CHAPTER XXI
RELIEF
Hilton Dane sat with a fouled rifle across his knees in an angle of thestockade protecting what had been the hospital camp. It was, however, ahospital no longer, for some of the sick had recovered, and the rest haddied. Dane considered that he might have saved more of them had he beenmore skilled in medicine, but he had done his best according to hisabilities; and none of the poor wretches seemed to blame him. Still,there were times when he felt like a murderer as some unfortunatesufferer's eyes turned in his direction, beseeching help, and he coulddo nothing but watch him die. They died, for the most part, asapathetically as they had lived, the heathen with the uncomplainingstolidity which had carried them through much hardship and cruelty, andthose who followed the prophet testifying that it was Allah's will.
Dane remembered it all that morning as he looked round upon the remnantleft him, for it seemed hardly possible that any would see another day.When the pestilence relaxed its grip he had resumed the mining, untilthe tribesmen hemmed them in. Once the foe tried to storm the camp, andfailed so signally that beyond creeping up and firing into it, they hadnot repeated the attempt until the preceding night, when a few succeededin passing the defenses. These, however, did not survive very long. Onthe other hand, the garrison could not get out, and though they had nolack of water, one cannot subsist upon fluid alone, and there was verylittle else.
The men lay about the stockade with their rusty guns beside them, thenegro, Bad Dollar, filing his matchet, as he did continually. The manDane called Monday, however, crouched close beside him. A curiousfriendship had sprung up between the two, and they would talk longtogether with mutual satisfaction, though neither of them fullyunderstood his companion.
A ravine cut the camp off from the forest in the rear, and beyond thefront stockade the ground fell steeply to the river. There was forestacross it, but only the tops of the higher trees rose out of the mistwhich shrouded all the plain below.
"You tink Cappy Maxwell perhallups come to-day, sah?" asked Monday.
"He will certainly come some day," Dane answered with a cheerfulness hefound it hard to assume. "It would be opportune if he came just now,especially as he might be too late to-morrow. A miss is rather betterthan a mile in the present case, but you let too many of your blackfriends get in last night, Monday."
The dusky man, for he was not a negro, looked up at the speakerdoubtfully and shook his head.
"I no savvy all them palaver, sah, but Cappy Maxwell too much fine whiteman. All them black boy tink each morning they go look him. CappyMaxwell say he lib for heah, and them boy believe him."
Dane glanced at the dejected objects, even then staring down expectantlyinto the drifting mist, then at the tally of days that would never bewholly forgotten which he had scored on a post of the stockade. Adeeper notch marked each seventh, and after many calculations he hadgashed a few across to indicate the probable date of Maxwell's departurefrom Little Mahu. The black men did not understand the meaning of thosescores and regarded the making of them as a religious ceremony, but Danefancied that Maxwell might understand if he reached the camp too late.Then, perhaps because he was overwrought, he became conscious of anextravagant pride in his friend. Those half-naked Africans had waited,trusting in Maxwell's promise patiently and long, and trusting itimplicitly still. This, it seemed to him, was no small testimony.
"I tink we look Cappy Maxwell one time, sah," Monday began again.
"If he is alive, you will," Dane answered as sturdily. "Stop those boys'chattering. Something is going on down yonder now."
Monday stood up staring at the mist.
"Them parrot scream, sah, and them monkey talk. I tink them dam bushmenlib for come back again."
"Then don't let your boys start shooting until they crawl close in,"Dane answered, with an indifference assumed to reassure the rest "Someof those fellows can't hit anything with a gun, and you had better keepa few as a standby in case they come in with a run. Let them wait untilthe bushmen lib for climb the stockade, and then split their heads withthe matchets. You understand me?"
Monday apparently did so, for he moved off with a grin which betokenednothing pleasant for the bushmen; and Dane sat still with his eyes fixedon the forest. Something was evidently happening, but the mist wasthick, and he could not see into its dim recesses. His few men were worndown by hunger and continuous watching, and he feared that if the foepushed the attack with vigor they would certainly get in. There was nodoubt that the garrison would make a grim last stand if they did, butthat appeared at the best a poor consolation, and Dane became sensibleof a coldly murderous indignation against the bushmen.
There was a crackle of undergrowth far below, then a sound as of mensplashing through the river which ran high and swollen; but Dane wasshort of ammunition, and did not consider it advisable to fire blindlyinto the mist. He felt himself quivering with suspense. Staring down thesteep face of the bluff, he waited, ready to drive a bullet through thehead of the first assailant who rose out of the vapor. Then the noiseceased altogether, and the ensuing silence became maddening. How longthis lasted Dane could never tell, but he grew cold and hot by turns ashe waited, until a sound that was wholly unexpected became faintlyaudible. It was not the rustle made by the passage of a stealthy foe,but more resembled the approach of men marching in some order. While theblood pulsed within him he saw that the camp boys glanced from him tothe vapor under the influence of an overwhelming excitement. But thoughthe sound came nearer, the mist, which was thicker than ever, still hidall below, until a negro's head rose out of it, and Dane saw that hecarried a hammock pole. Then a wild shout went up, and Monday's yellrang through all the rest:
"Cappy Maxwell lib!"
There was an end of all discipline. Weapons went down clattering, andfamishing men, who during many weary days had vainly scanned theforest, poured out through the stockade gate and raced madly down theslope to welcome those who had brought them the long expected help. Fora moment Dane stood stupidly still, almost too dazed to realize what hadcome about, vacantly wondering how Maxwell had forced a passage withoutfiring a shot. Then the contagion seized him and, leaping down from thestockade, he followed the rest. His perceptions were yet clouded by abewildering sense of relief, but it struck him that the hammock-bearerscame on in an ominous silence. When he reached them, Amadu looked at himcuriously, as though he would have spoken, but, brushing past, Dane torethe wet matting aside.
Then he stepped suddenly backward, breathless and aghast. Maxwell layhuddled in a limp heap upon the drenched canvas, almost unrecognizable.His face was distorted and shrunken, his jacket reddened in patches, andhis lips were cracked and black. His eyes had grown dim and glassy, andwhen he spoke his very voice seemed changed.
"Have I altered so much that you don't know me, comrade?"
"You have brought us our lives, Carsluith, but God knows I would ratherhave stayed on here forever than to see you come like this," said Dane.
Maxwell moved a little, and there was the ghost of a smile in hishalf-dosed eyes.
"I really couldn't help it. I hardly think I shall trouble you long. Abushman back in the forest shot me."
"Don't!" Dane answered hoarsely. "It can't be so bad as that. I won'tbelieve it!"
Maxwell let his hand fall into his comrade's palm as though to convincehim.
"I am afraid it is. I have been holding on to my lifedesperately--because I wanted to see you before I went," he saidbrokenly.
The touch of his clammy hand struck a cold chill through Dane, who,turning abruptly, bade the hammock boys carry their burden with allspeed to the tent. What he saw there convinced him that CarsluithMaxwell had made his last adventurous march, and that the best to behoped for him was a painless passing to his rest. Maxwell also knew it,and though Dane could say nothing because of the choking sensation inhis throat, he looked up at him and nodded.
"Hopeless, isn't it? This case is beyond your skill," he said faintly."We have been good comrades, but even the bes
t partnership can't lastforever. Still, you might do what little you can, for there are things Iwant to tell you."
Dane went out to seek for his case of drugs, and just then, as if inmockery, a blaze of sunshine beat down on clustering negroes andrain-beaten camp. Swayed by a sudden gust of grief and passion, the manshook his fist at the river and cursed what lay beneath it. It seemed tohis overwrought fancy that the stain of blood was on the gold, the bloodof the staunchest comrade any man ever starved or fought beside. Thoughtheir friendship had been neither lengthy nor demonstrative, thehardships and perils undergone had woven a bond between them that knitthem as close as brothers. Nevertheless, Dane had yet to learn all thathis comrade had done for him.
Maxwell slept or lapsed into unconsciousness all afternoon, but herevived a little by nightfall, and beckoned his comrade near him. Thenight was black and hot. Because Dane had given stringent orders, nonegro's voice reached them, and they seemed utterly alone, hemmed in bythe darkness of Africa. Dane could hear only the river moan below, andhe found it necessary to cough huskily, for again, as he remembered oneother night when they sat there together filled with bright hopes forthe future, an obstruction gathered in his throat. Maxwell told him ofhis journey, in a low, strained voice, halting for breath at frequentintervals, and every word burned itself into the listener's memory.Maxwell always put things vividly and tersely.
"It was a wonderful march; but I have let you talk too much," said Dane,when he concluded. "So it was by Lilian's help you fitted out theexpedition, and she rode all night across the mountains to warnChatterton. It was what one might have expected. God bless her!"
"Amen," said Maxwell, with full solemnity. "The talking can't make muchdifference now--I shall have a long rest to-morrow. There is stillsomething I must say, and even if I am blundering it seems best tospeak. We are very blind when we think we see most clearly, Hilton."
Dane looked at the speaker with some bewilderment as he let his headfall back on the matting, and lay still gasping. Five long minutespassed before he spoke again.
"Will you raise me a little, Hilton? My breath comes short."
Dane slipped one arm beneath his shoulder before Maxwell continued.
"It is strange that neither of us guessed; but all was for the best,maybe. The knowledge might have severed our friendship--I hardly thinkmuch more than that would part us now. Though twice I came near doingso, I never told you that I asked Miss Chatterton to marry me."
It was only by an effort that Dane held his arm motionless so that itstill supported the dying man. It seemed the strangest of all thestrange happenings that they two should have braved so much together forthe love of the same woman.
Maxwell saw his blank surprise, and smiled feebly.
"You asked Lilian Chatterton to marry you?" Dane repeated dazedly.
"Very foolish of me, was it not? But there is no reason for suchsurprise that I should desire it; and I promptly discovered my folly. Ialso gathered there was somebody who might please her better. Now youhave the simple fact, but as there is an inference you must listenstill. How could I have guessed the truth--after what I saw at theHallows Brig? It appeared impossible to me that any man who had won MissChatterton's approval could find pleasure in----"
"Stop!" cried Dane, striving to hold his excitement in check. "You weremistaken, Carsluith. It was only out of pity, and because theimprisonment of her brother would bring destitution upon her, that I metthat girl."
"I can take your word," Maxwell said quietly. "That was the one pointwhich troubled me. Strange, isn't it, that on my last night I shouldtalk in this fashion; but when one's grasp on material things growsfeeble the others assume their due value. Yes, I loved LilianChatterton--as I love her still--though it was madness to think thatshe, fresh and bright with innocent light-heartedness, could stoop tomate with a somber man like me. But raise me a little. I can't see youclearly, Hilton."
Dane did as he was bidden, and Maxwell continued:
"I want you to remember that it was my fault, Hilton. Miss Chattertonnever suspected until I spoke that night we passed you at Hallows Brig.I had a suspicion you admired her before that time, but it vanishedcompletely then. You see how each trivial incident fitted in. She wasvery gentle, but I knew her decision was final--and still I did not seethe truth."
As Maxwell looked into his comrade's eyes a quiver ran through Dane.
"I am bewildered, and it seems brutal to ask you questions now," he saidhuskily. "But you have more to tell."
Maxwell's eyes signified assent, but he paused to gather breath.
"It is only because I am dying. Otherwise, you would never have heardthis from me, but it seems best for both that you should know. It wasnaturally not for--my--sake Miss Chatterton made that midnight journey."
Maxwell smiled wistfully as he let his head sink back again; and Dane,drawing his arm away, said nothing for a few minutes. It was wonderfulnews he had heard, but the price which had been paid for his safety wasunbearably heavy.
"You are a very staunch friend--and this makes it the harder for me tolose you. If only there was anything a man could do to prevent it!Carsluith, rouse yourself! I can't lose you!"
"It makes it the easier for me to go," said Maxwell. "If what I hope forhappens, you will always be kind to her, Hilton. Just moisten my lipswith the brandy."
There was silence afterward, for Maxwell lay breathing unevenly with hiseyes closed, and Dane was swayed in turn by satisfaction and a crushingsense of loss. He suffered from remorse as well. Maxwell dying hadrevealed a side of his nature his comrade now knew he should have seenmanifested in his actions if not in his words.
It was the sufferer who first spoke again.
"It was Rideau who brought misfortune upon us from the beginning, and tojudge by the rifle the bushman left, he was the instigator of the lastattack."
"May worse befall me if I do not repay him fully before I leave Africa!"Dane said, solemnly.
Maxwell appeared to smile as he had always done when his partner wasunusually emphatic.
"He had excuses, Hilton, and I am past all desire for vengeance now. Forone thing he recognized the senorita's gift to you. Still, for the sakeof Miss Castro--and she promised to help me--I would advise you not tolet him go free to continue his persecution of Dom Pedro. We both oweher a good deal, and I would like you, if possible, to tell her so. Youmight add my respectful remembrance, too. There is yet another point.Whatever my share of this gold may be, I bequeath it to you, with myblessing, on condition that you send the boys back happy, with as muchcloth as they can carry, to wherever they came from. The poor devilsserved us faithfully. When I have rested, I would like to see Amadu.Then I think my work will be finished, and I can only await the summonsto answer for what I have failed in. It will come before sunrise,Hilton."
An hour passed slowly while Dane listened to the ticking of his watch;then Maxwell opened his eyes again, and Dane beckoned to Amadu, whostood waiting without. He came in, still wearing the straight bladewhich had struck the murderer down, and stood like a bronze statuebeside his master.
"I want to thank you for faithful service, Amadu," Maxwell said weakly."You shall have the gun--you have won it--and whatever else you wishbesides. We made two great journeys together, but I cannot take you withme now."
The big man bent until Maxwell's thin hand rested on his head. What theysaid Dane failed to comprehend, but Amadu seemed to do him homage, andwhen he rose, he moved slowly, with raised palms and head bent, backwardout of the tent. Then as Maxwell's eyes closed he crouched in theentrance, with the steel, which caught the lamplight, lying naked acrosshis knee.
"Often I lib for watch them white man so," he said softly. "No djinn ordevil go near him now."
Maxwell said little further. He slept or lay unconscious for some time,and then just smiled for a moment as his eyes rested on the grimsentinel with the bronze limbs and raw blue draperies, guarding theentrance. When he next roused himself he laid his chilly hand on one ofDane's, and showed
a faint sign of pleasure when his comrade's fingersclosed upon it. Once again he murmured, but it was rather by themovements of his lips than by audible sound that Dane gathered themessage:
"You will tell her I kept my promise."
That was his last effort, for when the night was almost gone the fingerswhich lay limp in Dane's grew rigid. Then Dane stood up stiffly,desolate, knowing that the spirit of Carsluith Maxwell had passed tofind such rest as may be reserved for the souls of loyal gentlemen. Butthe dust claims that which sprang from it quickly in that land, and thecomrade he left to mourn over him found his own endurance heavily taxedbefore the aliens who had helped him at his task took up their stationswith weapons girt about them, a barbaric guard of honor, at the deadman's head and feet. It was Amadu who strapped the big revolver by itslanyard to his master's wrist, when, scattering a few of theheavy-scented lily blossoms, Dane folded the tired hands. Then they kepttheir vigil together, and it did not seem incongruous that dusky cattlethief and soldier of fortune should watch beside the English adventurer.Humanity is greater than color and creed, and it was as those who hadsuffered together they did their dead due honor.
The rain had ceased and a dazzling sunrise flamed across the forest whenDane stooped for a last glance at Carsluith Maxwell. The pain had fadedfrom his face, and he lay in impressive serenity as one who rested withhis work well done. Then the lonely survivor went out into thebrightness of the morning with a grief that found no expression mingledin his heart with the lust of vengeance.
The League of the Leopard Page 21
