The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ Gala!” droned his people.

      “Lala is high!”

      “O Gala!” they repeated and bowed their heads.

      The chief did not see Sanders, because Sanders came up behind him. He knew that Sanders was there, because Sanders kicked him very hard. “Get up, O foolish man!” said Sanders. He did not use those exact words, because he was very annoyed, but whatever he said had the desired effect.

      “Now you shall tell me,” said Sanders, “why you are so much bigger a fool than I ever thought you were.”

      “Lord,” said the chief humbly, “we go to seek new lands, for an Arabi taught us that we should pray in a certain way, and that if we prayed in a different place every night, great blessings would come to us—”

      A light dawned on Sanders.

      “We will go back tomorrow,” he said, after swallowing something in his throat, “and I will take my steamer and search for this Arabi.”

      Two days brought him to the village. He left the judgment of the chief to another day and hurried aboard.

      As the Zaire was casting off that woebegone individual came running to the beach.

      “Master,” he gasped, “we ask for justice!”

      “You shall have it,” said Sanders grimly.

      “Lord, all our homes are stolen, nothing is left.” Sanders swore at him fluently, in a language which allows considerable opportunities for such exercise. “Speak quickly, father of monkeys.”

      “Lord, they are gone,” said the agitated headman, “all our good pots and our mills, our spears, our hatchets and our fishing lines.”

      “Why did you leave them, O father of tom-cats?” said Sanders in exasperation.

      “The Arabi told us,” said the headman, “and we did that which we thought was best.”

      Sanders leant on the rail and spoke to the man. They were not words of kindness and cheer, nor words of hope or comfort. Sanders drew upon forest and river for his illustrations. He told the headman all about his life and sketched his existence after death. He referred to his habits, his morals and his relations. He spoke feelingly of his head, his feet and his bodily infirmities, and the interested Houssas on the Zaire drew closer lest one word should escape them.

      “And now,” said Sanders in conclusion, “I call all men to witness that you and your people are bushmen.”

      “O Ko!” said the horrified villagers who had come to the beach at the heels of their headman, for “bushman” is the very summit of insults.

      “Bushmen!” repeated Sanders bitterly as the boat drifted from the shore; “root-eaters, who talk with monkeys in their own language…”

      He left the people of the village considerably depressed.

      First he crossed the river to Fezembini. Yes, the chief had seen the Arabi, had indeed hired him two large canoes and six paddlers to each.

      “He said he was of the Government, lord, on secret service,” said the chief, “and desired to collect the things which the people of Chumbiri had left behind them.”

      These canoes had gone up river and they had some six days’ start of the Commissioner. Sanders lost no time. From a coop which was erected aft he took two pigeons. One had a red and the other had a tiny blue band about its leg. He wrote identical messages on sheets as thin in texture as a cigarette paper, bound them to the legs of the birds and released them. One pigeon he released, and that went north. He waited till it was out of sight, then he let the other go. That went north also, but a point or two west to its fellow.

      Sanders sent the Zaire in the same general direction. Later in the afternoon he reached the Akasava city.

      “What strangers have been here?” he asked the hastily-summoned chief.

      “Master, no stranger,” said the chief, “save only the new Arabi, whom your lordship has sent to sell us pots and knives.”

      Sanders gripped the rail of the boat, not trusting himself to speak.

      “He sold you pots?” he asked chokingly.

      “And spears,” said the chief, “and many desirable things, and they were very cheap and all the people praised you, master, that you had done this kindness. For thus said the Arabi: ‘Our lord Sandi desires that you should pay only a little for these precious articles — he himself has paid me that I should benefit you.’”

      “Anything else?”

      The chief hesitated.

      “Lord, he told us a story about a certain evil devil who tormented the ungrateful, and my people were frightened lest they did not accept the benefits your lordship offered and—”

      “Cast off!” roared Sanders.

      Naked men jumped into the shallow water and waded ashore to where the wire hawsers were fastened.

      “As for you,” said Sanders to the chief, “go tell your master the king that he has set up a child as chief of this city. For when was I so mad that I gave gifts to lazy people? Have I sickness that I should pay a thieving Arabi money to benefit evil and foolish men?”

      “Lord,” said the chief simply, “knowing that you were a mean and cruel man we felt great joy, thinking that the gods had touched your hard heart.”

      Sanders looked round for something to throw at him, for time was precious.

      He found only valuable things and allowed the matter to drop.

      At a village ten miles away he found further evidence of the Moor’s perfidy. Here the praying pilgrim had rested for a night and had borrowed three bags of salt, some dried fish and a store of manioc. He had done this in the name of the Government.

      “And gave me,” said the wizened headman, “a book with devil marks.”

      He handed a paper to Sanders. It was in Arabic, and the Commissioner read it with some emotion.

      “From Abdul Azrael, the servant of God, the one, true, beneficent and merciful.

      “To the giaour Sanders whom may God preserve and lead to the true faith.

      “Peace be on your house. This is written on the fourth day of the third week following Ramazin.

      “I go to my brethren who live beyond the Cataracts of the Great River. I pray for you, therefore pay these people for all that I have taken.”

      Sanders read it again.

      If Abdul took the river which passes Ochori and turned sharply to the right into the creek of Bamboo he would come in time to the Arab settlements which were beyond the Commissioner’s jurisdiction. Moreover, he would be beyond his reach, for the Zaire drew a fathom and a half of water and the creek of Bamboo averaged half СКАЧАТЬ