The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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      “I can cure you,” he said softly, “by certain magic. Go you to the far end of the village, there you will find four new huts and in each hut three beds. Now you shall lie down on each bed and after you shall go into the forest as fast as you can walk and wait for my magic to work.”

      Thus spake Bosambo, and the man at his feet, with death’s hand already upon his shoulder, listened eagerly.

      “Lord, is there any other thing I must do?” he asked in the thin whistling tone which is characteristic of the disease.

      “This you must also do,” said Bosambo, “you must go to these huts secretly so that none see you; and on each bed you shall lie so long as it will take a fish to die.”

      Watched from a hundred doorways, the sick man made his way back to the forest; and the men of the village spat on the ground as he passed.

      Bosambo sent his messengers to Sanders then and there, and patiently awaited the coming of the emissaries of the Goat.

      At ten o’clock that night, before the moon was up, they arrived dramatically. Simultaneously twelve lights appeared, at twelve points about the village, then each light advanced at slow pace and revealed a man bearing a torch.

      They advanced at solemn pace until they arrived together at a meeting place, and that place the open roadway before Bosambo’s hut. In a blazing semicircle they stood before the chief — and the chief was not impressed.

      For these delegates were a curious mixture. They included a petty chief of the Ochori — Bosambo marked him down for an ignominious end — a fisherman of the Isisi, a witch doctor of the N’Gombi, a hunter of the Calali, and, chiefest of all, a tall, broad-shouldered negro in the garb of white men.

      This was Ofalikari, sometime preacher of the Word, and supreme head of the terrible order which was devastating the territories.

      As they stood the voice of a man broke the silence with a song. He led it in a nasal falsetto, and the others acted as chorus.

      “The White Goat is very strong and his horns are of gold.”

      “Oai!” chorused the others.

      “His blood is red and he teaches mysteries.”

      “Oai!”

      “When his life goes out his spirit becomes a god.”

      “Oai!”

      “Woe to those who stand between the White Goat and his freedom.”

      “Oai!”

      “For his sharp feet will cut them to the bone and his horns will bleed them.”

      “Oai!”

      They sang, one drum tapping rhythmically, the bangled feet of the chorus jingling as they pranced with deliberation at each “O ai!”

      When they had finished, Ofalikari spoke.

      “Bosambo, we know you to be a wise man, and acquainted with white people and their gods, even as I am, for I was a teacher of the blessed Word. Now the White Goat loves you, Bosambo, and will do you no injury. Therefore have we come to summon you to a big palaver tomorrow, and to that palaver we will summon Sandi to answer for his wickedness. Him we will burn slowly, for he is an evil man.”

      “Lord Goat,” said Bosambo, “this is a big matter, and I will ask you to stay with me this night, that I may be guided and strengthened by your lordships’ wisdom. I have built you four new huts,” he went on, “knowing that your honours were coming; here you shall be lodged, and by my heart and my life no living man shall injure you.”

      “No dead man can, Bosambo,” said Otalikari, and there was a rocking shout of laughter. Bosambo laughed too; he laughed louder and longer than all the rest, he laughed so that Ofalikari was pleased with him.

      “Go in peace,” said Bosambo, and the delegates went to their huts.

      In the early hours of the morning Bosambo sent for Tomba, an enemy and a secret agent of the society.

      “Go to the great lords,” he said, “tell them I come to them tonight by the place where the Isisi River and the big river meet. And say to them that they must go quickly, for I do not wish to see them again, lest our adventure does not carry well, and Sandi punish me.”

      At daybreak with his cloak of monkey tails about him — for the dawn was chilly — he watched the delegation leave the village and each go its separate way.

      He noted that Tomba accompanied them out of sight. He wasted half an hour, then went to his hut and emerged naked save for his loin cloth, his great shield on his left arm, and in the hand behind the shield a bundle of throwing spears.

      To him moved fifty fighting men, the trusted and the faithful, and each carried his wicker war shield obliquely before him.

      And the Ochori people, coward at heart, watched the little company in awe. They stood waiting, these fierce, silent warriors, till at a word they marched till they came to the four huts where Bosambo’s guests had lain. Here they waited again. Tomba came in time and stared uneasily at the armed rank.

      “Tomba,” said Bosambo gently, “did you say farewell to the Goat lords?”

      “This I did, chief,” said Tomba.

      “Embracing them as is the Goat custom?” asked Bosambo more softly still.

      “Lord, I did this.”

      Bosambo nodded.

      “Go to that hut, O Tomba, great Goat and embracer of Goats.”

      Tomba hesitated, then walked slowly to the nearest hut. He reached the door, and half turned.

      “Slay!” whispered Bosambo, and threw the first spear.

      With a yell of terror the man turned to flee, but four spears struck him within a space of which the palm of a hand might cover and he rolled into the hut, dead.

      Bosambo selected another spear, one peculiarly prepared, for beneath the spear head a great wad of dried grass had been bound and this had been soaked in copal gum.

      A man brought him fire in a little iron cup and he set it to the spear, and with a jerk of his palm sent the blazing javelin to the hut’s thatched roof.

      In an instant it burst into flame — in ten minutes the four new houses were burning fiercely.

      And on the flaming fire, the villagers, summoned to service, added fresh fuel and more and more, till the sweat rolled down their unprotected bodies. In the afternoon Bosambo allowed the fire to die down. He sent two armed men to each of the four roads that led into the village, and his orders were explicit.

      “You shall kill any man or woman who leaves this place,” he said; “also you shall kill any man or woman who, coming in, will not turn aside. And if you do not kill them, I myself will kill you. For I will not have the sickness mongo in my city, lest our lord Sandi is angry.”

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