09 Lion Adventure

by Willard Price

  And how ignorant you are, thought Hal. The headman of a village should be leading his people up into the light, instead of which this man was stumbling along with them in the dark.

  ‘Is there a school in Gula?’ Hal asked.

  ‘No school. Why should we have a school? We have the wisdom of our fathers and of their fathers.’

  Hal’s eyes swept over the village. Even the huts that had not been trampled by the elephants were poor things of mud and straw. How little had been accomplished by the wisdom of all the fathers. His heart went out to these people. They were as good stuff as could be found anywhere, but they needed education and opportunity. And what a sad mess they were in now - with half of their huts ruined and about a third of the gardens destroyed. At least he had been able with the help of the railway men to save the place from total destruction - but he had not prevented Black Mane from taking another victim.

  Chapter 12

  The knife

  On the way back to the balloon, Hal and Roger had to go through the patch of woodland.

  As they walked through the half-dark of the big trees, they heard the rustle of bare feet in the leaves behind them. They turned to face Basa.

  This time the powerful young black carried no bow and arrow. Hal hoped it meant that Basa had decided to be more friendly. His hope was dashed when Basa drew a murderous-looking long-bladed bush-knife from its sheath.

  ‘Now I have you where I want you,’ he said with a sinister smile. ‘No one will disturb us here. Now you will pay.’

  ‘Basa,’ Hal said, ‘can’t we forget all this and be friends? We are sorry for what happened to your father, but we were not to blame.’

  ‘You killed him,’ Basa retorted. ‘And then there is what happened today. You allowed your lion to kill another of our men.’

  ‘What do you mean, our lion?’ put in Roger hotly. ‘You talk as if we sent him.’

  ‘The man who was killed was one of the chief elders of our village. It was your job to protect him and all others from man-eaters.’

  Roger was about to reply angrily but Hal checked him. ‘No use losing our tempers,’ he said. ‘Basa, there is truth in what you say. So far we have failed to catch the black-maned one. But we have done what we could. Didn’t we come this morning to help you drive out the elephants?’

  ‘Yes, you saved a few cabbages and yams. But what are they compared with a man’s life? Enough talk. Defend yourself.’

  ‘One more word before you do something foolish,’ said Hal. ‘Do I have to remind you that we have guns?’

  ‘I know you have guns,’ Basa said contemptuously. ‘White men are cowards - they are afraid to fight without guns. As for me, this will do.’ A ray of sun through the trees struck his two-foot blade and made it glow like fire.

  Hal gave up. The only way to get sense into this young hothead was to beat it in. He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he would have to give it a try. He took out his revolver and dropped it into the grass. Roger took out his gun and held on to it.

  ‘Drop it,’ Hal said. ‘And keep out of this.’ Roger dropped his gun.

  Basa, though surprised to see his enemies get rid of their weapons just before a fight, showed no inclination to give up his own. He leaped forward and slashed with such power that this blow alone could have separated head from body if Hal had not ducked.

  The knife had not yet completed its swing before Hal’s right fist went up to the black man’s chin and his left went straight for his solar plexus.

  This double play should have staggered any ordinary man, but Basa was not ordinary. He came on again with a downsweep of his blade that should split a head in two. Hal was not there when it arrived. With a sidelong movement he seized his enemy’s sword arm and gave it a twist that loosened the fingers and sent the knife spinning. It barely escaped Roger and drove its point deep into a tree.

  Basa did not seem worried by the loss of his knife. His heavy fists battered Hal’s face. In a slugging match Hal saw that he had no chance against the big black.

  He turned a boxing bout into a wrestling match. Now it was a question of skill, not just brute strength. He had never learned much judo or karate, but enough to know how to flip his opponent over his head and lay him flat on the ground, face down.

  This he did. And before the astonished Basa could recover from his surprise, Hal sat down on him with such force that he completely drove the wind out of his lungs. Nevertheless Basa struggled to get up. Hal brought down his open hand edge first on the spine at that vulnerable point between neck and head. Basa blacked out

  When he came to fifteen minutes later he found his hands and feet securely tied with that natural rope of the African forest, the liana. Hal still sat on his back.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Basa mumbled, his mouth in the dust. ‘Get it over with.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Kill me.’

  ‘I have no desire to kill you.’

  ‘I want to kill you. And I’ll do it if I live.’

  ‘You’ll think better of it,’ Hal guessed. I’ve been waiting for you to come around because I want to talk to you.’

  ‘The time for talk is past. There’s nothing but killing now.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Hal said. ‘But there’s not going to be any killing. I’m going to sit right here until you tell me what’s really eating you. It can’t be this old revenge stuff. You’re too intelligent for that. There must be something else that’s bothering you. What is it?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘All right, I’ll just sit here until you think of something.’

  ‘Sit as long as you please.’

  But after another half hour Basa grew restless. ‘How long are you going to keep this up?’

  ‘Until you tell me what makes you such a sourpuss.’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Just could be that I could help you shake it off.’

  ‘What are you, a missionary or something?’

  ‘Far from it. But I happen to like you - you bloody brute - and I think you’re being wasted. Come clean. What’s back of all this? How can such a young fellow be such an old grouch? You don’t want me dead. What is it you really want?’

  Basa lay quiet a few minutes. Then he laughed weakly. ‘You’re a mind reader.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I never really wanted to kill you. It was something else. Let me up and I’ll tell you about it.’

  Hal began to untie the lianas. ‘Don’t,1 cried Roger. ‘He’s just trying to trick you.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Hal. He unbound Basa’s hands and feet. Basa stiffly got up. His bush-knife was within reach but he made no attempt to get it. He sat down on a log.

  ‘I don’t know what to make of you,’ he said. ‘You had your chance to do me in. And I deserved it. I’ve been a crab for a long time. I took it out on my father while he was alive - then on you. I’ve been hating everybody.’

  “That’s a strange attitude for anyone who’s had your advantages. You’ve been to school.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Basa. ‘I’ve been to school. I thought it would open the doors for me. I thought I could do big things for my village.’

  ‘What big things?’

  ‘I wanted to be a teacher. What my village needs most is a school. I went to King Ku about it. He laughed at me. I went to the Board of Education in Nairobi. They said our children could walk to school in Halo fifty miles away. I told them that was like saying they could go to school on the moon. They said they couldn’t hire more teachers. I said I would work without pay. They said they had no funds to build a school. I said our village could build it They said they had no money for maintenance, for books, pencils, paper, blackboards, and all that. They told me to forget it. I thought I might go ahead alone because my father was earning a little working on the railway. Now he is dead and I must work to feed the family. I applied for a job on the tracks but they told me they are laying off men and don’
t need me.’

  ‘It’s just as well,’ said Hal. ‘With your education you should be able to get something better than a pick-and-shovel job on the tracks.’

  ‘So now I’m at loose ends/ said Basa. ‘And I’m pretty sore about it. What was the use of all that stuff at school if I can’t do anything with it?’

  ‘You could get something in Nairobi.’

  ‘I suppose I could. But it’s a funny thing - I’ve always dreamed of doing something for my own people. That’s what was in the back of my head all the time I was in school. Nairobi doesn’t need me. Gula does. And here I am just the way you had me ten minutes ago - bound hand and foot.’

  ‘Well, I untied you, didn’t I?’ Hal said. ‘And now III untie you again. I know what my father would say if he had heard your story. So 111 say it for him. We have thirty men who are just itching for something to do. I’ll send them up to help the men of Gula build your school.

  And the Hunt family will be proud to maintain it and pay the teacher.’

  Basa’s mouth dropped open and his eyes became big and round. He turned his head slowly and gazed for a full minute at Hal as if he had never seen him before. Then he mumbled: ‘I -1 don’t know what to say.’

  Then say nothing. How soon could you begin?’

  ‘Any time. Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You don’t need time to make plans?’

  ‘Plans! I’ve been planning it for years.’

  ‘Okay. JHl phone the Lodge as soon as I get back to the station. My men will be on hand tomorrow morning. As soon as you get them started, you can hop the train to Nairobi and order the desks and benches and books and blackboards and everything else you need. Have them send the bill to me.’

  Basa began to believe that this crazy white man really meant what he was saying. The sun broke through the thundercloud of his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners and a grin spread from ear to ear. Hal had never seen Basa smile before and he thought he had never seen anyone more handsome.

  1 go to tell my people,’ Basa said, and started up the path.

  ‘Wait,’ Hal said. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  Hal drew the knife from the tree and handed it to Basa. Basa grinned again. He thrust the knife into its sheath and took off at a run towards Gula.

  Chapter 13

  Flight of the ‘Jules Verne’

  After telephoning, the Hunts went back to their tent, hastily fed Flop and themselves, then started for the balloon.

  “There’s King Ku,’ said Roger. The big black district officer was inspecting the work on the tracks.

  ‘We’ll speak to him,’ Hal suggested. Ku saw them approaching and deliberately walked away.

  ‘No soap,’ Hal said regretfully. ‘I’d like to know why he’s down on everyone with a white skin.’

  The Jules Verne was doing a weird dance in the strong wind. The basket was leaping like a gazelle. It certainly was not a good day for ballooning, but the boys had no choice. The rope ladder was thrashing back and forth. Hal caught it and they began to climb. It was like climbing a snake. The ladder twisted and squirmed like something alive.

  Breathless, they reached the basket and climbed in. It was not easy to hang on with one hand and manipulate the binoculars with the other. What they saw was indistinct because of the jiggling of the glasses. The tall, lion-coloured grass billowing under the wind might be just grass or it might be lions. They soon became dizzy with looking and queasy at the stomach from the constant leaping and swooping of their magic carpet.

  But they stayed at their posts until dark. Then, when the last trackmen had returned to camp, they prepared to come down.

  Hal threw one leg over the basket edge and laid hold of the trail rope. It didn’t feel right. Usually it was tight and taut. Now it was limp in his hands.

  And he was suddenly conscious of a new feeling of motion. The wind was not rushing by them now. Instead, they seemed to be going with the wind.

  It was true. The ground was slipping backward beneath them. The trail line must have come loose - or had someone cut it? He could dimly see the black shadow of a man moving away from the spot where the balloon had been moored.

  He drew his leg back into the basket and said as calmly as he could, ‘Guess we’re going to take a ride.’

  Roger looked down to see the roof of the station scudding by beneath.

  ‘Holy smoke!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s slide down the trail rope while there’s still time.’

  ‘And lose the balloon? Heaven knows where it may smash up.’

  ‘I’d rather not be in it when it does,’ Roger said fervently. ‘Can’t we do something? How about pulling the valve line? That will let out some gas and the balloon will settle down.’

  ‘And tear itself to pieces on the trees,’ Hal guessed. ‘And smash us to bits at the same time. We must be almost up to the trees already.’

  He snatched the flashlight from its bracket and played it downwards. Its light did not reach the ground. He turned it off and put it back. The roof of the station had been white and therefore visible. But now in the gathering darkness everything below was blotted out.

  ‘Doesn’t seem as if we’re moving at all,’ Roger said.

  While they had been anchored they had been forced to shout to make themselves heard above the roar of the wind through the rigging and around the great ball. Now there was complete silence.

  ‘That’s because we’re riding the wind, not resisting it,’ Hal said. ‘But we’re not standing still. That was a forty-mile-an-hour wind. That means we’re shooting along at forty miles an hour at this very minute.’

  The silence was now broken by a rushing sound ahead.

  ‘Quick!’ said Hal. ‘Sandbags out.’

  ‘What is that sound?’ said Roger as they began throwing out sand.

  ‘Wind in the trees. If we can get enough sand out in a hurry we may rise above them. If we strike them, it’s all up.’

  Hal flashed a light on the altimeter.

  ‘We’re only a hundred and ten feet up - that’s not good enough. Some of these kapoks top a hundred and fifty.’ More sand went over the side.

  The whoosh of the wind tearing at branches and leaves told them they had almost arrived. The balloon was rising, but slowly. They could not possibly reach a hundred and fifty in time.

  Roger kept throwing out sand. Hal was hauling up the rope ladder. It must not be allowed to get tangled in the branches. The trail line should come up too, but there was no time for that.

  Then they struck. The impact nearly threw them out

  of the basket. Leaves and twigs thrashed into their faces. Now that they were no longer moving with the wind, they felt the full force of it.

  Would branches puncture the bag? Hal directed his light up. No, the bag was above the treetops. Only the basket had struck.

  ‘What do we do now?’ came from Roger. ‘Climb out?’

  Hal circled the light outside the basket.

  ‘Not a branch strong enough to hold a monkey.’

  ‘Gee, that’s bad.’

  ‘No, that’s good. If nothing big is holding us we may pull free.’

  Vain hope. Another gust drove the basket deeper into the tree. Hornbills disturbed in their nests flew off with a great whoop and holler. This bird utters its cries through a hollow nose-chamber that makes every squeak come out like a blast of a bassoon. This did nothing for the boys’ nerves.

  A more powerful burst of wind sent the basket scraping and shuddering through the treetop. Hal had been pulling in the trail line. Now it had caught on something and stubbornly refused to let loose. He exerted all his strength but without effect.

  What he could not do the wind did for him. A stronger blast than ever struck the great forty-foot bag and tore the basket and the trail line out of the clutching grasp of the big tree.

  They were once more riding the wind and were able to finish pulling in the trail line. Roger shouted with joy. It seemed for a moment as if all their trou
bles were over. Now all they had to do was to select a nice smooth spot without trees, let out some gas, and come down.

  But it was not to be so simple. If there was any smooth spot without trees, they had no way of seeing it. And away from the railway there was not likely to be such a spot. And a landing in this wind would mean that the basket would be dragged hundreds of feet over rough ground, dashed against cement-hard anthills and big rocks, and both basket and boys would probably be ground into mincemeat.

  Or they might come down into a surprised herd of elephants or irritable rhinos, or hungry hyenas. Lions too were on the prowl at this time of night.

  Every minute was taking them farther away from camp. But how about that other camp, the Kitani Safari Lodge? This was an east wind. Hal figured it should be carrying them almost straight west along the valley of the Tsavo River and perhaps over the Lodge itself.

  They might already be above the cabins and tents of the Lodge. He turned his flashlight on the great bag over his head. He desperately hoped they would see it. But be knew in his heart that the chances were a hundred to one against it. The warden and his rangers and guests did not make a practice of wandering around outside after nightfall when wild animals made a parade ground of the camp.

  But he kept his light on the bag. Then he saw a glimmer below. That was light shining from cabin windows.

  ‘Shout.’ he said to Roger. They shouted loud enough to wake the dead. Their shouts were carried away on the wind. In ten seconds they were swept beyond the camp and over some of the wildest country of East Africa. There was now nothing but blackness below.

  And blackness ahead. It loomed into the sky, shutting off the stars. Away at the top of this great tower of blackness was something white, like a white roof, or a white cloud in the night sky.

  What could it be, this black tower with a white roof? Hal tried to reconstruct the map in his imagination. What was the country like straight west of Kitani?

  Then it came to him. The mountain!

  His heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his voice calm. T’m afraid we’re in for a bad time. Kilimanjaro -straight ahead. We’re bound to smash into it.’