Across the Cameroons Part 7

Fernando proved himself to be an excellent cook, whereas his younger brother prided himself upon his skill as a runner. It was his custom on the line of march to jump fallen trees and brooks.

In these higher alt.i.tudes there was a plenitude of game, whereas in the bush they had been near to starving, and one morning they were crossing a spur of a great cloud-wrapped mountain when Cortes, who had been walking about fifty yards in advance of Harry and Jim, dropped suddenly upon his face, and motioned the two boys to do the same. They had no idea as to what had happened, and suspected that the guide had sighted a party of the enemy.

Crawling on hands and knees, they drew level with the man.

"Goat," said he, pointing towards the mountain.

And there, sure enough, was a species of mountain goat with his great horns branching from the crown of his s.h.a.ggy head.

"Come," said the man to Harry; "you shoot."

They could not afford to let the beast escape. The flesh of all the wild goats, though perhaps not so good as that of the wild sheep, is by no means unwelcome when one must journey far from civilization in the wilds of the African hills.

Harry adjusted his sights to six hundred yards, and then, drawing in a deep breath, took long and careful aim. Gently he pressed the trigger, the rifle kicked, there came a sharp report, and the bullet sped upon its way. On the instant the beast was seen galloping at breakneck speed down what seemed an almost perpendicular cliff.

"Missed!" cried Harry.

"No," said Cortes. "He's. .h.i.t--he's wounded. He will not go far."

For a few minutes the members of the party held a hurried consultation.

Finally it was decided that Fernando should go on ahead with the camp kit and cooking-utensils, whilst the younger brother accompanied Harry and Jim in pursuit of the wounded goat. They agreed to meet at nightfall at a place known to the brothers.

It took them nearly an hour to scramble across the valley, to reach the place where the animal had been wounded. There, as the guide had predicted, there were drops of blood upon the stones. All that morning they followed the spoor, and about two o'clock in the afternoon they sighted the wounded beast, lying down in the open.

He was still well out of range, and, unfortunately for them, on the windward side. That meant they would have to make a detour of several miles in order to come within range.

For three hours they climbed round the wind, all the time being careful not to show themselves, for the eyes of the wild goat are like those of the eagle. With its wonderful eyesight, its still more wonderful sense of smell, and its ability to travel at the pace of a galloping horse across rugged cliffs and valleys, it is a prize that is not easily gained. When they last saw the animal it was lying down in the same place. They were then at right angles to the wind, about two miles up the valley.

From this point, on the advice of Cortes, they pa.s.sed into another valley to the west. Here there was no chance of being seen or winded by the beast; and, since it was now possible to walk in an upright position, they progressed more rapidly.

When they had arrived at the spot which the guide judged was immediately above the wounded animal they climbed stealthily up the hill. On the crest-line they sought cover behind great boulders, which lay scattered about in all directions as if they had been hurled down from the skies.

Lying on their faces, side by side, Harry with his field-gla.s.ses to his eyes, they scanned the valley where they had left their quarry.

Not a sign of it was to be seen. The thing had disappeared as mysteriously as if it had been spirited away.

"He's gone!" said Harry, with a feeling of bitter disappointment.

He was about to rise to his feet, but the half-caste held him down by force.

"Don't get up;" he cried. "Lie still! There are men in the valley yonder."

"Men! Have you seen them?"

"No, I have not seen them," said Cortes. "But the beast saw them, or got their wind. Otherwise he would not have gone."

"It's von Hardenberg, perhaps!" said Harry, turning to Braid, the wish being father to the thought.

Both looked at their guide.

"It is either the man you want," said the guide, "or else it is the Germans."

The wounded animal was now forgotten. They were face to face with the reality of their situation. They had either overtaken von Hardenberg and Peter Klein or else the Germans had received news of their having reached the frontier.

"We'll have to cross the valley," said Harry, "to get back to camp."

"That is the worst of it," said Cortes; "we must rejoin my brother. He will be awaiting us."

He had learnt his English on the Coast. He spoke the language well, but with the strange, clipped words used by the natives themselves, though the man was half a Spaniard.

"How are we to get there?" asked Jim.

The guide looked at the sun.

"It is too late," said he, "to go by a roundabout way. We must walk straight there. There are many things which cause me to believe that danger is close at hand."

"What else?" asked Harry, who already was conscious that his heart was beating quickly.

"Late last night I saw smoke on the mountains. This morning, before we started, my brother thought he heard a shot, far in the distance. Also,"

he added, "during the last three days we have seen very little game.

Something has scared them away."

"Come," said Harry. "We waste time in words. As it is, we have barely time to get back before nightfall."

As he said this he rose to his feet, and the moment he did so there came the double report of a rifle from far away in the hills, and a bullet cut past him and buried itself in the ground, not fifteen paces from his feet.

"Down," cried the guide, "for your life!"

CHAPTER IX--The Captive

Harry was not slow to obey. He fell flat upon his face, whilst a second bullet whistled over his head.

"Come," said Cortes; "we must escape."

As he uttered these words, he turned upon his heel and ran down the hill, followed by the two boys. The man held himself in a crouching position until he was well over the crest-line. Then he stopped and waited for his companions.

"Who is it?" asked Braid, already out of breath as much from excitement as from running.

"The Germans. They are on our track."

"You are sure of that?" asked Harry.

"Master," said Cortes, "it is not possible to mistake a German bullet.

In this part of the world only those natives carry rifles who are paid by Kaiser Wilhelm."

Indeed, for weeks already, they had been in the heart of the enemy's country. The elder guide was some miles away, and, since they could not cross the valley, they would have to make a detour; which meant that they could not possibly rejoin Fernando before nightfall. By then, for all they knew, they might find him lying in his own blood, their provisions and their reserve ammunition stolen.