Part 12 (1/2)
The next morning Bones did not feel so bright or energetic, although the day was as beautiful and the scene was fair. On the third day there was a curious buzzing in his ears, his eyes were heavy, and two leaden weights seemed pressing on his head. He took ten grains of quinine, and braced himself and cursed all fever-bearing mosquitoes.
He stumbled ash.o.r.e on the beach of the N'gombi territory, his head throbbing, hearing the far-away voice of the little chief who greeted him, but understanding nothing.
”Lord,” said Abiboo, his agitated sergeant, ”let us go back to the beautiful s.h.i.+p, and I will take you to Sandi, for you are a sick man.”
Bones grinned foolishly. In the twelve-hour march through the forest there was evidence enough that all was not well in the N'gombi country. Every three miles they found a dead man with a curious marking on his chest.
”These Bobolara killed,” said Ligi, his guide, ”so that he might attain certain power over the people.”
Bones nodded stupidly. ”This is a hanging palaver,” he said thickly, and stumbled on.
One night, in a village ten miles from the secret city, when the fires had been stirred to flame, and men wandered from family group to group, listening here to the stories told a hundred times of old men's valour and young men's gallantry, and the women were chatting pleasantly about sickness, a stranger strode down the twisting path that leads from the forest, and came into the village street, well observed and wondered at. He was tall, broad-shouldered and beautiful to see, for his hair was plastered with clay, and over his shoulder he wore the new skin of a young leopard. A five-feet fighting s.h.i.+eld was buckled to his left arm, and in the cunning socket of the s.h.i.+eld he carried three light throwing spears, the polished heads of which glittered in the firelight. Also, to his back was strapped a long bow, the wood half covered with monkey-skin. A big hide belt was buckled about his waist, and left and right hung two short, broad-bladed swords. On his face he wore neither the marks of the Isisi, the Akasava, or the N'gombi. Ochori they knew he was not, and he carried himself too finely for a man of the Lower River tribe, who are humble people.
Though a stranger, he seemed to know his way, for he walked unerringly to the hut of the chief of the village, and him he called by name.
”Kofo,” he said, ”let us talk a little while.”
Kofo came blinking from the darkness of his hut and peered across the dancing flames of the fire.
”O man,” he said, ”who comes to this grand village and speaks to Kofo, who is chief by all rights, and also a man of Lujaga?”
”I am from the city,” said the stranger. ”Men call me the Healer,” and Kofo's jaw dropped, and he stared.
”O ko,” he said at last, ”that is a bad word for me, for I thought you lived in the king's hut. Now, what do you want of me?”
”A canoe and ten paddlers; also a headman to be in charge. They must carry me through the lakes, for Sandi is on my heels with his soldiers.”
Kofo drew a long breath. At that moment a man came running through the village street, and at the sound of the swift patter of his feet Bobolara turned.
”O Bobolara, I see you,” said the runner, halting unsteadily before the chief's hut. ”Now, a bad thing has happened, for Tibbetti, who is Sanders' son, is dying by poison in the secret city of the king, and they say that you have put magic upon him.”
Bobolara looked at the messenger long and thoughtfully, and then: ”I go back to the secret city,” he said simply, and turned and went back the way he had come, the messenger at his heels.
”Bobolara, if you go back you die,” he wailed, for the people of the city loved Bobolara.
Bones lay upon a skin bed before the king's hut, and the dancing flames of the fire showed the white, drawn face of the half-conscious man. Grouped about were a dozen tarboshed soldiers, and in the background a semicircle of curious, peering faces observed the scene with childish interest.
Abiboo was on his knees by the side of the bed, trying to force brandy into the lips of his master, and above all, dominating the scene, the tall figure of Lujaga.
”Now all people see this!” he shouted. ”The lord Tibbetti came to take Bobolara, who by his magic has stricken the white man low. Now, you soldiers of Sandi shall find the wicked Healer, and you shall hang him because of his deeds. For Tibbetti is dear to the heart of Sandi”
So far he got when the interruption came. A man pushed his way through the encircling throng, strode swiftly toward the fire, and, seeing him, the people gasped and the king's eyes narrowed.
”O Bobolara,” he said softly, ”you have come to death, for these soldiers will kill you because of the magic you have put upon Tibbetti.”
”Let them kill,” said Bobolara, ”but first let me touch the lord.”
Abiboo's hand dropped upon the b.u.t.t of the revolver at his belt, and his brown face puckered with suspicion and anger.
”O man,” he said, ”for this you shall die!”
But the Healer took no notice, either of the menace or of the gesture. Stooping, he lifted the inanimate figure as though it were a child, and, none barring him, he carried the unconscious Bones through the throng, Abiboo, revolver in hand, following him.
All night long, in the half-darkness of the hut, Bobolara pummelled and ma.s.saged, and, squatting in the doorway, Abiboo watched. When the morning light came and the weary Healer looked forth, he saw a tree and from the branch a long rope dangling. He gazed calmly for a while upon the strange sight, and then: ”What is that, soldier?”
”When Tibbetti dies, you also die,” said Abiboo.
”Then I shall live,” said Bobolara with great calmness, ”though it will be a night and a night before Tibbetti speaks.”
On the third morning, in response to an urgent pigeon-post, came Sanders. He had steamed all night through the shoals of the river and had made a forced march through the forest to the secret city, and, hastily apprised of his coming, Lujaga met him.
”Lord, this is a bad palaver,” he said, ”for Tibbetti, it seems, fell under the magic spell of the Healer, and now lies sick to death in the man's hut; and because your soldiers are also bewitched by him, they sit outside his door and watch Bobolara working his devils into the belly of my lord.”
Sanders gaped at him. ”In the hut of Bobolara? What chief are you,” he asked with asperity, ”that you allow Tibbetti in his hands?”
The king made no reply.
Bones had recovered consciousness that morning, and was being propped up when Sanders stepped, with his catlike tread, into the big hut.
”Hullo, jolly old excellency,” said Bones weakly. ”Bit of fever, dear old sir. Couldn't find Bobolara: the beggar skipped before I arrived. Dreadfully sorry, but” he smiled faintly ”I didn't see any okapi either.”
”Bad luck, Bones,” said Sanders unsmilingly. ”So you missed Bobolara. Did he get away?”
”Yes, the beggar got away just before I arrived, but this jolly old doctor's looked after me, and a real good chap he is.”
”Oh!” said Sanders. He beckoned the Healer outside. ”Speak to me truthfully, Bobolara,” he said, ”and I will make life easy for you.”
He glanced from the man to the dangling rope and smiled inwardly, guessing all that it meant.
”Lord, what shall I say?” said Bobolara. ”I am a healing man, cunning in the ways of pain, and knowing the ways of strange poisons, such as the little red berry that grows by the swamp. I have slain none, but I have cured many, and if Lujaga hates me he has his reasons. Lord, I think your son will live.”
Sanders inclined his head. ”Man, if you speak the truth, another man lies,” he said. ”Tell me why Lujaga hates you.”
Bobolara hesitated. ”It was about a woman, lord, who came from the Ochori country. She was brought here in a raid by the king.”
”By Lujaga?” said Sanders sharply.
”There are many raids,” said the other. ”Sometimes women are brought here, sometimes goats. This woman I sent back to her home, which is on the edge of the Ochori, and Lujuga would have killed me, but he was afraid.”
”Tell me more of these little red berries,” said Sanders.
”Lord, I know nothing of them except that if men eat them they die, becoming very sleepy, with terrible pains in the head.”
With a nod Sanders left him and walked slowly through the village street, his head on his breast, his hands gripping his long walking-stick behind him. The king watched him apprehensively, but Sanders pa.s.sed the hut and came to a halt at the end of the village street. He beckoned a man to him.
”Bring me Ligi, who is the king's man,” he said, and they brought Ligi from his hut.
”Ligi, you came with my lord Tibbetti in his fine s.h.i.+p?”