The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ on his feet, his fat figure shaking with wrath.

      But Sanders was up now, stiffly standing by his relief, and a gesture sent insulter and insulted squatting to earth.

      All that followed was Greek to Mr. Franks, because nobody troubled to translate what was said.

      “It seems to me,” said Sanders, “that I may divide my chiefs into three parts, saying this part is made of rogues, this part of fools, and this, and the greater part, of people who are rogues in a foolish way. Now I know only one of you who is a pure rogue, and that is Bosambo of the Ochori, and for the rest you are like children.

      “For when Bosambo spread the lie that I was leaving you, and when the master Franki called you together, you, being simpletons, who throw your faces to the shadows, thought, ‘Now this is the time to speak evilly of Sandi and well of the new master.’ But Bosambo, who is a rogue and a liar, has more wisdom than all of you, for the cunning one has said, ‘I will speak well of Sandi, knowing that he will stay with us; and Sandi, hearing me, will love me for my kindness.’”

      For one of the few times of his life Bosambo was embarrassed, and looked it.

      “Tomorrow,” said Sanders, “when I come from my house, I wish to see no chief or headman, for the sight of you already makes me violently ill. Rather I would prefer to hear from my men that you are hurrying back with all speed to your various homes. Later, I will come and there will be palavers — especially in the matter of poisoning. The palaver is finished.”

      He walked into the house with Franks, who was not quite sure whether to be annoyed or apologetic.

      “I am afraid my ideas do not exactly tally with yours,” he said, a little ruefully.

      Sanders smiled kindly.

      “My dear chap,” he said, “nobody’s ideas really tally with anybody’s! Native folk are weird folk — that is why I know them. I am a bit of a weird bird myself.”

      When he had settled his belongings in their various places the Commissioner sent for Bosambo, and that worthy came, stripped of his gaudy furnishings, and sat humbly on the stoep before Sanders.

      “Bosambo,” he said briefly, “you have the tongue of a monkey that chatters all the time.”

      “Master, it is good that monkeys chatter,” said the crestfallen chief, “otherwise the hunter would never catch them.”

      “That may be,” said Sanders; “but it their chattering attracts bigger game to stalk the hunter, then they are dangerous beasts. You shall tell me later about the poisoning of M’laka’s brother; but first you shall say why you desire to stand well with me. You need not lie, for we are men talking together.”

      Bosambo met his master’s eye fearlessly.

      “Lord,” he said, “I am a little chief of a little people. They are not of my race, yet I govern them wisely. I have made them a nation of fighters where they were a nation of women.”

      Sanders nodded. “All this is true; if it were not so, I should have removed you long since. This you know. Also that I have reason to be grateful to you for certain happenings.”

      “Lord,” said Bosambo, earnestly, “I am no beggar for favours, for I am, as you know, a Christian, being acquainted with the blessed Peter and the blessed Paul and other holy saints which I have forgotten. But I am a better man than all these chiefs and I desire to be a king.”

      “How much?” asked the astonished Sanders.

      “A king, lord,” said Bosambo, unashamed; “for I am fitted for kingship, and a witch doctor in the K-roo country, to whom I dashed a bottle of gin, predicted I should rule vast lands.”

      “Not this side of heaven,” said Sanders decisively. He did not say “heaven,” but let that pass.

      Bosambo hesitated.

      “Ochori is a little place and a little people,” he said, half to himself; “and by my borders sits M’laka, who rules a large country three times as large and very rich — ?”

      Sanders clicked his lips impatiently, then the humour of the thing took possession of him.

      “Go you to M’laka,” he said, with a little inward grin, “say to him all that you have said to me. If M’laka will deliver his kingdom into your hands I shall be content.”

      “Lord,” said Bosambo, “this I will do, for I am a man of great attainments and have a winning way.”

      With the dignity of an emperor’s son he stalked through the garden and disappeared.

      The next morning Sanders said goodbye to Mr. Franks — a coasting steamer gave the Commissioner an excuse for hurrying him off. The chiefs had departed at sunrise, and by the evening life had resumed its normal course for Sanders.

      It ran smoothly for two months, at the end of which time M’laka paid a visit to his brotherin-law, K-ulala, a chief of N’Gombi, and a man of some importance, since he was lord of five hundred spears, and famous hunters.

      They held a palaver which lasted the greater part of a week, and at the end there was a big dance.

      It was more than a coincidence that on the last day of the palaver two shivering men of the Ochori were led into the village by their captors and promptly sacrificed.

      The dance followed.

      The next morning M’laka and his relative went out against the Ochori, capturing on their way a man whom M’laka denounced as a spy of Sandi’s. Him they did to death in a conventional fashion, and he died uncomplainingly. Then they rested three days.

      M’laka and his men came to the Ochori city at daybreak, and held a brief palaver in the forest.

      “Now news of this will come to Sandi,” he said; “and Sandi, who is a white devil, will come with his soldiers, and we will say that we were driven to do this because Bosambo invited us to a dance, and then endeavoured to destroy us.”

      “Bosambo would have destroyed us,” chanted the assembly faithfully.

      “Further, if we kill all the Ochori, we will say that it was not our people who did the killing, but the Akasava.”

      “Lord, the killing was done by the Akasava,” they chanted again.

      Having thus arranged both an excuse and an alibi, M’laka led his men to their quarry.

      In the grey light of dawn the Ochori village lay defenceless. No fires spluttered in the long village street, no curl of smoke uprose to indicate activity.

      M’laka’s army in one long, irregular line went swiftly across the clearing which separated the city from the forest.

      “Kill!” breathed M’laka; and along the ranks the order was taken up and repeated.

      Nearer and nearer crept the attackers; then from a hut on the outskirts of the town stepped Bosambo, alone.

      He walked slowly to the centre of the street, and M’laka СКАЧАТЬ