Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [47]
“Obaga, I have been to the woods to gather leaves for mourning, for my brother has died this day in the Ochori city, and Bosambo sent word to me.”
“Many things have died this day,” said Obaga. He held his spear at full arm’s length by his thigh, and he so spun it with finger and thumb, that the blade was a blur of light. This was a trick of his when he was not sure in his mind, and she knew it well and took courage.
“When I was born,” she said slowly, her eyes never leaving the spear, “it was said that I should have two lives; one of greatness and one of evilness. Out of the mud grows the wonderful flower. Obaga, who knows what will come from this mud?”
The hunter wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue.
“Who is this lover of yours?” he asked her, and for the first time her eyes left the spear.
“If there is to be killing, begin!” she said, and dropped her hands to the tree trunk.
“There will be no killing,” said Obaga. “Come.”
She followed him back to the village, and, to the disappointment of all, there was neither killing nor beating. At dawn next day, Obaga gathered his spears, his bows and loose-headed monkey arrows, girded a broad-bladed elephant sword about his waist, and went back to his hunting. His wife stood and watched him until he was out of sight. One other watched from the fringe of the forest, Tebeli, the boaster, and when he had made sure that the husband was gone, he hurried to M’Libi.
* * *
There can be no question that Bones had an inquiring mind. And there was a special reason why he should be interested in photography and all that pertained to the art, at that moment.
“You stick your infernal nose into every darned thing that doesn’t concern you,” said the wrathful Hamilton, the owner of a new camera, an important plate of which Bones had irretrievably ruined. “I’ve been waiting for weeks to get that cloud effect over the sea, and you, like the howling jackass…”
“Not howlin’, dear old Ham,” murmured the patient Bones, his eyes tightly shut, “quiet, dignified, sufferin’, dear old savage, in silence…not howlin’.”
“I told you…” spluttered Hamilton.
“You told me nothin’,” said Bones gently, “and a boy should be told. I read it somewhere in a jolly old book the other day, a boy should be told how to work the shutter and everything. A loaded camera, dear old tyro – which means a cove that doesn’t know an awful lot – a loaded camera is worse than a loaded gun. Listen to the voice of reason, dear old Ham, the vox reasoni. I picked up the silly old thing and clicked the shutter –”
“Never leave things within reach of children,” said Hamilton bitterly.
Bones shrugged his lean shoulders. “Dear, but explosive old officer,” he said quietly, “there may be method in my jolly old naughtiness. There may be money, dear old improvident one. Old Bones may be working out a great old scheme in his nippy old nut, to make us all rich.”
“Orange growing?” asked Hamilton pointedly, and Bones writhed. Once he had conceived a get-rich-quick scheme, and Hamilton had put his money into an orange syndicate which Bones had conceived. They had imported trees and they had grown trees that bore everything except oranges. Some had borne apples, a few might, had they lived, have borne chestnuts. Bones bought the young trees by post, from the Zeizermann Mail Order Corporation – the proprietors of which are still in Sing Sing.
“Being my superior officer, sir and captain, you may taunt me,” he said stiffly and shrugging his shoulders again, saluted and went back to his quarters. He could, of course, have offered a very complete and satisfactory explanation, but had he done so, he would have spoilt the surprise he had in store for everybody.
And to Bones, surprise (other people’s pleasant surprise) was the joy of life.
Most of his daydreams were about surprises that he sprung on other people. Bones had on many occasions owned