Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [37]
“The country is quiet and the people are fairly happy,” he said. “Avoid the Tugesini River – there is another outbreak of smallpox there…the N’gombi have been trapping leopards, and you should get some good skins.”
They gossiped of the people, of their idiosyncrasies and peculiar tastes. Of how the Akasava never bought mirrors, and the queer passion of the Lesser Isisi folk for aluminium saucepans.
That afternoon, the Comet went on its slow way, its donkey engine puffing noisily.
“Queer bird,” said Hamilton, watching the departing boat. “I wonder what the dickens he is doing with Ochori paddlers – did you notice them, sir?”
Sanders nodded. “Bosambo sent them up the coast a month ago – he’s a great shopper. I wonder what stuff Halley is taking to our friend. I meant to ask him.”
Bosambo was the one chief of the territory who held any communication with the outside world. He waited patiently for the arrival of the Comet, and when the ship came wallowing round the green bluff that hid the lower reaches of the river, Bosambo went down in state to meet his visitor, and for three days there were great bargainings and hagglings, Bosambo squatting on the untidy deck, Halley in his skin-seated chair.
“Effendi,” said Bosambo (it was his title of honour for all strangers), “for all I buy I will pay in white man’s money.”
Halley was gratified, but sceptical, and when Bosambo produced bags of shining coin, he was agreeably surprised. If he tried samples of the first bag in his strong white teeth, he did not test the second bag at all.
Halley brought his eccentric boat to the mouth of the river, in the dark hours of the morning, and Bones, going down to the beach for his dip, saw the Comet crawling along the coast, no unusual circumstance, for the trader never stopped at the residency on his homeward voyage unless a sea was running. As it happened, Mr Halley had nothing to stop for, since there had been no unusual happening to report.
* * *
“Have you ever thought, dear old sir, what a dinky little ice plant you could rig up in that old dug-out?” asked Bones, standing, his arms akimbo, before the grey door of the magazine. “A refrigeratin’ plant, dear old Ham – we might even get some skatin’!”
“I’ve often thought I’d like to see it a little cleaner than it is,” said Hamilton. “Have it turned out and lime-washed, Bones – and for heaven’s sake let the men do the whitewashing.”
“My dear old officer,” said Bones reproachfully, “as if I should turn myself into a jolly old paperhanger an’ decorator!”
Nevertheless he came to lunch next day with boots that were splashed white and a long streak of whitewash on his nose.
“By the way, have you a great deal of ammunition in stock, Hamilton?” asked Sanders, who had been very quiet through lunch.
“The regulation amount, sir,” said Hamilton in surprise. “A thousand rounds per man – why, are you expecting trouble?”
“No,” said Sanders shortly, and Hamilton knew from his brusque tones that the Commissioner’s uncanny instinct was at work.
“Maybe dear old excellency is worryin’ about my gettin’ a splash of whitewash in my eye,” suggested Bones.
“Maybe he isn’t,” replied Hamilton.
“It’s a funny thing about me, dear old Ham – ” began Bones, but his superior was not in the mood to discuss the many funny aspects of Bones which had struck him from time to time. For Sanders’ anxiety had communicated itself to him. And yet there was no apparent reason for uneasiness; by the reports that came to headquarters, peace and prosperity were the orders of the day from one end of the river to the other.
But Hamilton knew, as Sanders knew, that this condition of affairs was the invariable preliminary to all outbreaks and disturbances. The bolts, the real bolts, fell from a cloudless sky. Secretly Sanders preferred a condition when little quarrels between the tribes completely occupied their minds. Native people cannot think of two things at