Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [35]
“O man,” said he, “you are a spy of Sandi’s, and I think you have been speaking evilly of my people. Therefore you must die.”
The Kano boy accepted the sentence philosophically. “Lord king,” he said, “I have a great ju-ju in a little basket. Let me speak to him before I die, and I will speak well of you to the ghosts of the mountains.”
They brought him the basket and the pigeon it contained, and he fondled it for five minutes, and none saw him slip into the red band about the pigeon’s leg a scrap of paper no larger than a man’s thumb. Then, before they could realise what was happening, the pigeon had been flung into the air and was flying, with long, steady strokes and ever widening circles, higher and higher, until it was beyond the reach of the arrows that the young men shot.
Six young warriors carried Ali, the Kano boy, into the forest. Bending down a young sapling, they fastened a rope to the top, the other end fastened in a noose about the spy’s neck. His feet were pinioned to the ground, so that he was stretched almost to choking by the upward tug of the tree. The king himself struck off the head with a curved N’gombi knife, and that was the end of Ali the spy.
Three days passed in a final preparation, and on the morning of the fourth the king of the Akasava assembled his fighting men by the riverside; their war-painted canoes blackened the beach, their spears glittered beautifully in the sun.
“O people,” said the king, exalted to madness, “we go now to make an end of the N’gombi…”
His speech was nearing its peroration – for he was a notorious talker – when the white nose of the Zaire came round the wooded headland that hides the course of the river from sight.
“This is real war,” said the king, and hardly had he spoken before a white puff of smoke came from the little steamer; there was a whine, a crashing explosion, and all that remained of the haughty king of the Akasava was an ugly mess upon the beach – it was a most fortunate shot.
Sanders came ashore with fifty Houssas and four machine-guns; there was no resistance, and Kofaba, the king’s nephew, reigned in his place.
At the Palaver of All People, Sanders disposed, as he hoped, for ever of the brass bedstead.
“This brass bedstead lives for all time in my ghost house, with ju-jus and other wonderful things, for cala cala I took it from N’gombi by magic and put it away that there should be no more wars. And Tibbetti, who is the Keeper of the House, sees this every morning and every night and touches it lovingly. Because it is the property of the Akasava and like no other in the world, I keep it, and no other nation, neither the N’gombi nor the Isisi, nor the little bushmen nor the Ochori, shall see this great treasure.”
The vigilant Bosambo, who had gathered his fighting regiments in readiness to intervene, dismissed them in disgust when he learnt of the comparatively peaceful termination of the dispute. Bosambo had visions of new treaties and the removal of old restrictions, and it was a disappointment to him to learn that the dispute had ended so bloodlessly.
The cause of the quarrel was plain to him, and for some time made no impression, for ghosts and ju-jus and occult mysteries of all kinds had no place in his practical system. He began fresh negotiations with the new king of the Akasava, and sent two of his councillors on an embassy of congratulation, accompanied by a large bag of salt as a peace offering.
But Kofaba was no more amenable than had been his uncle.
“Go back to Bosambo, the little chief,” he said, with the arrogance of his new dignity upon him, “and tell him that I, Kofaba, am Sandi’s man and will keep Saudi’s law. As to the salt,