lived
on game which they shot with poisoned arrows. Once they attacked us and
killed two of the Mazitu with those horrid arrows, against the venom of
which no remedy that we had in our medicine chest proved of any avail.
On this occasion Savage exhibited his courage if not his discretion,
for rushing out of our thorn fence, after missing a bushman with both
barrels at a distance of five yards—he was, I think, the worst shot I
ever saw—he seized the little viper with his hands and dragged him back
to camp. How Savage escaped with his life I do not know, for one
poisoned arrow went through his hat and stuck in his hair and another
just grazed his leg without drawing blood.
This valorous deed was of great service to us, since we were able
through Hans, who knew something of the bushmen’s language, to explain
to our prisoner that if we were shot at again he would be hung. This
information he contrived to shout, or rather to squeak and grunt, to
his amiable tribe, of which it appeared he was a kind of chief, with
the result that we were no more molested. Later, when we were clear of
the bushmen country, we let him depart, which he did with great
rapidity.
By degrees the land grew more and more barren and utterly devoid of
inhabitants, till at last it merged into desert. At the edge of this
desert which rolled away without apparent limit we came, however, to a
kind of oasis where there was a strong and beautiful spring of water
that formed a stream which soon lost itself in the surrounding sand. As
we could go no farther, for even if we had wished to do so, and were
able to find water there, the Mazitu refused to accompany us into the
desert, not knowing what else to do, we camped in the oasis and waited.
As it happened, the place was a kind of hunter’s paradise, since every
kind of game, large and small, came to the water to drink at night, and
in the daytime browsed upon the saltish grass that at this season of
the year grew plentifully upon the edge of the wilderness.
Amongst other creatures there were elephants in plenty that travelled
hither out of the bushlands we had passed, or sometimes emerged from
the desert itself, suggesting that beyond this waste there lay fertile
country. So numerous were these great beasts indeed that for my part I
hoped earnestly that it would prove impossible for us to continue our
journey, since I saw that in a few months I could collect an enormous
amount of ivory, enough to make me comparatively rich, if only I were
able to get it away. As it was we only killed a few of them, ten in all
to be accurate, that we might send back the tusks as presents to Bausi
II. To slaughter the poor animals uselessly was cruel, especially as
being unaccustomed to the sight of man, they were as easy to approach
as cows. Even Savage slew one—by carefully aiming at another five paces
to its left.
For the rest we lived on the fat of the land and, as meat was necessary
to us, had as much sport as we could desire among the various antelope.
For fourteen days or so this went on, till at length we grew thoroughly
tired of the business, as did the Mazitu, who were so gorged with flesh
that they began to desire vegetable food. Twice we rode as far into the
desert as we dared, for our horses remained to us and had grown fresh
again after the rest, but only to return without information. The place
was just a vast wilderness strewn with brown stones beautifully
polished by the wind-driven sand of ages, and quite devoid of water.
After our second trip, on which we suffered severely from thirst, we
held a consultation. Old Babemba said that he could keep his men no
longer, even for us, as they insisted upon returning home, and inquired
what we meant to do and why we sat here “like a stone.” I answered that
we were waiting for some of the Kendah who had bid me to shoot game
hereabouts until they arrived to be our guides. He remarked that the
Kendah to the best of his belief lived in a country that was still
hundreds of miles away and that, as they did not know of our presence,
any communication across the desert being impossible, our proceedings
seemed to be foolish.
I retorted that I was not quite so sure of this, since the Kendah
seemed to have remarkable ways of acquiring information.
“Then, Macumazana, I fear that you will have to wait by yourselves
until you discover which of us is right,” he said stolidly.
Turning to Ragnall, I asked him what he would do, pointing out that to
journey into the desert meant death, especially as we did not know
whither we were going, and that to return alone, without the stores
which we must abandon, through the country of the bushmen to
Mazituland, would also be a risky proceeding. However, it was for him
to decide.
Now he grew much perturbed. Taking me apart again he dwelt earnestly
upon his secret reasons for wishing to visit these Kendah, with which
of course I was already acquainted, as indeed was Savage.
“I desire to stay here,” he ended.
“Which means that we must all stay, Ragnall, since Savage will not
desert you. Nor will Hans desert me although he thinks us mad. He
points out that I came to seek ivory and here about is ivory in plenty
for the trouble of taking.”
“I might remain alone, Quatermain——” he began, but I looked at him in
such a way that he never finished the sentence.
Ultimately we came to a compromise. Babemba, on behalf of the Mazitu,
agreed to wait three more days. If nothing happened during that period
we on our part agreed to return with them to a stretch of well-watered
bush about fifty miles behind us, which we knew swarmed with elephants,
that by now were growing shy of approaching our oasis where there was
so much noise and shooting. There we would kill as much ivory as we
could carry, an operation in which they were willing to assist for the
fun of it, and then go back with them to Mazituland.
The three days went by and with every hour that passed my spirits rose,
as did those of Savage and Hans, while Lord Ragnall became more and
more depressed. The third afternoon was devoted to a jubilant packing
of loads, for in accordance with the terms of our bargain we were to
start backwards on our spoor at dawn upon the morrow. Most happily did
I lay myself down to sleep in my little bough shelter that night,
feeling that at last I was rid of an uncommonly awkward adventure. If I
thought that we could do any good by staying on, it would have been
another matter. But as I was certain that there was no earthly chance
of our finding among the Kendah—if ever we reached them—the lady who
had tumbled in the Nile in Egypt, well, I was glad that Providence had
been so good as to make it impossible for us to commit suicide by
thirst in a desert, or otherwise. For, notwithstanding my former
reasonings to the contrary, I was now convinced that this was what had
happened to poor Ragnall’s wife.
That, however, was just what Providence had not done. In the middle of
the night, to be precise, at exactly two in the morning, I was awakened
by Hans, who slept at the back of my shanty, into which he had crept
through a hole in the faggots, exclaiming in a frightened voice,
“Open your eyes and look, Baas. There are two _spooks_ waiting to see
you outside, Baas.”
Very cautiously I lifted myself a little and stared out into the
moonlight. There, seated about five paces from the open end of the hut
were the “spooks” sure enough, two white-robed figures squatting silent
and immovable on the ground. At first I was frightened. Then I
bethought me of thieves and felt for my Colt pistol under the rug that
served me as a pillow. As I got hold of the handle, however, a deep
voice said:
“Is it your custom, O Macumazana, Watcher-by-Night, to receive guests
with bullets?”
Now thought I to myself, who is there in the world who could see a man
catch hold of the handle of a pistol in the recesses of a dark place
and under a blanket at night, except the owner of that voice which I
seemed to remember hearing in a certain drawing-room in England?
“Yes, Harût,” I answered with an unconcerned yawn, “when the guests
come in such a doubtful fashion and in the middle of the night. But as
you are here at last, will you be so good as to tell us why you have
kept us waiting all this time? Is that your way of fulfilling an
engagement?”
“O Lord Macumazana,” answered Harût, for of course it was he, in quite
a perturbed tone, “I offer to you our humble apologies. The truth is
that when we heard of your arrival at Beza-Town we started, or tried to
start, from hundreds of miles away to keep our tryst with you here as
we promised we would do. But we are mortal, Macumazana, and accidents
intervened. Thus, when we had ascertained the weight of your baggage,
camels had to be collected to carry it, which were grazing at a
distance. Also it was necessary to send forward to dig out a certain
well in the desert where they must drink. Hence the delay. Still, you
will admit that we have arrived in time, five, or at any rate four
hours before the rising of that sun which was to light you on your
homeward way.”
“Yes, you have, O Prophets, or O Liars, whichever you may be,” I
exclaimed with pardonable exasperation, for really their knowledge of
my private affairs, however obtained, was enough to anger a saint. “So
as you are here at last, come in and have a drink, for whether you are
men or devils, you must be cold out there in the damp.”
In they came accordingly, and, not being Mohammedans, partook of a tot
of square-face from a bottle which I kept locked in a box to put Hans
beyond the reach of temptation.
“To your health, Harût and Marût,” I said, drinking a little out of the
pannikin and giving the rest to Hans, who gulped the fiery liquor down
with a smack of his lips. For I will admit that I joined in this unholy
midnight potation to gain time for thought and to steady my nerve.
“To your health, O Lord Macumazana,” the pair answered as they
swallowed their tots, which I had made pretty stiff, and set down their
pannikins in front of them with as much reverence as though these had
been holy vessels.
“Now,” I said, throwing a blanket over my shoulders, for the air was
chilly, “now let us talk,” and taking the lantern which Hans had
thoughtfully lighted, I held it up and contemplated them.
There they were, Harût and Marût without doubt, to all appearance
totally unchanged since some years before I had seen them at Ragnall in
England. “What are you doing here?” I asked in a kind of fiery
indignation inspired by my intense curiosity. “How did you get out of
England after you had tried to steal away the lady to whom you sent the
necklace? What did you do with that lady after you had beguiled her
from the boat at Abu-Simbel? In the name of your Holy Child, or of
Shaitan of the Mohammedans, or of Set of the Egyptians, answer me, lest
I should make an end of both of you, which I can do here without any
questions being asked,” and I whipped out my pistol.
“Pardon us,” said Harût with a grave smile, “but if you were to do as
you say, Lord Macumazana, many questions would be asked which _you_
might find it hard to answer. So be pleased to put that death-dealer
back into its place, and to tell us before we reply to you, what you
know of Set of the Egyptians.”
“As much or as little as you do,” I replied.
Both bowed as though this information were of the most satisfactory
order. Then Harût went on: “In reply to your requests, O Macumazana, we
left England by a steamboat and in due course after long journeyings we
reached our own country. We do not understand your allusions to a place
called Abu-Simbel on the Nile, whence, never having been there, we have
taken no lady. Indeed, we never meant to take that lady to whom we sent
a necklace in England. We only meant to ask certain questions of her,
as she had the gift of vision, when you appeared and interrupted us.
What should we want with white ladies, who have already far too many of
our own?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “but I do know that you are the biggest
liars I ever met.”
At these words, which some might have thought insulting, Harût and
Marût bowed again as though to acknowledge a great compliment. Then
Harût said:
“Let us leave the question of ladies and come to matters that have to
do with men. You are here as we told you that you would be at a time
when you did not believe us, and we here to meet _you_, as we told you
that we would be. How we knew that you were coming and how we came do
not matter at all. Believe what you will. Are you ready to start with
us, O Lord Macumazana, that you may bring to its death the wicked
elephant Jana which ravages our land, and receive the great reward of
ivory? If so, your camel waits.”
“One camel cannot carry four men,” I answered, avoiding the question.
“In courage and skill you are more than many men, O Macumazana, yet in
body you are but one and not four.”
“If you think that I am going with you alone, you are much mistaken,
Harût and Marût,” I exclaimed. “Here with me is my servant without whom
I do not stir,” and I pointed to Hans, whom they contemplated gravely.
“Also there is the Lord Ragnall, who in this land is named Igeza, and
his servant who here is named Bena, the man out of whom you drew snakes
in the room in England. They also must accompany us.”
At this news the impassive countenances of Harût and Marût showed, I
thought, some signs of disturbance. They muttered together in an
unknown tongue. Then Harût said:
“Our secret land is open to you alone, O Macumazana, for one purpose
only—to kill the elephant Jana, for which deed we promise you a great
reward. We do not wish to see the others there.”
“Then you can kill your own elephant, Harût and Marût, for not one step
do I go with you. Why should I when there is as much ivory here as I
want, to be had for the shooting?”
“How if we take you, O Macumazana?”
“How if I kill you both, O Harût and Marût? Fools, here are many brave
men at my command, and if you or any with you want fighting it shall be
given you in plenty. Hans, bid the Mazitu stand to their arms and
summon Igeza and Bena.”
“Stay, Lord,” said Harût, “and put down that weapon,” for once more I
had produced the pistol. “We would not begin our fellowship by shedding
blood, though we are safer from you than you think. Your companions
shall accompany you to the land of the Kendah, but let them know that
they do so at their own risk. Learn that it is revealed to us that if
they go in there some of them will pass out again as spirits but not as
men.”
“Do you mean that you will murder them?”
“No. We mean that yonder are some stronger than us or any men, who will
take their lives in sacrifice. Not yours, Macumazana, for that, it is
decreed, is safe, but those of two of the others, which two we do not
know.”
“Indeed, Harût and Marût, and how am I to be sure that any of us are
safe, or that you do not but trick us to your country, there to kill us
with treachery and steal our goods?”
“Because we swear it by the oath that may not be broken; we swear it by
the Heavenly Child,” both of them exclaimed solemnly, speaking with one
voice and bowing till their foreheads almost touched the ground.
I shrugged my shoulders and laughed a little.
“You do not believe us,” went on Harût, “who have not heard what
happens to those who break this oath. Come now and see something.
Within five paces of your hut is a tall ant-heap upon which doubtless
you have been accustomed to stand and overlook the desert.” (This was
true, but how did they guess it, I wondered.) “Go climb that ant-heap
once more.”
Perhaps it was rash, but my curiosity led me to accept this invitation.
Out I went, followed by Hans with a loaded double-barrelled rifle, and
scrambled up the ant-heap which, as it was twenty feet high and there
were no trees just here, commanded a very fine view of the desert
beyond.
“Look to the north,” said Harût from its foot.
I looked, and there in the bright moonlight five or six hundred yards
away, ranged rank by rank upon a slope of sand and along the crest of
the ridge beyond, I saw quite two hundred kneeling camels, and by each
camel a tall, white-robed figure who held in his hand a long lance to
the shaft of which, not far beneath the blade, was attached a little
flag. For a while I stared to make sure that I was not the victim of an
illusion or a mirage. Then when I had satisfied myself that these were
indeed men and camels I descended from the ant-heap.
“You will admit, Macumazana,” said Harût politely, “that if we had
meant you any ill, with such a force it would have been easy for us to
take a sleeping camp at night. But these men come here to be your
escort, not to kill or enslave you or yours. And, Macumazana, we have
sworn to you the oath that may not be broken. Now we go to our people.
In the morning, after you have eaten, we will return again unarmed and
alone.”
Then like shadows they slipped away.