The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ for you,” said Fembeni, “paying one bag of salt.”

      From the leather pouch at his side he produced a long flat flask.

      She smiled as she recognised the floral label of the abominable scent beloved of the natives.

      “This I bought for you, teacher,” he said, and removed the stopper so that the unoffending evening reeked of a sudden with the odour of musk, “that you might protect me against Sandi, who is no God-man but a devil.”

      She took the bottle and hastily replaced the stopper.

      “Sandi is no devil,” she said gently, “and will do you no harm.”

      “He has crossed the river,” said Fembeni sulkily, and there was a curious glitter in his eyes, “and he will speak with my wives, and they will tell him evil things of me.”

      She looked at him gravely.

      “What evil things can they say?” she asked.

      “They can lie,” he said shortly, “and Sandi will bring his rope and I shall die.”

      She smiled. “I do not think you need fear,” she said, andbegan to walk back; but he stood in front of her, and at that instant she realised her danger, and the colour faded from her face.

      “If Sandi comes after me to kill me,” he said slowly, “I shall say to him: ‘Behold, I have a woman of your kind, and if you do not pardon me you will be sorry.’”

      She thought quickly, then of a sudden leapt past him and fled in the direction of the station.

      He was after her in a flash. She heard the fast patter of his feet, and suddenly felt his arm about her waist.

      She screamed, but there was none to hear her, and his big hand covered her mouth.

      He shook her violently.

      “You live or you die,” he said; “but if you cry out I will beat you till you die.”

      He halt carried, half dragged her in the direction of the forest.

      She was nearly dead with fear; she was dimly conscious of the fact that he did not take the beaten path, that he turned at right angles and moved unerringly through the wood, following a path of his own knowing.

      As he turned she made another attempt to secure her liberty. She still held the scent flask in her hand, and struck at him with all her might. He caught her arm and nearly broke it.

      The stopper fell out and her dress was drenched with the vile perfume.

      He wrenched the flask from her hand and threw it

      Grasping her by the arm he led her on. She was nearly exhausted when he stopped, and she sank an inert heap to the ground.

      She dare not faint, though she was on the verge of such a breakdown. How long they had been travelling she had no idea. The sun was setting; this she guessed rather than knew, for no sunlight penetrated the aisles.

      Fembeni watched her; he sat with his back to a tree and regarded her thoughtfully.

      After a while he rose.

      “Come,” he said.

      They moved on in silence. She made no appeal to him. She knew now the futility of speech. Her mind was still bewildered. “Why, why, why?” it asked incoherently.

      Why had this man professed Christianity?

      “Fembeni,” she faltered, “I have been kind to you.”

      “Woman,” he said grimly, “you may be kinder,” she said no more.

      The horror of the thing began to take shape. She half stopped, and he grasped her arm roughly.

      “By my head you shall live,” he said, “if Sandi gives his word that none of us shall hang — for we are the Terrible Men, and Sandi has smelt me out.”

      There was a gleam of hope in this speech. If it was only as a hostage that they held her —

      Night had fallen when they came to water,

      Here Fembeni halted. He searched about an undergrowth and dragged to view a section of hollow tree-trunk.

      Inside were two sticks of iron wood, and squatting down before the lokali he rattled a metallic tattoo.

      For ten minutes he played his tuneless rhythm. When he stopped there came a faint reply from somewhere across the lake.

      They waited, the girl and her captor, for nearly half an hour. She strained her ears for the sound of oars, not knowing that the water did not extend for more than a hundred yards, and that beyond and around lay the great swamp wherein stood the island headquarters of the Nine.

      The first intimation of the presence of others was a stealthy rustle, then through the gloom she saw the men coming toward her.

      Fembeni grasped her arm and led her forward. He exchanged a few words with the newcomers in a dialect she could not understand. There was a brief exchange of questions, and then the party moved on.

      The ground beneath her feet grew soft and sodden. Sometimes the water was up to her ankles. The leader of the men picked his way unerringly, now following a semicircular route, now turning off at right angles, now winding in and out, till she lost all sense of direction.

      Her legs were like lead, her head was swimming and she felt she was on the point of collapse when suddenly the party reached dry land.

      A few minutes later they reached the tumbledown village which the outlaws had built themselves.

      A fire was burning, screened from view by the arrangement of the huts which had been built in a crescent.

      The girl was shown a hut and thrust inside.

      Soon afterwards a woman brought her a bowl of boiled fish and a gourd of water.

      In her broken Isisi she begged the woman to stay with her, but she was evidently of the N’Gombi people and did not understand.

      A few minutes later she was alone.

      Outside the hut about the fire sat eight of the Nine Terrible Men. One of these was Oko of the Isisi, a man of some power.

      “This woman I do not like,” he said, “and by my way of thinking Fembeni is a fool and a son of a tool to bring her unless she comes as other women have come — to serve us.”

      “Lord Oko,” said Fembeni, “I am more skilled in the ways of white folk than you, and I tell you that if we keep this woman here it shall be well with us. For if Sandi shall catch you or me, or any of us, we shall say to him: ‘There is a woman with us whom you greatly prize, and if you hang me, behold you kill her also.’”

      Still Oko was not satisfied.

      “I also know white people and their СКАЧАТЬ