Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [51]
Bones could afford to smile indulgently at the other’s strictures.
“What we want now, Ham,” he said seriously at dinner that night, “is a jolly old war! If we could only get a real good old dust-up between the mighty N’gombi and good old Bosambo, with me in the foreground, just to show that Britain’s watchful eye still keeps a watch, when naughty natives sleep – that’s a good bit of poetry, by the way, dear old thing, and don’t pass it off as your own.”
“Bones, if you wish for war I’ll kill you,” said Sanders, coming in at that moment. “The territories are quiet, and if we can only get over the harvest without a real big blood-letting, I shall be a happy man.”
Bones was silent, but not altogether hopeless. There was need for somebody to go to the Ochori country, for there was news of a recrudescence of Leopard trouble, and Bones gladly availed himself of the opportunity.
On the first night away from headquarters, when the Zaire was tied up to a wood, Private Mahmud sought out his sergeant.
“Effendi,” said he in coast Arabic, “what is this small box which Tibbetti carries and which you turn with a handle? Some say that it is a new gun; others that it is a taker of pictures. Now, we know that it is not a taker of pictures, because, when Hamiltini desires that a row of Houssas shall appear upon paper – which is against the law of the Prophet – he says, ‘Damnyoustandstill,’ which is an English word, and makes a clicking noise. Now Tibbetti does not say ‘Damnyoustandstill’ for he desires that you should walk; also he turns a handle. Tell me now, Effendi, why these things happen.”
Sergeant Ahmet, in all solemnity, explained as much of the mystery box as he understood.
“When Tibbetti turns the handle, pictures appear, one after another, so that when they are looked at quickly, they seem to be one and all moving.”
“That is too much of a mystery for me,” admitted the inquirer after knowledge, and sought no further information.
Not unconscious of his responsibility and importance, Ahmet was loth to let the discussion end there.
“Some day, when Tibbetti is away, I will gather you all together and make a special picture for you, so that your wives may see them. And for this you shall all give me one silver dollar.”
Though they boggled at the dollar, his men accepted the principle of the offer.
The opportunity he sought came to them after they had left the Ochori city and were journeying up that wild bank line which the Zaire so seldom traversed. More definite news had reached Bones about the Leopards – not the clean and yellow thing that stalks and slays, but something vile and abominable in the shape of man. Bones became instantly soldier and representative of the law, and for the moment his heart turned from Hollywood.
* * *
Obaga came back from his hunting. He had been a month away, and he had brought with him ten bushmen carriers, each with a load of pelts, for he was a skilful and patient man. His wife met him outside the village, her hands crossed before her, token of her meekness, and he passed her without a word, though, if he had known all he was to know, he would have returned to the village alone. She made him his dinner, and served it on the palms of her two hands.
“I stay here now for three and three moons,” said Obaga, “for the beasts will be breeding, and many have already gone away into their secret places.”
This she expected, and by native reckoning a month would pass before he learnt the truth. That night, when her husband was sleeping the sleep of utter weariness, she crept forth from her hut, and sped secretly to the wood, where the other man was waiting, she having sent for him.
“Obaga is returned,” she said. “Now, friend, what shall I do? For when he knows, he will kill me.”
“Why should he know?” compromised the other, manlike. “For are you not his wife, and is he not a man? I think it is best for you to say, ‘Husband,