Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [31]
“Lord,” said Bosambo, “I sent no such book, nor have I seen Dhoti. And because of things I heard, I sent my spies into the Akasava and they did not come back. I myself would have gone, but my young and cunning listeners told me that Ofaba waited to seize me, and his canoes watched the river. So, lord, I came secretly.”
Sanders fingered his chin, his face set and hard.
“Get steam in the Zaire, Hamilton. I leave for the Upper River just as soon as you are ready. I shall want ten soldiers and a rope.”
* * *
In the deepest jungle of the Forest of Dreams, and in a secret place between two marshes was a hut, and stretched on a bed of skins before the door lay a young man. He was yellow of face, unshaven, gaunt. The fever which comes to white men in this forest of illusions was on him, and his teeth chattered dismally. Nevertheless, he smiled, and his eyes lit up as the girl came from a belt of trees, carrying in her arms a large and steaming pot.
“By jove, M’mina, I am glad to see you,” he said in English, as he reached out and took her hand.
“My husband and my lover,” she murmured, fondling the thin fingers between her palms, “I do not understand you when you speak with that tongue. I have brought you food, and I have spoken with the devils that you shall get well.”
Terence chuckled weakly. “The grey birds have not come?” he asked.
“One will come soon – my spirit tells me,” she said, squatting on the ground by the side of him.
He dropped his arm on her shoulder and looked fondly down into the round and comely face.
“There is no woman like you in the world, M’mina. You are the most wonderful of all. And I will take you across the black water, and you shall be a great lady.”
“Lord, I will stay here, and you also,” she said calmly; “for I knew when I saw you first, that you were the husband that the ghosts had whispered to me about.”
He was looking at her raptly. “O woman,” he said in Bomongo, “you are very beautiful.” And then he stopped, for her eyes were searching the heavens. Suddenly she sprang up, and, pursing her lips, sent forth a long trill of melody. It was less a whistle than a high vocal note, and though it was not loud, the swift bird that was crossing the patch of sky checked, wheeled and came in narrowing circles lower and lower, till it dropped at her feet. She stooped, picked up the grey pigeon and smoothed its plumage. Then, with fingers deft with practice, she took the tissue paper that was fastened about the leg by a rubber band and gave it to the man.
He peered down at the Arabic characters. “It is from Sandi to Bosambo,” he said, “and he says all is well.”
She nodded. “Then this little bird may go,” she answered; “and my lord need not write any message to deceive the fat man of the Ochori. Lord, I fear this man, and have spoken with Ofaba that he may be killed.”
Terence Doughty fell back on his pillow and closed his eyes.
“You’re a wonderful girl,” he murmured in English, and she tried to repeat the words. “Clever girl…what a splendid mind you must have!”
She stooped and covered him with a skin rug, and then, at the sound of footsteps, she turned quickly. A lean man in white duck was crossing the clearing, and behind him she saw the glint of steel and the red tarbosh of soldiers.
“O Sandi,” she greeted him without embarrassment, “so you have found me and my husband.”
“And three little graves, M’mina,” said Sanders quietly. “Now you shall answer to me for your life.”
She shook her head. “You will not kill me, Sandi, because that is not your way. In all time you have never hanged any woman from the high tree, and I think I shall live, because I am well loved by certain devils and ghosts, and my ju-ju is strong for me. Also for this man.”
Terence was staring up at Sanders, a frown on his emaciated face.
“’Morning,” he said, a little resentfully. “You know my wife?”
“I know her very well,” said Sanders softly.
“Hope you didn’t mind my fooling round with your messages,” said