The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ fortnight after this a party of Ochori hunters came into the Lombobo country hot on the trail of an elephant. K’maka sent a regiment to seize them and impound the elephant.

      “For this I say,” said he to his captives, “and my words are of such wisdom that even Sandi bows before them: That which is on one side of a certain tree on the Ochori side is mine and what is on the other side is your master’s.”

      “Lord,” said the chief huntsman, “it was a palaver that there should be free hunting in your land.”

      “And free fishing,” said K’maka with savage sarcasm, “and free woodcutting by Death! And that thief, your master, would spoil my beautiful land, sucking it I dry, and make mock of me — a chief of a thousand spears! Go back to Bosambo and summon him to meet me by the gum-tree on the road.”

      The empty-handed huntsmen returned home to meet with the wrath of their lord.

      Bosambo swore in Karo, in Arabic, in Bomongo, in Swahili, and in English, calling K’maka a “dam black nigger,” and casting reflections upon his parentage. At an appointed time the two chiefs met, K’maka being late in arriving.

      “Lord Bosambo,” said he, speaking from a place which was on the Lombobo side of the gum-tree, “I have shame in my heart that I did not come at the hour. But I have a wife who had a lover, putting shame on me, and this day I killed her and him according to the law.”

      “These things happen,” said Bosambo. “Now have I come to you, K’maka the Thinker, because of certain strange occurrences which have come to my ears. It is said that you have forbidden the Ochori to hunt or chop wood in your territory.”

      “That is true,” said K’maka, “for the land this side of the gum-tree is mine, and I am chief of the country as far as your eye sees.”

      “The land is for all,” said Bosambo with some unction.

      “The world is for all,” corrected the Thinker; “yet rabbits do not nest in trees or eagles burrow in the earth. Each kind lives in the place appointed, and it is appointed the Ochori should live on the one side and the Lombobo on the other.”

      Bosambo was aroused.

      “It seems that you are an avaricious dog,” he said, “and if I chop wood to the edge of my country, behold I begin!”

      He called for an axe, and they brought him one thin of blade and very sharp.

      He struck twice at the tree.

      “Bosambo,” said K’maka, quivering with rage, “what do you do?”

      “Dispenser of Justice,” mocked Bosambo, “former of fat words, talking fish and breeder of wisdom as a dirty hut breds vermin, I go to cut my tree.”

      “It is my tree!” roared K’maka and reached behind him for a throwing spear.

      “One half is yours,” said Bosambo, chopping steadily, yet with an eye to danger, “and behold! I cut down that half which is mine. And if by your wisdom you keep your half standing, then you are a prince amongst thinkers.”

      He continued cutting whilst K’maka watched, boiling with rage.

      “If you continue in your evil practice,” he said, “what shall prevent the tree falling.”

      “Nothing,” said Bosambo significantly, “for the nights of wind are coming, and the wind blows towards the Ochori — and behold! when the tree falls it shall belong to me!”

      K’maka drew back his hand swiftly and threw his spear.

      *

      “They are in that clump of bush,” said Sanders. His face was reeking wet, and there was a thin trickle of blood on his face.

      “I’ll put a couple of shells into ‘em,” said the Houssa captain. “These Lombobo people fight fairly well.”

      Sanders said nothing. He bared his white teeth in a smile, but he was not really amused.

      “Ahmet,” said the Houssa captain, kneeling on the deck and keeping his field glasses fixed on the little patch of wood that hid the enemy, “as you love the faith and hate all Kaffirs, do not drop your shell short again, or I will beat you on the feet.”

      “Lord, the light is bad,” said the gunner. He brought the muzzle of the gun a little higher and fired.

      This time the shell fell true. Over the trees a white ball of smoke came into existence, and they heard the “krock” of its shell as it burst.

      The Houssa captain rose and walked to where Sanders stood.

      “Exactly what is all the bother about?” he asked.

      Sanders said nothing for a while.

      “Bosambo had something to do with it,” he said, “yet the rascal was only acting according to his rights. K’maka is raising Cain. He has fought the Isisi and raided their territory; he has pushed back the Ochori to the edge of their city — they had to fight like the devil to save it. K’maka has proclaimed himself king of the Ochori, the Isisi, and the Lombobo, and has sent to the Akasava and the N’Gombi to bring him presents and do homage.”

      His voice choked; then the humour of it appealed to him, and he laughed.

      He went ashore with the Houssas, and led the section which stormed the last stockade. Revolver in hand, he raced across the little clearing, the Houssas, with fixed bayonets, flanking him.

      K’maka, surrounded by the remnant of his captains, made a fierce resistance, but it was futile.

      Suddenly his men flung down their spears and bolted.

      “Take that man!”

      A group of Houssas flung themselves upon the struggling philosopher and bore him down.

      They brought him, bleeding but defiant, before Sanders, and for the space of two minutes they looked at one another.

      “K’maka,” said Sanders at length, “you have done a terrible thing, for you have brought war to this land by your arrogance and pride.”

      “White man,” said K’maka haughtily, “I am a king and the master of these countries — I do not speak with servants — therefore, little man, bring me before your king that we may speak, equal to equal.”

      Sanders said nothing, then:

      “Catch him!” he said quickly.

      For K’maka went suddenly limp, his knees gave way and he slid down to the earth.

      He was wounded to death, as Sanders saw when he examined him.

      They carried the man to the shade of a tree, and Sanders sat by him.

      The man looked up at the Commissioner.

      “Lord,” he said faintly, “I think I go beyond your punishment.”

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