With Edged Tools Part 37

Quite suddenly she smiled, and seemed to check a sob in her throat.

"Yes," said she softly, "I know." And she went into the house.

The next morning brought further rumours of approaching danger, and it seemed certain that this news must have filtered through Durnovo's fortified camp further up the river. This time the report was more definite. There were Arabs leading the tribes, and rumour further stated that an organised descent on Msala was intended. And yet there was no word from Durnovo--no sign to suggest that he had even thought of securing the safety of his housekeeper and the few aged negroes in charge of Msala. This news only strengthened Oscard's determination to send Marie down to the coast, and he personally superintended their departure before taking his seat in the canoe for the up-river voyage.

The men of his division had all preceded him, and no one except his own boatmen knew that Msala was to be abandoned.

There was in Guy Oscard a dogged sense of justice which sometimes amounted to a cruel mercilessness. When he reached the camp he deliberately withheld from Durnovo the news that the Msala household had left the river station. Moreover, he allowed Victor Durnovo to further inculpate himself. He led him on to discuss the position of affairs, and the half-breed displayed an intimate knowledge of the enemy's doings.

There was only one inference to be drawn, namely, that Victor Durnovo had abandoned his people at Msala with the same deliberation which had characterised his cowardly faithlessness to Jack Meredith.

Guy Oscard was a slow thinking man, although quick in action. He pieced all these things together. The pieces did not seem to fit just then--the construction was decidedly chaotic in its architecture. But later on the corner-stone of knowledge propped up the edifice, and everything slipped into its place.

Despite disquieting rumours, the expedition was allowed to depart from the river-camp unmolested. For two days they marched through the gloomy forest with all speed. On the third day one of the men of Durnovo's division captured a native who had been prowling on their heels in the line of march. Victor Durnovo sent captor and prisoner to the front of the column, with a message to Oscard that he would come presently and see what information was to be abstracted from the captive. At the midday halt Durnovo accordingly joined Oscard, and the man was brought before them. He was hardly worthy of the name, so disease-stricken, so miserable and half-starved was he.

At first Durnovo and he did not seem to be able to get to an understanding at all; but presently they hit upon a dialect in which they possessed a small common knowledge.

His news was not rea.s.suring. In dealing with numbers he rarely condescended to the use of less than four figures, and his conception of a distance was very vague.

"Ask him," said Oscard, "whether he knows that there is an Englishman with a large force on the top of a mountain far to the east."

Durnovo translated, and the man answered with a smile. In reply to some further question the negro launched into a detailed narrative, to which Durnovo listened eagerly.

"He says," said the latter to Oscard, "that the Plateau is in possession of the Masais. It was taken two months ago. The blacks were sold as slaves; the two Englishmen were tortured to death and their bodies burnt."

Oscard never moved a muscle.

"Ask him if he is quite sure about it."

"Quite," replied Durnovo, after questioning. "By G.o.d! Oscard; what a pity! But I always knew it. I knew it was quite hopeless from the first."

He pa.s.sed his brown hand nervously over his face, where the perspiration stood in beads.

"Yes," said Oscard slowly; "but I think we will go on all the same."

"What!" cried Durnovo. "Go on?"

"Yes," replied Guy Oscard; "we will go on, and if I find you trying to desert I'll shoot you down like a rat."

CHAPTER XXVI. IN PERIL

He made no sign; the fires of h.e.l.l were round him, The Pit of h.e.l.l below.

"About as bad as they can be, sir. That's how things is." Joseph set down his master's breakfast on the rough table that stood in front of his tent and looked at Jack Meredith.

Meredith had a way of performing most of his toilet outside his tent, and while Joseph made his discouraging report he was engaged in b.u.t.toning his waistcoat. He nodded gravely, but his manner was not that of a man who fully realised his position of imminent danger. Some men are like this--they die without getting at all fl.u.s.tered.

"There's not more nor two or three out of the whole lot that I can put any trust in," continued Joseph.

Jack Meredith was putting on his coat.

"I know what a barrack-room mutiny is. I've felt it in the hatmosphere, so to speak, before now, sir."

"And what does it feel like?" inquired Jack Meredith, lightly arranging his watch-chain.

But Joseph did not answer. He stepped backwards into the tent and brought two rifles. There was no need of answer; for this came in the sound of many voices, the clang and clatter of varied arms.

"Here they come, sir," said the soldier-servant--respectful, mindful of his place even at this moment.

Jack Meredith merely sat down behind the little table where his breakfast stood untouched. He leant his elbow on the table and watched the approach of the disorderly band of blacks. Some ran, some hung back, but all were armed.

In front walked a small, truculent-looking man with broad shoulders and an aggressive head.

He planted himself before Meredith, and turning, with a wave of the hand, to indicate his followers, said in English:

"These men--these friends of me--say they are tired of you. You no good leader. They make me their leader."

He shrugged his shoulders with a hideous grin of deprecation.

"I not want. They make me. We go to join our friends in the valley."

He pointed down into the valley where the enemy was encamped.

"We have agreed to take two hundred pounds for you. Price given by our friends in valley--"

The man stopped suddenly. He was looking into the muzzle of a revolver with a fixed fascination. Jack Meredith exhibited no haste. He did not seem yet to have realised the gravity of the situation. He took very careful aim and pulled the trigger. A little puff of white smoke floated over their heads. The broad-shouldered man with the aggressive head looked stupidly surprised. He turned towards his supporters with a pained look of inquiry, as if there was something he did not quite understand, and then he fell on his face and lay quite still.

Jack Meredith looked on the blank faces with a glance of urbane inquiry.

"Has anybody else anything to say to me?" he asked.

There was a dead silence. Some one laughed rather feebly in the background.

"Then I think I will go on with my breakfast."

Which he accordingly proceeded to do.

One or two of the mutineers dropped away and went back to their own quarters.

"Take it away," said Meredith, indicating the body of the dead man with his teaspoon.

"And look here," he cried out after them, "do not let us have any more of this nonsense! It will only lead to unpleasantness."

Some of the men grinned. They were not particularly respectful in their manner of bearing away the mortal remains of their late leader. The feeling had already turned.

Joseph thought fit to clench matters later on in the day by a few remarks of his own.