Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [59]
“A canoe and ten paddlers; also a headman to be in charge. They must carry me through the lakes, for Sandi is on my heels with his soldiers.”
Kofo drew a long breath. At that moment a man came running through the village street, and at the sound of the swift patter of his feet Bobolara turned.
“O Bobolara, I see you,” said the runner, halting unsteadily before the chief’s hut. “Now, a bad thing has happened, for Tibbetti, who is Sanders’ son, is dying by poison in the secret city of the king, and they say that you have put magic upon him.”
Bobolara looked at the messenger long and thoughtfully, and then: “I go back to the secret city,” he said simply, and turned and went back the way he had come, the messenger at his heels.
“Bobolara, if you go back you die,” he wailed, for the people of the city loved Bobolara.
Bones lay upon a skin bed before the king’s hut, and the dancing flames of the fire showed the white, drawn face of the half-conscious man. Grouped about were a dozen tarboshed soldiers, and in the background a semicircle of curious, peering faces observed the scene with childish interest.
Abiboo was on his knees by the side of the bed, trying to force brandy into the lips of his master, and above all, dominating the scene, the tall figure of Lujaga.
“Now all people see this!” he shouted. “The lord Tibbetti came to take Bobolara, who by his magic has stricken the white man low. Now, you soldiers of Sandi shall find the wicked Healer, and you shall hang him because of his deeds. For Tibbetti is dear to the heart of Sandi–”
So far he got when the interruption came. A man pushed his way through the encircling throng, strode swiftly toward the fire, and, seeing him, the people gasped and the king’s eyes narrowed.
“O Bobolara,” he said softly, “you have come to death, for these soldiers will kill you because of the magic you have put upon Tibbetti.”
“Let them kill,” said Bobolara, “but first let me touch the lord.”
Abiboo’s hand dropped upon the butt of the revolver at his belt, and his brown face puckered with suspicion and anger.
“O man,” he said, “for this you shall die!”
But the Healer took no notice, either of the menace or of the gesture. Stooping, he lifted the inanimate figure as though it were a child, and, none barring him, he carried the unconscious Bones through the throng, Abiboo, revolver in hand, following him.
All night long, in the half-darkness of the hut, Bobolara pummelled and massaged, and, squatting in the doorway, Abiboo watched. When the morning light came and the weary Healer looked forth, he saw a tree and from the branch a long rope dangling. He gazed calmly for a while upon the strange sight, and then: “What is that, soldier?”
“When Tibbetti dies, you also die,” said Abiboo.
“Then I shall live,” said Bobolara with great calmness, “though it will be a night and a night before Tibbetti speaks.”
On the third morning, in response to an urgent pigeon-post, came Sanders. He had steamed all night through the shoals of the river and had made a forced march through the forest to the secret city, and, hastily apprised of his coming, Lujaga met him.
“Lord, this is a bad palaver,” he said, “for Tibbetti, it seems, fell under the magic spell of the Healer, and now lies sick to death in the man’s hut; and because your soldiers are also bewitched by him, they sit outside his door and watch Bobolara working his devils into the belly of my lord.”
Sanders gaped at him. “In the hut of Bobolara? What chief are you,” he asked with asperity, “that you allow Tibbetti in his hands?”
The king made no reply.
Bones had recovered consciousness that morning, and was being propped up when Sanders stepped, with his catlike tread, into the big hut.
“Hullo, jolly old excellency,” said Bones weakly. “Bit of fever, dear old sir. Couldn’t find Bobolara: the beggar skipped before I arrived. Dreadfully sorry, but” – he smiled faintly – “I didn’t see any okapi either.”
“Bad luck, Bones,” said Sanders unsmilingly. “So you missed Bobolara.