Jack Percival started when an ugly black face peered
through the long grass not two yards from where he sat,
and his hands stole cautiously toward the butt of his rifle.
'Twas seven weeks since he had seen a man, black or white,
other than his chum, Paul Armstrong, but he felt no overwhelming
rapture at the breaking of the monotony. When
one is in a country inhabited only by cannibals, it is surprising
how strong the love of solitude becomes.
Before him he could see the mountain of darkness thrusting
its flat peak into the clear blue of the African sky; on
every side the jungle closed him in like a wall—a dense
mass of greenery spangled with flaming flowers. For the
rest, he was encompassed by a most unutterable silence, and
a hideous misshapen visage, black as coal, was staring at
him from beyond the tangle of monkey-ropes that hung
from the yellow-wood trees.
Jack was no greenhorn, and he kept perfectly cool, although
he was expecting every instant to feel an assegai
piercing his breast. Turning his eyes from the direction of
the ebon face, he fixed them thoughtfully on the camp-fire,
as if oblivious to the presence of the motionless native.
But all the time his right hand was creeping, creeping toward
the rifle that lay within easy reach.
It was nerve-shaking work, and he could not repress a
gasp of relief as his gripping fingers closed upon the stock.
The moment had come for action. With a lightning movement,
he covered the impassive face beyond the curtain
of monkey-ropes, and his forefinger was hard pressed upon
the trigger as he bounded to his feet.
"Now, then, you black beast!" he hissed angrily. "What
you think of that, eh? No soup for you to-night, old chap!
I've got the drop on you, and I mean to keep it. Cooee!"
He ended his sentence with a long-drawn Australian yell,
and it was answered immediately by another from the
gloomy interior of the jungle. Jack had expected the
aborigine to make an attempt to escape, but he did nothing
of the sort. Parting the trailing creepers with both hands,
he continued his scrutiny with as much interest as if the
young man had been the first specimen of his kind to penetrate
into the region.
"Makes me feel like the fat lady in a side-show," Jack
muttered, shifting uneasily beneath this intent regard. "I
wonder what's up with the beggar? Ah, here's Paul!"
Paul it was. He came leaping cheerfully through the
undergrowth, with a brilliant-plumaged paroquet slung over
his shoulder, his gun swinging in one hand. For a second he
halted in amazement as he caught sight of the unwelcome
visitor, and then, dropping the bird, he advanced warily,
his firearm raised for action.
"Where on earth did you get that, Jack?" he whispered.
"Is it tame?"
"Blessed if I know. He simply crept up and peered at
me through the monkey-ropes, and he hasn't said as much
as a word yet."
Paul, who had a tolerably wide acquaintance with the
natives of the interior, surveyed the black wonderingly. He
was a gigantic figure of a man, clothed only in a breech-clout,
and armed with a wooden-pointed assegai. In appearance
he was a cross between a full-blooded Zulu and
a Kafir, but he seemed to possess all the immobility of an
Indian chief.
"A new breed," Paul announced, in a puzzled way. "All
the other natives that I have tumbled across would have
left their assegais as a sort of visiting-card before this.
I'll try him with a bit of Seleke. He looks like them, to
my mind, and I've heard yarns about their trekking into
the interior to escape the persecution of the Zulus—don't
blame 'em, either."
Lowering his rifle, he turned to the black man, who had
gravely squatted down upon the ground, with his bare hands
upturned as a sign of peace.
"Greeting, child of the Seleke," he said solemnly. "Have
you any wish to lay before the white travelers who venture
into your domains?"
The native's face lighted visibly at sound of the Seleke
tongue, and he made reply in the same language, although
in a slightly different dialect.
"Greeting, white men from the sun! You are welcome,
and doubly welcome, to the realm of Moshesh, chief of the
Dumalas. You are sent for a purpose, godsmen, and I am
sent to pray you to break your march at the village of
N'koto, not a noon's march from here."
Both Paul and Jack surveyed him suspiciously.
His friendliness was both unexpected and extraordinary
to any one cognizant, as they were, with the customs of
the African of the interior.
True, they might have some surviving veneer of civilization,
being an offshoot from the Selekes, but it was a very
slender thread of safety to trust to.
"We are sent for a purpose, are we?" Paul muttered.
"For the purpose of being converted into black man's pork
pie, I suppose. Jack, what on earth are we to do with this
chap? He's getting on my nerves. I wish he'd move, and
not look so much like a stuffed monkey."
"Ask him what he wants," proposed the other. "If we
kick him out, he'll be potting at us with that sardine-opener."
Nodding, Paul turned to the native again.
"What are you called, O child of the Seleke?" he asked,
reverting to the man's own dialect.
"I am called N'tshu Gontze," was the dignified response.
"The dickens you are! Sounds like a kind of fish," interjected
Jack, who would have joked in the face of a simoon.
"Ask him what his grandfather's name is, Paul."
"Why is our presence desired in the kraal of your
chief?" Paul continued, maintaining his gravity by an
effort, and frowning at his irrepressible comrade. He knew
that a Seleke whose dignity has been tampered with is a
more unpleasant companion than an enraged orang-otang.
"We are the victims of a terrible scourge, and we would
seek the lightning-rods of the brave white princes to aid us,"
Gontze answered earnestly. "In a month our numbers have
been decreased by dozens. Every other night a man, a
woman, or a child perishes, and we are powerless to help
ourselves. We dare not hunt, our women scarce dare to
venture beyond the bounds of N'koto, and we starve for
want of food."
The two hunters listened to this impassioned harangue
with close attention.
It not only explained the native's curious appearance,
but, if true, it was a guarantee of their own safety.
"We are not willing to break our march without reward,"
Paul returned, after a short interval of thought.
"The Selekes are rich; they have much gold, and the white
men need it in their kraals."
Gontze nodded.
"It is known. Follow me, godsmen from the sun, and
you shall be feasted and rewarded royally."
Paul, who was quick in coming to a decision, nodded
assent.
In addition to the prospect of a rich haul of gold or
ivory, from which he was by no means averse, the sporting
fever had awakened in his blood at the prospect of a bout
with a man-eating tiger, as he had surmised the terror of
N'koto to be, and, having assisted Jack to stamp out the
ashes of the fire, he signified to Gontze their readiness to
follow.
The man turned on his heel and strode into the jungle.
The two lads hastily gathered together their goods, and
silently followed the track he made.
It was late evening when the thatched roofs of N'koto
came in view, and the sun was painting the sky with a dye
of crimson, touching the trees with rosy fingers, and transforming
the crocodile streams to pools of blood. A strange
silence fell for a few minutes, as though every living thing
in the jungle lay frightened by the gathering gloom. Then
the night fell suddenly, and they were struggling through
pitch-darkness, relieved only by the red glare of the fading
sunglow in the western horizon.
The village had been erected in a clearing made in the
very heart of the forest, and was surrounded by a high
stockade of tree trunks. Within, the darkness was dispelled
by the flare of a hundred torches, and, as the two white
men and their guide approached, the central gate opened
and a party of men burst into view, all shouting like demons,
and thrashing the ground with their torches as they
capered to and fro, filling the air with wreaths of smoke
and flying sparks.
"They are trying to frighten something—a lion, probably,"
Paul whispered to Jack, who was rather scared by the
frenzied uproar. "Haven't you noticed Gontze lately? He
has been nearly frightened out of his skin for the last half-mile."
Paul's conjecture proved a correct one.
The instant that the white men had passed through the
gateway the turmoil ceased as if by magic, and the Selekes
hurried after them, as though, like Tam o' Shanter, they
had seen the evil one at their heels.
It was an impressive scene within the compound. The
way to the royal kraal was lined by three hundred men and
women, all decked in gay plumes and brightly colored garments
woven of dyed grasses, and the lights of the torches
glittered on spear-points and greasy skins with weird effect,
which was enhanced by the guttural thud-thud of the tom-toms
and the eery, demoniac blast of cowhide horns.
When they entered the kraal of Moshesh, however, the
uproar ceased abruptly, and in the midst of intense stillness
they walked across the rush-covered floor to where the
chief was seated upon a throne of buffalo-robes. He was
an elderly, white-haired man, with a circlet of ivory upon
his brow, as a symbol of his authority. He seemed even
more civilized than the tribe, and as Paul and Jack bowed
before him he addressed them in fluent English.
"Welcome, white men! May you live forever, and remember
always the kraal of Moshesh with happiness! Be
you seated."
The two hunters obeyed in silence, knowing that it would
not be etiquette to speak until food had been placed before
them. Moshesh, descending from his throne, squatted before
them in a very unkinglike manner, and they were soon partaking
of roast monkey, pressed betel-nuts, and similar
dishes, to which they had become inured by custom.
The repast concluded, Moshesh, who had eaten enough
for four ordinary men, rolled over so that he could lean
his fat back against the wall, and in a few melancholy sentences
conveyed to his guests the story that had already
been told in part by Gontze.
The substance of his recital was that, a month previously,
the headman of the village had mysteriously disappeared,
and as—the chief said gravely—he was very useful,
a search-party had been organized by the bereaved relatives.
During the hunt they had come upon the lair of a
monster lion, and one of the party had paid the penalty
with his life.
The lion, in a few days, had proved not only to be a man-eater,
but a man-hunter. If a Seleke ventured alone beyond
the stockade, he was seldom seen again, and two men
had been snatched literally from the very gates. Hunting
was at an end; they could only go for their water in a
strong body and at a great risk, and were, in fact, living in
a state of siege, while the man-hunter slowly but surely
diminished their numbers, with a cunning and ferocity that
proved him to be the dwelling-place of a very evil spirit
indeed. If they organized a hunt, he disappeared entirely,
and, said Moshesh, they were at their wit's end when they
heard that the mighty white hunters, with their lightning-rods,
had honored the country of the Seleke with their distinguished
presence.
Paul, who was the spokesman, allowed the chief to bring
his rambling recital to an end before he spoke.
"We have been on the march all day and are weary,"
he said then. "But in the morning we will rid you of this
scourge." He spoke as though he had only to raise his
hand and the thing would be done. "But, O Moshesh, if it
find favor in your sight, we would crave a reward for the
loss of our time."
"Two golden tusks shall be yours," the chief rejoined, with
an air of indifference. "It is well. May my guests sleep
long and happily, free from the spirit of evil dreams, and
awake with the strength of fourscore lions. I have spoken."
He made a signal, and three men came forward to conduct
the white hunters to the hut that had been allotted to
them. In spite of the strangeness of their quarters, they
were soon wrapped in deep slumber, secure in the fact that
their mission would protect them from the rapacity of the
Selekes.
At ten o'clock the next morning the hunt set forth. Conquering
his fears, Moshesh had made the occasion a species
of celebration, and the Selekes had turned out almost en
masse to witness the destruction of the beast that had terrorized
them for so long.
Gontze, who appeared to possess as much bravery as all
the rest of the tribe put together, had constituted himself
guide, as he was aware of the exact situation of the animal's
lair.
For half an hour they walked on through the jungle,
which grew more and more impenetrable as they progressed,
until they were forced to have a party of men with knives
to carve a way through the undergrowth.
"We near the spot, Strongarm," Gontze murmured presently,
pointing to a cross hacked in the wood of a date-palm.
"I placed that mark there myself when I was here
before, knowing that the creepers spread themselves faster
than one can cut them down. The lion's lair is through
there."
He paused as he spoke, pointing with outstretched arm to
a dim, mysterious glade that lay directly ahead. It was a
wild, bushy kloof, covered by a maze of Kafir bean, acacia,
spekboem, geranium, plumbago, euphorbia, and a score of
other growths to which no man can put a name. Shielded
from the hot rays of the copper-colored sun, it looked cool
and delightful to the eye, but the party of Selekes shrank
back at Gontze's words, surveying the place with a horror
that was half-superstitious.
"So that is where my lord lives, is it?" Paul muttered,
as he stooped to peer along the dim aisles of jungle, starred
with flowers like candles in some vast cathedral. "I see
no sign of a spoor."
"Said I not that the weeds grow almost visibly, O Strongarm?"
Gontze, to whom the remark was addressed, returned.
"The lion gorged himself two suns ago, and still
lies sleeping. The grass has covered his spoor."
Paul Armstrong nodded, and stepped aside to confer with
his chum.
They were both anxious to obtain the two golden tusks
that the chief had promised them, and they wanted to make
sure of the man-eater at the first shot, if possible. If they
allowed him to escape from his lair, it might be days before
they could entice him within firing distance again.
However, their plan of campaign was soon formed, and
they returned to the place where they had left Gontze, to
find that the chief, with most of his retainers, had drawn
off and left them to their own devices, a fact for which
they were duly thankful. Three of the Selekes had been
left behind—Gontze and two other men, who had evidently
been picked for their strength, to judge by their gigantic
stature.
"I am going to walk up to the lair and entice the beast
out," Paul said calmly. "My friend will be seated up in a
tree, and will pop off Mr. Man-eater as he passes. You
three had better be up in the trees, too; only don't stick
those assegais into me by accident, please."
The Seleke listened in amazement to this proposition.
"But the white man is surely mad!" he broke out, in
dismay, so soon as he could speak. "It is sure death to walk
up to the lair!"
"It will take a lively lion to catch me, in this maze of
trees," Paul answered carelessly. "You'd better hurry up, I
think, or the lion might take a fancy to come out before
we are ready."
Jack Percival was already settling himself, with a grimly
determined air, in the tree that Paul had indicated, and at
a word from Gontze, who still shook his head dismally, the
two natives followed suit, clambering into a tree on the
opposite side of the glade, and holding their assegais ready
for instant use.
Waving his hand to Jack, Paul gripped his rifle firmly,
and stepped carefully through the tangle of weeds that carpeted
the kloof. Before he had gone far he came suddenly
upon a cavernous opening in the clay bank, around the
mouth of which hundreds of bones were strewn, picked to
an ivory whiteness by the voracious driver-ants, which
swarmed in hordes, like poor relations, about the entrance
to the great beast's den.
With his heart thumping wildly, Paul paused to listen,
shuddering at the noisome odor that was wafted to his
nostrils. From within he could hear the sound of deep,
harsh breathing, varied occasionally by a long-drawn snore.
Stooping, he picked up a great chunk of earth and flung
it with all his force into the cavern. He heard the dull
thud of its fall distinctly, followed by the patter of the
spreading fragments, and then a cry rose to his lips, but
was resolutely stifled.
The noise of the lion's snoring had ceased!
In spite of himself, he shrank farther and farther from
the mouth of the lair, and it was only by a tremendous
effort of will that he could prevent himself from taking to
his heels in precipitate flight. He could hear a soft pad-pad
of velvety footsteps, and the rattling of dry bones one
against the other. Then suddenly came a roar louder than
thunder, and before Paul could move a step a tawny form
flashed into view, as the lion, with one tremendous spring,
bounded toward him.
There was no time to fire. Flinging his rifle aside, he
fled like the wind, straight for the spot where his friend
was waiting. Another roar from behind seemed to shake
the forest to its foundations, and he put all his strength into
a mighty effort to distance the great beast that was overtaking
him with enormous leaps. Then a cry of agony burst
from his lips as, catching his toe in a trailing creeper, he
went headlong to the earth.
In spite of the suddenness of the shock, he never lost
consciousness for a moment. He felt a heavy, evil-smelling
body come crashing down onto his own, and his right arm
was seized in a grip that brought a shout of agony from
between his clenched teeth. Next instant the man-eater
lifted him into the air with as much ease as if he had
been a baby, and stood gazing round in splendid defiance, its
tail lashing slowly from side to side.
"I'm afraid to shoot from here, Paul. I'm coming down."
Paul heard Jack's voice as in a dream. He was beginning
to feel faint with the pain of his crushed arm, but he
did not mean to die without a struggle. Stealthily drawing
his hunting-knife, he raised it in the air to the full extent of
his arm and plunged it up to the hilt in the lion's side, aiming
for the heart.
Phat! Phat!
The sharp report of a rifle seared his brain, as Jack,
stealing up behind, gave the brute both barrels in quick
succession. Simultaneously with the detonations, as it
seemed, the grip of those cruel jaws relaxed, and even as he
fell back in a dead faint he had a vision of the Selekes
plunging their assegais again and again into the quivering
body of the man-hunter.
