Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [62]
Miss Muriel Witherspan, in addition to being a painter, had a passion for information about native life and customs. In one afternoon she exhausted Sanders, in the course of the evening she reduced Hamilton to a nervous wreck.
“Well, it’s like this, you see, the Isisis are not exactly the same as the Akasavas.… No, I don’t think they have any special customs, y’know – no, they don’t eat babies, alive, at least…well, why don’t you ask Bones?”
Nothing would give Bones greater happiness, he informed his superior.
“Naturally, dear old duffer, I’ve studied the jolly old indigenous native more carefully, and–”
“You can lie better, that is all,” said Hamilton with asperity. “She wants horrific stories about these innocent people, and you can invent ’em.”
“Steady the bluffs, dear old Ham,” murmured Bones. “Steady the bluffs!”
“Buffs, you idiot.”
“There’s only an ‘l’ of a difference,” said Bones, exploding with merriment. “That’s rather good, old Ham? Made it up on the spur of the moment, dear old thing – just come out naturally. I must tell dear old honourable miss that!”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” warned Hamilton awfully. “Tell her about human sacrifices.”
“‘L’ of a difference – that’s good enough for Punch,” murmured Bones, “really awfully good. You said ‘Steady the bluffs,’ and I said…”
Hamilton left him soaking in the sunshine of his own approval.
The next morning Muriel Witherspan heard of the Wazoos. There was no such tribe on the river, but he had to fasten his stories to some people or other, and she listened open-mouthed.
“Mr Tibbetts was telling me how the Wazoos commit suicide by burying themselves head downward,” she said at lunch. And again: “The Wazoos, Mr Tibbetts says, live in trees in summer to keep away from the mosquitoes.”
Sanders blinked, but agreed.
To the unfortunate Wazoos, Bones affixed the creations of his fancy. On their behalf he invented a kingdom (he drew it on the firm sand of the beach), and a dynasty beginning with Wog-Wog the First and ending with Boo-Bah the Ninth.
“You’ve done it, Bones,” said Hamilton one morning, meeting his subordinate on the parade ground. “That lady wants to go to Wazooland, and Sanders had to prevent her forcibly from wiring to her lordly parent for permission. It only shows what mischief a ready liar can make.”
“I like that!” said Bones indignantly.
“Of course you do – Sanders is taking her up to the Ochori, and is breaking to her gently the fact that the Wazoos ain’t!”
“Why, you treacherous old officer hound!” protested Bones. “Didn’t you tell me–”
“Stand to attention when you speak to your superior officer,” said Hamilton sternly.
“Deuced unfair, sir,” murmured Bones. “Deuced unsporting, dear old Judas!”
It was Sanders who took her to the Upper River on the Zaire, but the chagrin of Bones at being deprived of the privilege of escorting the beautiful visitor was relieved when, the day after the departure of the chief, a pigeon post came to headquarters. Taking the little paper from the pigeon’s leg, Hamilton saw that it was from Sanders and marked “Urgent.”
“Send Bones instantly to Lujamalababa by Wiggle. Arrest and bring to headquarters Saka the witch doctor.”
“I suppose you’d better hop,” said Hamilton thoughtfully. “That blighter has been seeing things again.”
* * *
In the Akasava country, beyond Lujamalababa, on the farther side of the Great Lake, lived Saka, the sorcerer, who was the son of a sorcerer and the great-grandson of two others. This magic man had power of life and death. He could touch the dead upon their breasts, and they would straightaway open their eyes and speak. And he could look upon a man or woman, and they would disappear and never be seen again. So it was said.
Once, a petty chief and his tribe, who was a very rich man, went away to the Frenchi country to trade skins and ivory, and because he did not trust his relations – as who does? – he left with Saka all his movable wealth, and Saka buried it in his presence beneath the floor of his hut,