Part 18 (2/2)
He listened
Fro noises, but above all these, un drue is nearer than the Bongindanga,” he e; the woods are deserted--”
The native held up a warning finger, and bent his head, listening He was reading the e that the drum sent Sanders waited; he knew the wonderful fact of this native telegraph, how it sent news through the trackless wilds He could not understand it, no European could; but he had respect for its mystery
”A white man is here,” read the native; ”he has the sickness”
”A white man!”
In the darkness Sanders' eyebrows rose incredulously
”He is a foolish one,” N'Kehts, and will not move”
Sanders clicked his lips impatiently ”No white hts,” he said, half to himself, ”unless he were mad”
But the distant drueous news Here, indeed, in the heart of the loveliest glade in all Africa, encamped in the very centre of the Green Path of Death, was a white hts-a sick whitehis own lo-koli an to dress hurriedly
In the forest lay a very sick man He had chosen the site for the ca, near a little creek that wound between high elephant-grass to the river Mainward chose it, just before the sickness caether an inadequate reason; but Mainas a senti pretty caer ”He was,” said a newspaper, coitive from justice to the wild lands of Africa, ”over-burdened with iination” Mainas cursed with ill-tier in that deadly strip of land of the Ituri, which is cluhts-becohts” and poetically adapted by explorers and daring traders as ”The Forest of Happy Drea-over-confidence in the ability of his horses to win races; over-confidence in his own ability to secure money to hide his defalcations-he was a director in the Welshi+re County Bank once-over-confidence in securing the love of a woman, hen the crash came, looked at him blankly and said she was sorry, but she had no idea he felt towards her like that--
Now Mainward lifted his aching head from the pillow and cursed aloud at the din He was endoith the slish which a man may acquire from a three months' sojourn divided between Sierra Leone and Grand Bassam
”Why for they make 'em cursed noise, eh?” he fretted ”You plenty fool-reed the Kano boy, calmly
”Stop it, d'ye hear? stop it!” raved theme mad-tell them to stop the drum”
The lo-koli stopped of its own accord, for the listeners in the sick man's camp had heard the faint answer from Sanders
”Come here, Abiboo-I want some milk; open a fresh tin; and tell the cook I want so and tossing fro cas to think about It was strange how they all clae how they elbowed and fought one another in their noisy claims to his notice Of course, there was the bankruptcy and the discovery at the bank-it was very decent of that inspector fellow to clear out-and Ethel, and the horses, and-and--
The Valley of Happy Dreaood story if Mainward could write; only, unfortunately, he could not write He could sign things, sign his name ”three n other people's naht
But here was a forest where bad thoughts becaood, and, God knows, his mind was ill-furnished He wanted peace and sleep and happiness-he greatly desired happiness Now suppose ”Fairy Lane” had won the Wokinghaain at the bad memory), but suppose it had? Suppose he could have found a friend ould have lent him 16,000, or even if Ethel--
”Master,” said Abiboo's voice, ”dem puck-a-puck, him lib for come”
”Eh, what's that?”
Mainward turned alely on the man
”Puck-a-puck-you hear'um?”
But the sick man could not hear the smack of the Zaire's stern wheel, as the little boat breasted the doard rush of the river-he was surprised to see that it was dawn, and grudgingly adain and had a strange dreaure was a small, tanned, clean-shaven y yellow overcoat over his pyjaer