I'm damned if I do!"
"Why not?" asked the Belgian, with gesticulation. "Our Touaregs willslice them into mincemeat. Besides, at long range they're as goodshots, and better, than those Soudanese, all fez and swagger."
"No," the Englishman argued. "Let's fly now, while there's time. Intwo days we shall be in the Nioukour, and they'll never find us in themountains. We hid there quite snugly once before, you recollect."
"Muhala," said the Belgian, turning to the old negress, "go. CallYakub, and remain outside."
The hideous old woman went forth into the sun glare, and in a fewmoments an old thin-faced Touareg entered, making a low salaam.
"Now, Yakub," exclaimed the Belgian in Arabic, "answer me. Of what didour caravan consist when we left the Aruwimi?"
"Three hundred and thirty-three slaves, and twenty-nine tusks," answeredthe villainous-looking old fellow.
"And now?"
"Seventy-three blacks and twenty-nine tusks."
"Then two hundred and sixty have died?"
"Yea, O master," he responded. "The new lash of elephant hide haskilled many, and the black death has been responsible for the remainder.Five are suffering from it now, and never a day passes ere one or moreis not attacked. I have feared that none will live to sight the mosquesof El Obeid."
"In short, Yakub, they are a diseased lot--eh? You think they'reworthless?"
"Only two women are left, O master, and both were seized by the blackdeath yesterday."
"In that case," observed the Belgian, turning to his partner, "the wholebatch are not worth transporting. The game is not, as you English say,worth the lamp."
"Then what's your suggestion?" asked Snape.
"Well, as you are so much in fear of these confounded English, we must,I suppose, act."
"How?"
"It is quite simple. We just abandon the whole lot, and save ourselvesand the ivory."
"Very well," his companion agreed. "I'm open to any move exceptfighting against the English."
"Bah! You are full of scruples, _mon cher_ Henri," he laughed. "I havenone--none. And I am happy--perfectly happy." He was silent a moment,as though reflecting deeply.
"But," he added, "I do wish we could teach these interfering English alesson. It would do them good. They try to rule Africa nowadays. Ah!if we could--if we could!" And there was a strange glint of evil in hiseyes.
An hour later Dubois and Snape, at the head of their formidable troop ofbrigandish horsemen, were riding at full speed across the desert duewest, towards the far distant forest of Dyonkor, it having been decidedto skirt this, and then travel south for a fresh raid in Congoterritory.
As for the poor wretches bound together, and dying of thirst anddisease, they were still secured to the palm trunks and abandoned totheir fate, tortured by being within sight of the well, yet unable toslake the frightful thirst consuming them. Dwellers in the damp, gloomyforest, where the sunlight never penetrates, the intense heat of thedesert struck them down one after another, sending them insane orkilling them outright.
Time after time Snape turned in his high Arab saddle, glancing backapprehensively to see if they were followed. But his partner onlylaughed sarcastically, saying--"You still fear your friends the English?Ah! you have the heart of the chicken. All is quite unnecessary. Wehave made them a present of the whole lot, and I hope they willappreciate our kindness. Now we shall take it easy, and hope for betterfortune with the next batch. I fancy that the new lash must be toohard. The women can't stand it, so it seems."
"A little less whipping and a little more water would keep 'em in bettercondition," Snape observed. "Yakub is eternally lashing them for someimaginary laziness or offence."
"Yes, it's all due to that new lash," the Belgian admitted. "It must beused with less frequency on the next lot."
"It's a revolting punishment. Twenty blows kill a strong nigger," hiscompanion declared. "The thing ought to be thrown away."
"Ah, yes," sneered his companion. "You would, if you had your own way,keep women to brash the flies off them, and carry feather-beds for themto sleep on. You always forget that you are not dealing with civilisedbeings. They're mere niggers."
"Well, we're not of the most civilised type, you and I, if the unwelcometruth be told," the Englishman responded. "If we are trapped there'llbe a howl in Europe."
"But I, for one, don't mean to be caught," laughed the Belgian gaily,with perfect confidence of his security. And they both rode side byside, the troop of white-burnoused Pirates of the Desert thundering onbehind, raising a cloud of dust which, in that clear atmosphere, couldbe seen many miles away.
On, on they sped over the burning sand, riding easily at a hand gallop,without a halt, the black-veiled raiders laughing and chaffing,chattering, pushing forward, even in the blood-red track of the dyingday.
Night fell quickly, as it does in that region. The slavers encamped ina sandy hollow beneath the rocks, and Dubois, ordering the tent to bepitched, sat smoking with his partner after the dish of _dakkwa_(pounded Guinea-corn with dates) which old Muhala had prepared. Theywere alone.
"To camp like this before we reach the forest is, to my mind, simplyinviting capture," Snape grumbled. "The military detachment isevidently out in search of us, and the little lot we've abandoned willpoint out to them the direction we've taken. Then they'll follow andovertake us."
"Oh no, they won't," answered the Belgian, with a serene smile.
"What makes you so sure?"
"Remember that, coming up from the river, they must have been at leastsix days without water; therefore they'll halt at Akdul to drink andfill their water-skins before pushing forward."
"Well?" inquired Snape.
The crafty Belgian looked curiously into the face of his companion, andsmiled grimly.
"Well, if they halt there," he said, "they won't trouble us any more."
"I don't understand."
"I doctored the water before we left. That's why I didn't leave theblacks loose to drink it."
"What!" gasped the Englishman wildly, starting to his feet. "You'veactually poisoned the well?"
The Belgian nodded and laughed, without removing his _shisha_ from hislips.
"You scoundrel! You fiend!" the Englishman shouted, his face white withpassion. "I've done some shabby tricks in my time, but, by Heaven! I'drather have given myself up than have assented to the wholesale murderof my own people like that!"
A sarcastic smile crossed the Belgian's sinister features.
"Excitement is entirely unnecessary, _mon cher_ Henri," he said, calmly."It may, you know, bring on a touch of fever. Besides, by this timethere isn't many of them, white or black, left to tell the tale. Yakub,whom I left behind to watch, has just come in to report that theyarrived an hour after we had left, released the slaves, and wateredfreely, enjoying themselves immensely. Before he started to return,fully fifty were dead or dying, including all the white officers. Butwhy trouble further? We've saved ourselves."
"Trouble!" roared Snape, his eyes flashing with a fierce fire ofindignation, "Get up, you infernal scoundrel, or I'll shoot you as youlie! You're an outlaw; so am I. Trouble! Why, one of those whiteofficers was Jack Myddleton, my brother, and," he added in a harshtone--"and I'm going to avenge his death!" Instantly Dubois saw hispartner's intention, and sprang to his feet, revolver in hand.
Two reports sounded almost simultaneously, but only one man fell. Itwas the Belgian, who, with an imprecation on his lips, dropped back witha bullet through his temple, and in a few seconds expired.
At dawn Muhala discovered her master dead, and his companion missing.Search was at once made for the Englishman, who was found lying deadupon the sand half a mile from the camp.
He had committed suicide.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Around the well of Akdul the caravans that water there in crossing thearid wilderness still see quantities of hones of horses and of men.L
ong ago the vultures have stripped them, and they now lie bleaching inthe sun, a mute record of a coward's treachery, of the revoltingvengeance of The Father of the Hundred Slaves.
CHAPTER TEN.
THE MYSTERY OF AFO.
In the mystic haze of the slowly dying day, mounted on a _meheri_, orswift camel, I carried my long rifle high above my head, and rodespeedily over the great silent wilderness of treacherous, ever-shiftingsand. Once I drew rein to listen, turning my eyes to the left, wherethe
The Veiled Man Page 25
