Zero the Slaver: A Romance of Equatorial Africa
Page 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
"HOPE."
On the following night, therefore, as soon as darkness fell, Kenyon,disguised to represent the old hermit, again entered the slavers' town,whilst Leigh, Grenville, Amaxosa, and a score of picked men lay in waitbelow the well, from which, in the event of hearing a given signalwhistle, they were to sally out and assist our adventurous friend.
The detective went about his accustomed work with the greatest_nonchalance_; and, on reaching the building which had been pointed outto him the previous night, simply and plainly told the guard that hewished to have speech of the condemned woman. Without a word of reply,one of the men on duty signed to Kenyon to follow him, and well mightour adventurer, under the loose folds of his cloak, clench his fingersover the butt of a friendly revolver when he found himself ushereddirectly into the well-known and hated presence of Zero the Slaver. Fora moment the impulse was almost unconquerable in Kenyon to slip out hissix-shooter and make an end of this inhuman monster without furtherpalaver; but, recognising how much hung upon the result of his actionsthat night, he wisely restrained his passions.
The slaver was sitting in a handsomely got-up room carpeted with furs,and thick with weapons and with trophies of the chase, and opposite tohim--fortunately, perhaps, for Kenyon--sat the native king alreadyspoken of, and who immediately did our adventurer reverence, in hiscapacity of Muzi Zimba the Ancient.
As the guard detailed his errand. Zero rose with a sneering laugh."Ay! let him go to her," he said, "and look 'ee here, old man, if thiscaptive escapes me as did the last ones, thine own life shall pay theforfeit. Now go, nay, by all the Gods, I will go too!" and, passing onin front of the supposed hermit, he provided Kenyon with another almostoverpowering temptation to use his weapons.
Unbarring the door of another room, Zero let the hermit in and closedthe portal behind them both, and Kenyon found himself face to face withan imperially beautiful woman, still quite young, but whose lovely facewas worn with sorrow and anguish, and furrowed with her bitter tears. Atall, well-knit figure, a wealth of lustrous golden hair, and gloriousdeep blue eyes, formed a _tout ensemble_ which might have won pity froma stone, but had no effect whatever upon this scoundrel who battened onhuman misery.
"Well, madam," said the slaver, in cutting tones, "you have your ownobstinacy to thank for your death, which takes place to-morrow. Here'sa priest for you, so be quick and say your patter, or whatever it is.You'd be surprised to see how fast your precious boy is picking up thetenets of our Holy Mormon Faith," and the demon laughed a jeering,taunting laugh, which made Kenyon's blood boil, and he could have kissedthe feet of the defenceless woman before him for the gesture ofineffable contempt with which she turned her back on the wretched hound."Pray, begone," she said in a firm but musical voice; "your hatedpresence comes between me and my God."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the sardonic ruffian; "one for you, Sir Priest, onefor you, I reckon. Well, come along with you, I've no time to fool awayhere." But Kenyon, mindful of the part he had to play, took not theslightest notice of the slaver, but kneeled reverently down by himselffor a few brief moments, then rose and left the room obedient to animpatient signal from the fierce and wicked man, whom his fingers fairlyitched to throttle then and there.
Had Zero looked behind him he would have been greatly astonished to seethe captive woman bend simply down and gaze wildly at the floor beneathher feet; and then, in a mighty revulsion of feeling, give way to aperfect paroxysm of tears and sobs. What, you ask, gentle reader, wasthe cause of this sudden and subtle change from strength to weakness?What? Simply Stanforth Kenyon's message written with the point of hisfinger on a dusty boarded floor, and that message was:
"Hope."
Only four precious letters; yet this man had written them at the perilof his life. It must, it did, mean something, and all her woman's witwas instantly on the alert to lay hold of the earliest clue to thewhereabouts of these her secret friends.
Hope! Oh pity her, gentle reader, a lovely woman in the zenith of herbeauty and the pride of motherhood, condemned to die a frightful deathbefore another day had run its course, and die merely to satisfy theinsensate malice of a ruffian Mormon hound.
Turning away from Zero, Kenyon would have left the building in silence;but the slaver laid upon his shoulder a firm, detaining hand. "Softly,my good old man! `Softly! softly! catch monkey,' as these infernalniggers say. You live on the mountain, and I reckon you can see a longway. Now have you seen naught of this cursed Grenville and the pack offools who follow him? Speak out, man, or I guess I'll soon find meansto open your wretched old jaws."
Like a flash of light, an inspiration came to Kenyon; and, drawinghimself up proudly, he shook off the slaver's hand. "The men ye nameare even now within my cave upon the hill," he said. "Go seek them ifye dare, monster of evil, but beware the end thereof; beware, for MuziZimba warns thee!"
The effect was precisely what Kenyon had calculated upon. Flinging theold man from him with a fearful oath, the slaver sent his powerful voiceechoing through the house and out along the streets, calling up guardsand officers in every direction, whilst our adventurous friend soonafter took his departure, entirely unnoticed during the tumult whichfollowed the communication of the news which he had given, regarding theposition of his friends.
Hanging about for a few moments, however, Kenyon learned all he wishedto know, as he heard Zero, with a volley of oaths, exclaim: "Put off herexecution? No, by all the Gods--no, tie the slut to the faggots at noonto-morrow, and let her roast, and mind you have her whelp of a son towatch her die, whilst I eat up these cursed fools who think to change myvengeance and to spoil my trade."
This was all that Kenyon required to know, and an hour later he was deepin consultation with his friends in the hermit's cave, amongst thenorthern hills.
It was agreed on all hands that Kenyon had acted for the best, as theplan he had formed, though simple in the extreme, had every promise of agrand success.
Briefly, the scheme stood thus:--Whilst Zero was moving up to theattack, as he evidently meant to do next morning, a party of their ownwas, by way of the secret passage and the well, to enter Equatoria, fallupon the few guards left there, carry off the captive woman, andgenerally do as much damage to the slavers' town as they found it intheir power to accomplish. It was calculated that the rifles of Leigh,Umbulanzi, and Ewan, supported by the Atagbondo marksmen, would be quitesufficient to check Zero in his ascent up the steep and difficult pathto the cavern; and, even if he forced his way so far, he would have toreckon with about two hundred of the Atagbondo, and would find theirwarriors uncommonly hard nuts to crack; whilst Kenyon and Grenville, whowere to assail the town, would take with them Amaxosa and his men,together with a hundred of the "People of the Stick," quite sufficient,they thought, to do irreparable damage to the slavers' home in the twohours which they promised themselves to spend in Equatoria.
And so, after looking carefully over their arms and their defences, thelittle band lay down to sleep that night with perfect confidence intheir leaders, and in the issues of the morrow; only Leigh sat up thewhole night cleaning his weapons, with murder in his heart, and a wealthof determined resolve upon his handsome face.