Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [39]
His bed was in the centre of a large and airy hut, and there were two big windows, which were open day and night except for the frame of thin netting placed to keep out midnight insects.
It was a burning sensation on his wrist that woke him with a snort. He rubbed the sore place and diagnosed the cause as mosquitoes. The hut was full of them, and he could hear the low buzzing of insects. He was out of bed instantly, slipping his feet into his long, pliable mosquito boots.
A glance at the nearest window revealed the fact that the netting was gone, and even as he looked he saw, against the dim light, a stealthy hand creep up and then a head.
“Twing!”
The arrow zipped past him, and he heard the thud of it as it struck the bed.
Bones crossed the hut noiselessly and slipped his automatic from its holster.
Twice he fired, and, flinging open the door, ran out. A killing spear grazed his shoulder, and he fired again. He saw a man fall and another disappear into the darkness. Presently came a shot from the other side of the square – a sentry had seen the flying figure and had fired.
“Another Akasava,” said Sanders, the first to reach the spot.
He turned over the limp figure that lay huddled against a verandah post. The second man sprawled on the square with a pistol bullet through his thigh, and he also was of the same people – the third man had escaped.
At dawn the Zaire pushed out into the river. Day and night she steamed, stopping only to gather wood to feed her boilers. In the darkness, the villagers on the river saw her pass, a banner of sparks floating from her two funnels, and the lokalis sent word through the night that there was war – for the Zaire never steamed at night between the treacherous shoals unless the spears were out.
The wooden drum carried news to others more interested, and ten miles short of the Akasava city, where the river narrows to pass through a sheer gorge, a cloud of arrows fell upon the deck, wounding a soldier and missing the steersman by a miracle.
The Zaire panted forward, for here the river runs at seven knots, and whilst the marksmen peppered the edge of the bluff, Sanders examined the arrow heads.
“Tetanus,[4] I think,” he said, and knew just how serious was the situation, for the Akasava did not usually poison their arrows.
The Akasava city was deserted, except for women and old men.
“Lord,” said a trembling ancient, “Kofaba has gone to the Ochori to get his beautiful bed that Tibbetti has given to Bosambo.”
“You are the father of ten fools,” snarled Sanders, “for the bed of the Akasava is in my great Ghost House.”
“Master, a man saw the Ghost House and it was empty, and a spy of Kofaba has seen the bed, very shining and beautiful, before the hut of Bosambo.”
The Zaire took on a new stock of wood and went northward. Near to the edge of the Ochori country, Sanders saw a canoe paddling downstream, and pulled the steamer across the river.
In the canoe was a dead man.
“This Kofaba, the king,” said the headman of the paddlers, “he was killed this morning in a great fight, for Bosambo has the help of many devils. We go to bury Kofaba in the middle island, according to our custom.”
Later Sanders met the main body of the routed army and stopped their canoes, only to collect their spears and arrest the petty chiefs who were in charge.
And each told him the story of Bosambo and his bed of brass.
“I cannot understand it,” he said puzzled, “the Akasava would not make war on a rumour which Bosambo set in circulation that he had their infernal bed.”
The shadows were lengthening when he came at last to the Ochori city, and so unexpected was the arrival, that Bosambo was unaware of his coming until Sanders strode up the main street.
He came within sight of the king’s hut and stopped dead.
Before the hut, and surrounded by his admiring people,