Part 23 (1/2)

Still Kingozi, tortured by his headache, wandered about. Upward of two hours pa.s.sed. Then at last the crouching Nubian saw dimly the silhouette of the white man returning, caught in the glimmer of coals the colour of the khaki coat he wore. The moment was at hand. Chake arose to his knees, his spear in his right hand. As soon as his victim should lie down on the cot, it was his intention to thrust him through the canvas. It must be remembered that the cot was placed close to the wall, and that the body of the sleeper was defined against it.

But unexpectedly the wearer of the khaki coat pa.s.sed the tent door and proceeded to the rear where he reached upward to the rear guy rope where hung a towel, or some such matter. This brought him to within four feet of the kneeling Nubian, the broad of his back exposed, both arms upraised. Without hesitation Chake drove the spear into his back.

The sharp long blade slipped through the flesh as easily as a hot knife into b.u.t.ter. The murdered man choked once and pitched forward headlong on his face. Chake, leaving the weapon, glided swiftly away.

Once well beyond the chance of a fire glimmer he arose to his feet and quickly regained his own camp. This was exactly on the opposite side of the circle. The four men with whom he shared his tiny cotton tent, _askaris_ all as beseemed his dignity, were sound asleep. He squatted on his heels, pushed together the embers of his fire, staring into the coals. His ugly face was as though carved from ebony. Only his wild savage eyes glowed and flashed with a brooding lambent flame; and his wide nostrils slowly expanded and contracted as though with some inner heaving emotion.

Thus he sat for perhaps ten minutes. Then on the opposite side of the circle a commotion began. Some one cried out, figures ran to and fro, commands were given, brands were s.n.a.t.c.hed from dying fires, torches were lit. Elsewhere, all about camp, sleepers were sitting up, were asking one another what was the matter. The _askaris_ in Chake's tent grumbled, and turned over, and asked what it was all about. Chake shook his mop of hair, staring into the fire.

From the Leopard Woman's tent came a sharp summons. The Nubian arose and stalked boldly across the open s.p.a.ce. At the closed tent he scratched his fingernail respectfully against the canvas.

”_Karibu, karibu!_” summoned his mistress impatiently. He slipped between the flaps and stood inside.

The Leopard Woman was seated upright in her cot. On the tin box near the head of the bed burned a candle in a mica lantern. By its dim light her face looked paler than ever, and deep black circles seemed to have defined themselves under her eyes. The Nubian and the white woman stared at each other for a moment.

”It is done?” she asked finally, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

”It is done, _memsahib_,” he replied calmly.

For another pause she stared at him, her eyes widening. ”You have done well. _Ba.s.si!_” she enunciated at last.

The tent flaps still quivered behind the Nubian's exit, when she threw herself face downward on the cot. Her body shook with convulsive dry sobs. After a moment she twisted on her side. Both hands clutched her throat, as though she strangled for air. Her eyes were round and rolling. It was as if some mighty pent force were struggling for release. Suddenly the release came. She began to weep, the tears streaming down her face. Shortly she commenced to mutter little short disjointed phrases in her own language. She wrung her hands.

”I had to do it!” she gasped in German. ”I had to do it! It was the only way! Tell me it was the only way!” she seemed to appeal to some one invisible. And then she resumed her lament in the Hungarian.

But all at once something dried this emotion as the sear of a flame would dry water over which it pa.s.sed. The tears ceased, her eyes flashed, she jerked her body upright, listening. The commotion of pursuit and investigation was sweeping past her tent.

Distinctly she heard the voice of Kingozi giving commands.

An instant later Chake darted into the tent and fell to the ground. His face was the sickly gray of a negro in terror, his eyes rolled in his head, his teeth chattered, his every muscle trembled.

”_Memsahib! Memsahib!_” he gasped.

Her eyes were blazing with an anger the more fierce in that some of it was reaction.

”Fool!” she spat at him.

”I killed him, _memsahib!_ I drove the _shenzi_ spear through his back!

I left him lying there! He is a G.o.d! He has come back from the dead!”

”Fool!” she repeated, and swung her feet to the floor. ”Stay here! Do not go out!” she commanded, when she had a.s.sumed her mosquito boots.

She slipped out between the tent flaps.

Torches were everywhere flickering about. She stopped one of the men as he pa.s.sed.

”A _shenzi_ has killed Mavrouki with a spear,” the man answered her question.

She stood for some time watching the torches. Then she saw Kingozi himself take his place by the pile of loads.

”Fall in!” he commanded sharply.