"Are they at a well?"
"No. They are without water."
"Then as this is the only well for about a hundred miles, they'll arrive
here to-day--eh?"
"Of course. That's why I came straight to warn you. There's no time to
be lost. Let's strike camp and get away. It's skip or fight."
"If we skeep--I suppose you mean march--ah! your English language!--then
they will skeep in pretty quick time after us. They've got wind of our
presence in the vicinity, therefore why not remain and fight?"
"Fight my own people?" cried Snape. "No, I'm damned if I do!"
"Why not?" asked the Belgian, with gesticulation. "Our Touaregs will
slice them into mincemeat. Besides, at long range they're as good
shots, and better, than those Soudanese, all fez and swagger."
"No," the Englishman argued. "Let's fly now, while there's time. In
two days we shall be in the Nioukour, and they'll never find us in the
mountains. We hid there quite snugly once before, you recollect."
"Muhala," said the Belgian, turning to the old negress, "go. Call
Yakub, and remain outside."
The hideous old woman went forth into the sun glare, and in a few
moments an old thin-faced Touareg entered, making a low salaam.
"Now, Yakub," exclaimed the Belgian in Arabic, "answer me. Of what did
our caravan consist when we left the Aruwimi?"
"Three hundred and thirty-three slaves, and twenty-nine tusks," answered
the villainous-looking old fellow.
"And now?"
"Seventy-three blacks and twenty-nine tusks."
"Then two hundred and sixty have died?"
"Yea, O master," he responded. "The new lash of elephant hide has
killed many, and the black death has been responsible for the remainder.
Five are suffering from it now, and never a day passes ere one or more
is not attacked. I have feared that none will live to sight the mosques
of El Obeid."
"In short, Yakub, they are a diseased lot--eh? You think they're
worthless?"
"Only two women are left, O master, and both were seized by the black
death yesterday."
"In that case," observed the Belgian, turning to his partner, "the whole
batch are not worth transporting. The game is not, as you English say,
worth the lamp."
"Then what's your suggestion?" asked Snape.
"Well, as you are so much in fear of these confounded English, we must,
I suppose, act."
"How?"
"It is quite simple. We just abandon the whole lot, and save ourselves
and the ivory."
"Very well," his companion agreed. "I'm open to any move except
fighting against the English."
"Bah! You are full of scruples, _mon cher_ Henri," he laughed. "I have
none--none. And I am happy--perfectly happy." He was silent a moment,
as though reflecting deeply.
"But," he added, "I do wish we could teach these interfering English a
lesson. It would do them good. They try to rule Africa nowadays. Ah!
if we could--if we could!" And there was a strange glint of evil in his
eyes.
An hour later Dubois and Snape, at the head of their formidable troop of
brigandish horsemen, were riding at full speed across the desert due
west, towards the far distant forest of Dyonkor, it having been decided
to skirt this, and then travel south for a fresh raid in Congo
territory.
As for the poor wretches bound together, and dying of thirst and
disease, they were still secured to the palm trunks and abandoned to
their fate, tortured by being within sight of the well, yet unable to
slake the frightful thirst consuming them. Dwellers in the damp, gloomy
forest, where the sunlight never penetrates, the intense heat of the
desert struck them down one after another, sending them insane or
killing them outright.
Time after time Snape turned in his high Arab saddle, glancing back
apprehensively to see if they were followed. But his partner only
laughed sarcastically, saying--"You still fear your friends the English?
Ah! you have the heart of the chicken. All is quite unnecessary. We
have made them a present of the whole lot, and I hope they will
appreciate our kindness. Now we shall take it easy, and hope for better
fortune with the next batch. I fancy that the new lash must be too
hard. The women can't stand it, so it seems."
"A little less whipping and a little more water would keep 'em in better
condition," Snape observed. "Yakub is eternally lashing them for some
imaginary laziness or offence."
"Yes, it's all due to that new lash," the Belgian admitted. "It must be
used with less frequency on the next lot."
"It's a revolting punishment. Twenty blows kill a strong nigger," his
companion declared. "The thing ought to be thrown away."
"Ah, yes," sneered his companion. "You would, if you had your own way,
keep women to brash the flies off them, and carry feather-beds for them
to sleep on. You always forget that you are not dealing with civilised
beings. They're mere niggers."
"Well, we're not of the most civilised type, you and I, if the unwelcome
truth be told," the Englishman responded. "If we are trapped there'll
be a howl in Europe."
"But I, for one, don't mean to be caught," laughed the Belgian gaily,
with perfect confidence of his security. And they both rode side by
side, the troop of white-burnoused Pirates of the Desert thundering on
behind, raising a cloud of dust which, in that clear atmosphere, could
be seen many miles away.
On, on they sped over the burning sand, riding easily at a hand gallop,
without a halt, the black-veiled raiders laughing and chaffing,
chattering, pushing forward, even in the blood-red track of the dying
day.
Night fell quickly, as it does in that region. The slavers encamped in
a sandy hollow beneath the rocks, and Dubois, ordering the tent to be
pitched, sat smoking with his partner after the dish of _dakkwa_
(pounded Guinea-corn with dates) which old Muhala had prepared. They
were alone.
"To camp like this before we reach the forest is, to my mind, simply
inviting capture," Snape grumbled. "The military detachment is
evidently out in search of us, and the little lot we've abandoned will
point out to them the direction we've taken. Then they'll follow and
overtake us."
"Oh no, they won't," answered the Belgian, with a serene smile.
"What makes you so sure?"
"Remember that, coming up from the river, they must have been at least
six days without water; therefore they'll halt at Akdul to drink and
fill their water-skins before pushing forward."
"Well?" inquired Snape.
The crafty Belgian looked curiously into the face of his companion, and
smiled grimly.
"Well, if they halt there," he said, "they won't trouble us any more."
"I don't understand."
"I doctored the water before we left. That's why I didn't leave the
blacks loose to drink it."
"What!" gasped the Englishman wildly, starting to his feet. "You've
actually poisoned the well?"
The Belgian nodded and laughed, without removing his _shisha_ from his
lips.
"You scoundrel! You fiend!" the Englishman shouted, his face white with
passion. "I've done some shabby tricks in my time, but, by Heaven! I'd
rather have given myself up than have assented to the wholesale murder
of my own people like that!"
A sarcastic smile crossed the Belgian's sinister features.
"Excitement is entirely unnecessary, _mon cher_ Henri," he said, calmly.
"It may, you know, bring on a touch of fever. Besides, by this time
there isn't many of them, white or black, left to tell the tale. Yakub,
whom I left behind to watch, has just come in to report that they
arrived an hour after we had left, released the slaves, and watered
freely, enjoying themselves immensely. Before he started to return,
fully fifty were dead or dying, including all the white officers. But
why trouble further? We've saved ourselves."
"Trouble!" roared Snape, his eyes flashing with a fierce fire of
indignation, "Get up, you infernal scoundrel, or I'll shoot you as you
lie! You're an outlaw; so am I. Trouble! Why, one of those white
officers was Jack Myddleton, my brother, and," he added in a harsh
tone--"and I'm going to avenge his death!" Instantly Dubois saw his
partner's intention, and sprang to his feet, revolver in hand.
Two reports sounded almost simultaneously, but only one man fell. It
was the Belgian, who, with an imprecation on his lips, dropped back with
a bullet through his temple, and in a few seconds expired.
At dawn Muhala discovered her master dead, and his companion missing.
Search was at once made for the Englishman, who was found lying dead
upon the sand half a mile from the camp.
He had committed suicide.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Around the well of Akdul the caravans that water there in crossing the
arid wilderness still see quantities of hones of horses and of men.
Long ago the vultures have stripped them, and they now lie bleaching in
the sun, a mute record of a coward's treachery, of the revolting
vengeance of The Father of the Hundred Slaves.