Part 9 (1/2)

”I did not. Still, how did you deduce it?”

The priest spread out his hands. ”It is simple. One does not find an inhabited village within easy reach of a fort, my friend. The cause for that is obvious. You are listening for the other party?”

”Anyway, I was wondering whose it could be.”

Father Tiebout smiled. ”If there is a white man with the boys it is Thomas Ormsgill. I have been expecting him the last week. He will be here within the next two--if he is alive.”

He spoke with a quiet certainty, as though the matter admitted of no doubt, and Nares added,

”Yes,” he said, ”that is a man who keeps his promise, but you could give him another week. One knows when the mail-boats arrive, but there might be difficulties when he got ash.o.r.e. Anybody who wishes to go inland is apt to meet with a good many, especially if he isn't looked upon with favor by the Administration.”

Father Tiebout said nothing further. It was almost too hot to talk, though the silence that brooded over the little gap in the forest was unpleasantly impressive. It would not be broken until the moon rose and the beasts awoke. There were also times when Nares, who was not a nervous man, felt a curious instinctive shrinking from the blackness of the bush. It was too suggestive. One wondered what it hid, for that is a land where the Powers of Darkness are apparently omnipotent. It is filled with rapine and murder, and pestilence stalks through it unchecked.

At last a faint sighing refrain stole out of the silence, sank into it, and rose again, and Nares glanced at his companion, for he recognized that a band of carriers were marching towards the mission and singing to keep their courage up.

”I think you're right. They're coast boys,” Father Tiebout said.

It was some ten minutes later when there was a patter of naked feet in the compound, and a clamor from the huts. Then a white man walked somewhat wearily up the veranda stairway into the feeble stream of light. It was characteristic that Nares was the first to shake hands with him, while Father Tiebout waited with a little quiet smile.

Ormsgill turned towards the latter.

”Have you a hut I can put the boys in? That's all they want,” he said.

”They're fed. We stopped to light our fires at sunset.”

The greeting was not an effusive one in view of the difficulties and privations of the journey, but neither of Ormsgill's companions had expected anything of that kind from him. It was also noticeable that there was none of the confusion and bustle that usually follows the arrival of a band of carriers. This was a man who went about all he did quietly, and was willing to save his host inconvenience. The priest went with him to a hut, and the boys were disposed of in five minutes, and when they came back Ormsgill dropped into a chair.

”Well,” he said, ”I'm here. Caught the first boat after I got your letter. I think it was your letter, padre, though Nares signed it.”

”At least,” said Father Tiebout, ”we both foresaw the result of it.

But you have had a long march. Is there anything I can offer you?”

”A little cup of your black coffee,” said Ormsgill.

Nares laughed softly. ”He's a priest, as well as a Belgian. I believe they teach them self-restraint,” he added. ”Still, when I saw you walking up that stairway I felt I could have forgiven him if he had flung his arms about your neck.”

”You see I had expected him,” and Father Tiebout set about lighting a spirit lamp.

”With a little contrivance one can burn rum in it,” he added. ”There are times when I wish it was a furnace.”

Ormsgill smiled and shook his head. ”You and other well meaning persons occasionally go the wrong way to work, padre,” he said. ”Would you pile up the Hamburg gin merchants' profits, or encourage the folks here to build new sugar factories? You can't stop the trade in question while the soil is fruitful and the African is what he is.”

”What the white man has made him,” said Father Tiebout.

”I believe the n.i.g.g.e.r knew how to produce tolerably heady liquors and indulged in them before the white man brought his first gin case in,”

said Ormsgill reflectively. ”In any case, Lamartine was a trader, which is, after all, a slightly less disastrous profession to the n.i.g.g.e.rs here than a government officer, and I did what I could for him. From your point of view I've no doubt I acquired a certain responsibility. Could you do anything useful with 200 or 300 sterling, padre?”

”Ah,” said the little priest, ”one cannot buy absolution.”

Nares smiled. It was seldom he let slip an opportunity of inveigling Father Tiebout into a good-humored discussion on a point of this kind.

”I fancied it was only we others who held that view,” he said. Then he turned to Ormsgill. ”He is forgetting, or, perhaps, breaking loose from his traditions. After all, one does break away in Africa. It is possible it was intended that one should do so.”