The League of the Leopard Part 13

"d.a.m.n fool man," explained the sable linguist. "He savvy too much and done say nothing."

"That means he refuses to plead," said Maxwell. "Well, we will proceed to inquire into his offenses as directly as possible. Listen carefully, and don't mix up my questions more than you can help, interpreter."

Maxwell asked questions which astonished his companion, and it was plain that he had for some time suspected a good deal. There was no lack of testimony; for carrier and armed retainer in turn set forth, through the black interpreter or in quaintest English, how the accused had told them gruesome stories of the devils inhabiting the country they were venturing into; had dropped hints that by seizing the provisions they might enrich themselves for life; and had been seen communing with mysterious strangers a few nights earlier. Dane listened with growing indignation, for the simple tales made plain not only how venomous insects got into his boots, but that on two occasions he had narrowly escaped with his life.

"Ask them," said Maxwell grimly, "why n.o.body had the sense to tell me this before."

"Them boy say you not done ask them, sah," answered the interpreter convincingly.

"It's African logic, and there's no use expecting too much from any n.i.g.g.e.r," said Maxwell aside. "The man's guilt is plainly evident; but while presumably neither of us knows much of jurisprudence, I wish to give him a fair chance of making his defense. We will do it in his own speech, though I am inclined to fancy that he understands English.

Interpreter, try to make this clear to him."

Maxwell spoke for some minutes, pausing often for the linguist to explain his meaning, and again astonished Dane. He traced the accused's actions with surprising skill, showing how he had inspired a marauding headman to plunder and leave them starving, and induced the carriers to desert in the hope of precipitating a panic among the loyal. He also connected him with several of the mysterious accidents which had delayed the march.

"Tell him I give him a last chance. He has just five minutes to clear himself in."

Maxwell laid his watch on the camp-stool between his knees, pointed toward a lengthening shaft of brightness which approached the roots of a tree, and then opened and closed the breach of his rifle significantly.

The dusky man before him showed no sign of fear, and his half-scornful, wholly malevolent scowl, together with the intense silence, the expectant black faces, and the glint of light on weapons, burnt itself into Dane's memory. The five minutes seemed very long to him. Then, as his comrade slowly replaced his watch in his pocket, the prisoner spoke a few words disdainfully, and Dane could feel his fingers contract as he waited for the interpreter's answer.

"d.a.m.n fool man," it came. "Say he only sorry he done miss you that time.

Very bad man, sah. Say no white man or coast n.i.g.g.e.r ever lib for get into the Leopards' country."

"So," said Maxwell dryly. "That is to say, while he can prevent it, which may not be long. Ask these boys what should be done with the man who would have left them starving, or perhaps sold them for slaves to some headman."

The camp boys had followed the evidence, and a clamor of voices answered the query. Big eyes glistened, black thumbs were run along twinkling matchet blades, and Dane distinguished ominous cries.

"You shoot him one time, sah! Give him to us and we done chop him!"

"It is the only possible verdict," Maxwell said with strange quietness.

"One returns to primitive customs in this part of Africa; and it is more merciful that one should die than many. A curse upon the country! Must I turn executioner?--but for the sake of all those about us, there is no other way."

"What is your purpose?" Dane asked sharply, jumping to his feet.

Maxwell looked at him steadily with his lips firmly set and the color mottled a little in his face.

"Give him thirty seconds to reach the gra.s.s. I might miss; these others certainly would--and it will be a little easier that way. Do you understand me, interpreter? If he can reach the swamp alive no man shall harm him."

"You shall not do it!" Dane exclaimed hotly. "Heaven knows, the brute deserves it; but you can't go home with your hands fouled by that helpless wretch's blood! Pa.s.s him that rifle, and give me another, with fifty yards to commence at, if you can't think of anything better. The other is too much like murder!"

For a moment the returning color suffused Maxwell's forehead, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes, but he was generally master of his temper, and he answered calmly.

"I could not afford to lose you, Hilton. As I said, we have these men's lives to answer for; and while that fellow lives theirs and our own are equally in danger. That reminds me, I had forgotten something which may or may not surprise you further. You yonder, strike off his turban!"

A Kroo did it with the haft of his machet, and Dane gasped with astonishment, for there was a curiously shaped scar on the prisoner's forehead.

"The cross-marked man," said Maxwell. "The rascal who betrayed and sold poor Niven's carriers. He has, I think, one white man's death already to answer for."

Dane, stooping, laid a hand on each of the speaker's shoulders. Maxwell was a determined man, with virile brain and no lack of nervous energy; but Dane had the advantage in stature and muscular strength, and was glad that it was so. His leader was helpless in his grasp.

"You are perfectly right, Carsluith," he said stolidly. "If you were not, it would be useless for me to try to convince you; but I give you warning that the death of this man dissolves our partnership; and it will, at least, not be your rifle which fires the fatal shot."

Maxwell smiled curiously.

"Do you suppose I am fond of bloodshed, or sorry that you have forced me against my judgment?" he said. "On your head be it, and you can have the murderer. I hope that neither of us will regret your clemency!"

He beckoned the interpreter, and when the latter had spoken, the prisoner twice spat upon the ground, which was probably the most insulting action that occurred to him; then, turning, without word or sign, stalked into the gra.s.s. There was a harsh crackling, and, when his ragged draperies vanished, a murmur of wonder from the camp boys.

Maxwell sighed as with relief.

"I am glad it is over; and whether we have done ill or well, time alone will show, but neither of us has seen the last of the cross-marked man,"

he said. "In the meantime, we want more carriers and supplies. Go back to the coast and get them. You will have much less trouble on the return journey. I will stockade a camp in the hills yonder and wait for you."

CHAPTER IX

TEMPTATION

Dane's preparations for his journey were quickly made, and he was ready to start before the sun was overhead.

"Life is very uncertain in this country, and because we are partners it might be as well if you took this map with you in case you should not find me on your return," said Maxwell. "I worked it out from Niven's notes, and have the knowledge safe within my brain; but you will remember that the information would be of value to another white man, who has already made attempts to obtain it. It might also be well, in case Miss Castro happens to be present at her father's factory, if you conducted yourself with a little more than your usual diplomacy."

"Your advice is a trifle superfluous," returned Dane testily. "Do you think I'm fool or rogue enough to make love to her?"

Maxwell smiled.

"You are one person, and I mentioned two. With all respect to Miss Castro, it is not quite impossible that she might make love to you.

Remember that she might either prove a useful friend or a dangerous enemy."

A few minutes later Dane, followed by three men of Moslem faith, was on his way; and eventually limped--hungry, half-dazed, and sick of fever--out of the dim forest, which, it seemed to him, was loth to let its victim go. The glare of sunlight was overpowering, and at first he could see little more than the two ragged scarecrows, one muttering excitedly as he stretched out a brown hand toward the southern horizon, and the other leaning very heavily on his long Snider rifle. The third man lay full length among the gra.s.s. Dane could never recollect all the incidents of that journey through a land of eternal shadow, but he felt tolerably certain that if his dusky followers had not served him faithfully his bones would have lain rotting somewhere among its jungles.

Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the change of light, he shouted exultantly, in a voice his British friends would not have recognized.

The shining to the southward was, beyond all doubt, the sea, and the white blurs among the palms could represent only factories! Turning, he shook his fist at the forest with childish solemnity.

"Tell Amadu to turn that gun away from him, Monday. It might go off, and I be no fit to lose him," he said in coast jargon. "I don't care what your color is, you are fine fellows too much, both of you, and now we'll go on while we have strength left to reach them factory."

How much his followers comprehended did not appear. The man he called Monday grinned from ear to ear, the other slung his rifle, and they went on, staggering at their best pace toward the sea, though Dane had a vague impression that, with one arm beneath either shoulder, the two ragged Africans dragged him most of the way. Some time later a blindingly whitewashed factory rose up before them against a background of tossing spray and equally dazzling sea, and Dane made shift to reach its outer stairway unaided. An elderly man and a lady who sat on the shady veranda rose at the sight of him. Making an attempt to raise his battered sun-hat, he lurched up the stairway. The attempt was not successful. The sun-hat fell over the bal.u.s.trade, and he saw it long afterward, painted green and blue, upon a Krooboy's head. Clutching at the topmost rail, he steadied himself by it.

"Unexpected pleasure to see you here, Miss Castro," he said.

"Salutations, Dom Pedro! Sorry to arrive in this fashion; not quite myself to-day."

The elderly man shouted, clapping his hands, the lady moved toward the newcomer; then factory and palm trees went round and round before him, and Dane, loosing his hold, went down with a crash.

What happened next he did not remember, having only a hazy recollection of tossing in burning torment for an interminable s.p.a.ce, during which at intervals somebody held a gla.s.s filled with cooling liquid to his lips, while now and then gentle hands, whose touch was soothing, raised his aching head. Still, he fancied that at times a white face bent over him, and once, when the dim light of a calabash lamp beat into his eyes, that waves of dusky hair drooped close above his forehead, and that he caught, and held fast with all his strength, the cool fingers that slipped into his own. They seemed to draw him back out of the black abyss into which he was sliding; and, he surmised afterward, they actually did so.

Attacks of malarial fever, however, are usually brief; and not long after his arrival Dane lay, clothed in neatly mended garments and more or less in his right mind, beside an open window of Castro's factory.

The words "more or less" are used advisedly, for the malaria leaves a strange la.s.situde behind it, and the sufferer often takes up the burden of life again, as it were, reluctantly, and with somewhat clouded brain. The sea breeze had set in fresh and cool, but the man lay limp and dejected, scarcely troubling to breathe it in, while a haggard English surgeon from a neighboring British colony sat near by watching him with an irritating curiosity. White men recognize the bond of color in West Africa, and the surgeon had remained to fight hard for the life of a stranger when pa.s.sing that way. Also, where all dwell under the shadow in a land where the veneer of civilization wears thin, and the primitive pa.s.sions show through, the Briton casts aside much of his normal reticence.