The People Of The Mist

DEDICATION

I DEDICATE THIS EFFORT OF

“PRIMEVAL AND TROGLODYTE IMAGINATION"

THIS RECORD OF BAREFACED AND FLAGRANT ADVENTURE


TO MY GODSONS


IN THE HOPE THAT THEREIN THEY MAY FIND

SOME STORE OF HEALTHY AMUSEMENT.

Ditchingham, 1894.

Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE

On several previous occasions it has happened to this writer of romance to be
justified of his romances by facts of startling similarity, subsequently
brought to light and to his knowledge. In this tale occurs an instance of the
sort, a “double-barrelled” instance indeed, that to him seems
sufficiently curious to be worthy of telling. The People of the Mist of his
adventure story worship a sacred crocodile to which they make sacrifice, but in
the original draft of the book this crocodile was a snake—monstrum
horrendum, informe, ingens. A friend of the writer, an African explorer of
great experience who read that draft, suggested that the snake was altogether
too unprecedented and impossible. Accordingly, also at his suggestion, a
crocodile was substituted. Scarcely was this change effected, however, when Mr.
R. T. Coryndon, the slayer of almost the last white rhinoceros, published in
the African Review of February 17, 1894, an account of a huge and
terrific serpent said to exist in the Dichwi district of Mashonaland, that in
many particulars resembled the snake of the story, whose prototype, by the way,
really lives and is adored as a divinity by certain natives in the remote
province of Chiapas in Mexico. Still, the tale being in type, the alteration
was suffered to stand. But now, if the Zoutpansberg Review may be
believed, the author can take credit for his crocodile also, since that paper
states that in the course of the recent campaign against Malaboch, a chief
living in the north of the Transvaal, his fetish or god was captured, and that
god, a crocodile fashioned in wood, to which offerings were made. Further, this
journal says that among these people (as with the ancient Egyptians), the
worship of the crocodile is a recognised cult. Also it congratulates the
present writer on his intimate acquaintance with the more secret manifestations
of African folklore and beast worship. He must disclaim the compliment in this
instance as, when engaged in inventing the ‘People of the Mist,’ he
was totally ignorant that any of the Bantu tribes reverenced either snake or
crocodile divinities. But the coincidence is strange, and once more shows, if
further examples of the fact are needed, how impotent are the efforts of
imagination to vie with hidden truths—even with the hidden truths of this
small and trodden world.

September 20, 1894.

THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST

Chapter I.

THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED ON THE CHILDREN

The January afternoon was passing into night, the air was cold and still, so
still that not a single twig of the naked beech-trees stirred; on the grass of
the meadows lay a thin white rime, half frost, half snow; the firs stood out
blackly against a steel-hued sky, and over the tallest of them hung a single
star. Past these bordering firs there ran a road, on which, in this evening of
the opening of our story, a young man stood irresolute, glancing now to the
right and now to the left.

To his right were two stately gates of iron fantastically wrought, supported by
stone pillars on whose summits stood griffins of black marble embracing coats
of arms, and banners inscribed with the device Per ardua ad astra.
Beyond these gates ran a broad carriage drive, lined on either side by a double
row of such oaks as England alone can produce under the most favourable
circumstances of soil, aided by the nurturing hand of man and three or four
centuries of time.

At the head of this avenue, perhaps half a mile from the roadway, although it
looked nearer because of the eminence upon which it was placed, stood a mansion
of the class that in auctioneers’ advertisements is usually described as
“noble.” Its general appearance was Elizabethan, for in those days
some forgotten Outram had practically rebuilt it; but a large part of its
fabric was far more ancient than the Tudors, dating back, so said tradition, to
the time of King John. As we are not auctioneers, however, it will be
unnecessary to specify its many beauties; indeed, at this date, some of the
tribe had recently employed their gift of language on these attractions with
copious fulness and accuracy of detail, since Outram Hall, for the first time
during six centuries, was, or had been, for sale.

Suffice it to say that, like the oaks of its avenue, Outram was such a house as
can only be found in England; no mere mass of bricks and mortar, but a thing
that seemed to have acquired a life and individuality of its own. Or, if this
saying be too far-fetched and poetical, at the least this venerable home bore
some stamp and trace of the lives and individualities of many generations of
mankind, linked together in thought and feeling by the common bond of blood.

The young man who stood in the roadway looked long and earnestly towards the
mass of buildings that frowned upon him from the crest of the hill, and as he
looked an expression came into his face which fell little, if at all, short of
that of agony, the agony which the young can feel at the shock of an utter and
irredeemable loss. The face that wore such evidence of trouble was a handsome
one enough, though just now all the charm of youth seemed to have faded from
it. It was dark and strong, nor was it difficult to guess that in after-life it
might become stern. The form also was shapely and athletic, though not very
tall, giving promise of more than common strength, and the bearing that of a
gentleman who had not brought himself up to the belief that ancient blood can
cover modern deficiencies of mind and manner. Such was the outward appearance
of Leonard Outram as he was then, in his twenty-third year.

While Leonard watched and hesitated on the roadway, unable, apparently, to make
up his mind to pass those iron gates, and yet desirous of doing so, carts and
carriages began to appear hurrying down the avenue towards him.

“I suppose that the sale is over,” he muttered to himself.
“Well, like death, it is a good thing to have done with.”

Then he turned to go; but hearing the crunch of wheels close at hand, stepped
back into the shadow of the gateway pillar, fearing lest he should be
recognised on the open road. A carriage came up, and, just as it reached the
gates, something being amiss with the harness, a footman descended from the box
to set it right. From where he stood Leonard could see its occupants, the wife
and daughter of a neighbouring squire, and overhear their conversation. He knew
them well; indeed, the younger lady had been one of his favourite partners at
the county balls.

“How cheap the things went, Ida! Fancy buying that old oak sideboard for
ten pounds, and with all those Outram quarterings on it too! It is as good as
an historical document, and I am sure that it must be worth at least fifty. I
shall sell ours and put it into the dining-room. I have coveted that sideboard
for years.”

The daughter sighed and answered with some asperity.

“I am so sorry for the Outrams that I should not care about the sideboard
if you had got it for twopence. What an awful smash! Just think of the old
place being bought by a Jew! Tom and Leonard are utterly ruined, they say, not
a sixpence left. I declare I nearly cried when I saw that man selling
Leonard’s guns.”

“Very sad indeed,” answered the mother absently; “but if he
is a Jew, what does it matter? He has a title, and they say that he is
enormously rich. I expect there will be plenty going on at Outram soon. By the
way, my dear Ida, I do wish you would cure yourself of the habit of calling
young men by their Christian names—not that it matters about these two,
for we shall never see any more of them.”

“I am sure I hope that we shall,” said Ida defiantly, “and
when we do I shall call them by their Christian names as much as ever. You
never objected to it before the smash, and I love both of them, so
there! Why did you bring me to that horrid sale? You know I did not want to go.
I shall be wretched for a week, I——” and the carriage swept
on out of hearing.

Leonard emerged from the shadow of the gateway and crossed the road swiftly. On
the further side of it he paused, and looking after the retreating carriage
said aloud, “God bless you for your kind heart, Ida Hatherley. Good luck
go with you! And now for the other business.”

A hundred yards or so down the road, was a second gate of much less imposing
appearance than those which led to the Outram Hall. Leonard passed through it
and presently found himself at the door of a square red brick house, built with
no other pretensions than to those of comfort. This was the Rectory, now
tenanted by the Reverend and Honourable James Beach, to whom the living had
been presented many years before by Leonard’s father, Mr. Beach’s
old college friend.

Leonard rang the bell, and as its distant clamour fell upon his ears a new fear
struck him. What sort of reception would he meet with in this house? he
wondered. Hitherto his welcome had always been so cordial that until this
moment he had never doubted of it, but now circumstances were changed. He was
no longer in the position of second son to Sir Thomas Outram of Outram Hall. He
was a beggar, an outcast, a wanderer, the son of a fraudulent bankrupt and
suicide. The careless words of the woman in the carriage had let a flood of
light into his mind, and by it he saw many things which he had never seen
before. Now he remembered a little motto that he had often heard, but the full
force of which he did not appreciate until to-day. “Friends follow
fortune,” was the wording of this motto. He remembered also another
saying that had frequently been read to him in church and elsewhere, and the
origin of which precluded all doubt as to its truth:—

“Unto every one that hath shall be given, but from him that hath not
shall be taken away even that which he hath.”

Now, as it chanced, Leonard, beggared as he was, had still something left which
could be taken away from him, and that something the richest fortune which
Providence can give to any man in his youth, the love of a woman whom he also
loved. The Reverend and Honourable James Beach was blessed with a daughter,
Jane by name, who had the reputation, not undeserved, of being the most
beautiful and sweetest-natured girl that the country-side could show. Now,
being dark and fair respectively and having lived in close association since
childhood, Leonard and Jane, as might be expected from the working of the laws
of natural economy, had gravitated towards each other with increasing speed
ever since they had come to understand the possibilities of the institution of
marriage. In the end thus mutual gravitation led to a shock and confusion of
individualities which was not without its charm; or, to put the matter more
plainly, Leonard proposed to Jane and had been accepted with many blushes and
some tears and kisses.

It was a common little romance enough, but, like everything else with which
youth and love are concerned, it had its elements of beauty. Such affairs gain
much from being the first in the series. Who is there among us that does not
adore his first love and his first poem? And yet when we see them twenty years
after!

Presently the Rectory door was opened and Leonard entered. At this moment it
occurred to him that he did not quite know why he had come. To be altogether
accurate, he knew why he had come well enough. It was to see Jane, and arrive
at an understanding with her father. Perhaps it may be well to explain that his
engagement to that young lady was of the suppressed order. Her parents had no
wish to suppress it, indeed; for though Leonard was a younger son, it was well
known that he was destined to inherit his mother’s fortune of fifty
thousand pounds more or less. Besides, Providence had decreed a delicate
constitution to his elder and only brother Thomas. But Sir Thomas Outram, their
father, was reputed to be an ambitious man who looked to see his sons marry
well, and this marriage would scarcely have been to Leonard’s advantage
from the family lawyer point of view.

Therefore, when the matter came to the ears of Jane’s parents, they
determined to forego the outward expression of their pride and delight in the
captive whom they owed to the bow and spear of their daughter’s
loveliness, at any rate for a while, say until Leonard had taken his degree.
Often and often in the after-years did they have occasion to bless themselves
for their caution. But not the less on this account was Leonard’s
position as the affianced lover of their daughter recognised among them;
indeed, the matter was no secret from anybody, except perhaps from Sir Thomas
himself. For his part, Leonard took no pains to conceal it even from him; but
the father and son met rarely, and the estrangement between them was so
complete, that the younger man saw no advantage in speaking of a matter thus
near to his heart until there appeared to be a practical object in so doing.

The Rev. James Beach was a stout person of bland and prepossessing appearance.
Never had he looked stouter, more prepossessing, or blander than on this
particular evening when Leonard was ushered into his presence. He was standing
before the fire in his drawing-room holding a huge and ancient silver
loving-cup in both hands, and in such a position as to give the observer the
idea that he had just drained its entire contents. In reality, it may be
explained, he was employed in searching for a hall-mark on the bottom of the
goblet, discoursing the while to his wife and children—for Jane had a
brother—upon its value and beauty. The gleam of the silver caught
Leonard’s eye as he entered the room, and he recognised the cup as one of
the heirlooms of his own family.

Leonard’s sudden and unlooked-for advent brought various emotions into
active play. There were four people gathered round that comfortable
fire—the rector, his wife, his son, and last, but not least, Jane
herself. Mr. Beach dropped the cup sufficiently to allow himself to stare at
his visitor along its length, for all the world as though he were covering him
with a silver blunderbuss. His wife, an active little woman, turned round as if
she moved upon wires, exclaiming, “Good gracious, who’d have
thought it?” while the son, a robust young man of about Leonard’s
own age and his college companion, said “Hullo! old fellow, well, I never
expected to see you here to-day!”—a remark which, however
natural it may have been, scarcely tended to set his friend at ease.

Jane herself, a tall and beautiful girl with bright auburn hair, who was seated
on a footstool nursing her knees before the fire, and paying very little heed
to her father’s lecture upon ancient plate, did none of these things. On
the contrary, she sprang up with the utmost animation, her lips apart and her
lovely face red with blushes, or the heat of the fire, and came towards him
exclaiming, “Oh, Leonard, dear Leonard!”

Mr. Beach turned the silver blunderbuss upon his daughter and fired a single,
but most effective shot.

“Jane!” he said in a voice in which fatherly admonition and
friendly warning were happily blended.

Jane stopped in full career as though in obedience to some lesson which
momentarily she had forgotten. Then Mr. Beach, setting down the flagon,
advanced upon Leonard with an ample pitying smile and outstretched hand.

“How are you, my dear boy, how are you?” he said. “We did not
expect—”

“To see me here under the circumstances,” put in Leonard bitterly.
“Nor would you have done so, but Tom and I understood that it was only to
be a three days’ sale.”

“Quite right, Leonard. As first advertised the sale was for three days,
but the auctioneer found that he could not get through in the time. The
accumulations of such an ancient house as Outram Hall are necessarily
vast,” and he waved his hand with a large gesture.

“Yes,” said Leonard.

“Hum!” went on Mr. Beach, after a pause which was beginning to grow
awkward. “Doubtless you will find it a matter for congratulation that on
the whole things sold well. It is not always the case, not by any means, for
such collections as those of Outram, however interesting and valuable they may
have been to the family itself, do not often fetch their worth at a country
auction. Yes, they sold decidedly well, thanks chiefly to the large purchases
of the new owner of the estate. This tankard, for instance, which I have
bought—hem—as a slight memento of your family, cost me ten
shillings an ounce.”

“Indeed!” answered Leonard coldly; “I always understood that
it was worth fifty.”

Then came another pause, during which all who were present, except Mr. Beach
and himself, rose one by one and quitted the room. Jane was the last to go, and
Leonard noticed, as she passed him, that there were tears in her eyes.

“Jane,” said her father in a meaning voice when her hand was
already on the door, “you will be careful to be dressed in time for
dinner, will you not, love? You remember that young Mr. Cohen is coming, and I
should like somebody to be down to receive him.”

Jane’s only answer to this remark was to pass through the door and slam
it behind her. Clearly the prospect of the advent of this guest was not
agreeable to her.

“Well, Leonard,” went on Mr. Beach when they were alone, in a tone
that was meant to be sympathetic but which jarred horribly on his
listener’s ears, “this is a sad business, very sad. But why are you
not sitting down?”

“Because no one asked me to,” said Leonard as he took a chair.

“Hem!” continued Mr. Beach; “by the way I believe that Mr.
Cohen is a friend of yours, is he not?”

“An acquaintance, not a friend,” said Leonard.

“Indeed, I thought that you were at the same college.”

“Yes, but I do not like him.”

“Prejudice, my dear boy, prejudice. A minor sin indeed, but one against
which you must struggle. But there, there, it is natural that you should not
feel warmly about the man who will one day own Outram. Ah! as I said, this is
all very sad, but it must be a great consolation to you to remember that when
everything is settled there will be enough, so I am told, to pay your unhappy
father’s debts. And now, is there anything that I can do for you or your
brother?”

Leonard reflected that whatever may have been his father’s misdeeds, and
they were many and black, it should scarcely have lain in the mouth of the Rev.
James Beach, who owed nearly everything he had in the world to his kindness, to
allude to them. But he could not defend his father’s memory, it was
beyond defence, and just now he must fight for his own hand.

“Yes, Mr. Beach,” he said earnestly, “you can help me very
much. You know the cruel position in which my brother and I are placed through
no fault of our own: our old home is sold, our fortunes have gone utterly, and
our honourable name is tarnished. At the present moment I have nothing left in
the world except the sum of two hundred pounds which I had saved for a purpose
of my own out of my allowance. I have no profession and cannot even take my
degree, because I am unable to afford the expense of remaining at
college.”

“Black, I must say, very black,” murmured Mr. Beach, rubbing his
chin. “But under these circumstances what can I do to help you? You must
trust in Providence, my boy; it never fails the deserving.”

“This,” answered Leonard, nervously; “you can show your
confidence in me by allowing my engagement to Jane to be proclaimed.”
Here Mr. Beach waved his hand once more as though to repel some invisible
force.

“One moment,” continued Leonard. “I know that it seems a
great deal to ask, but listen. Although everything looks so dark, I have
reliance on myself. With the stimulus which my affection for your daughter will
give me, and knowing that in order to win her I must first put myself in a
position to support her as she should be supported, I am quite convinced that I
shall be able to surmount all difficulties by my own efforts.”

“Really, I cannot listen to such nonsense any longer,” broke in Mr.
Beach angrily. “Leonard, this is nothing less than an impertinence. Of
course any understanding that may have existed between you and Jane is quite at
an end. Engagement! I heard of no engagement. I knew that there was some boy
and girl folly between you indeed, but for my part I never gave the matter
another thought.”

“You seem to forget, sir,” said Leonard, keeping his temper with
difficulty, “that not six months ago you and I had a long conversation on
this very subject, and decided that nothing should be said to my father of the
matter until I had taken my degree.”

“I repeat that it is an impertinence,” answered Mr. Beach, but with
a careful avoidance of the direct issue. “What! You, who have nothing in
the world except a name which your father
has—well—tarnished—to use your own word, you ask me for my
dear daughter’s hand? You are so selfish that you wish not only to ruin
her chances in life, but also to drag her into the depths of your poverty.
Leonard, I should never have thought it of you!”

Then at last Leonard broke out.

“You do not speak the truth. I did not ask you for your daughter’s
hand. I asked you for the promise of it when I should have shown myself worthy
of her. But now there is an end of that. I will go as you bid me but before I
go I will tell you the truth. You wish to use Jane’s beauty to catch this
Jew with. Of her happiness you think nothing, provided only you can secure his
money. She is not a strong character, and it is quite possible that you will
succeed in your plot, but I tell you it will not prosper. You, who owe
everything to our family, now when trouble has overtaken us, turn upon me and
rob me of the only good that was left to me. By putting an end to a connection
of which everybody knew, you stamp me still deeper into the mire. So be it, but
of this I am sure, that such conduct will meet with a due reward, and that a
time will come when you will bitterly regret the way in which you have dealt
with your daughter and treated me in my misfortunes. Good-bye.”

And Leonard turned and left the room and the Rectory.

Chapter II.

THE SWEARING OF THE OATH

Arthur Beach, Jane’s brother, was standing in the hall waiting to speak
to Leonard, but he passed without a word, closing the hall door behind him.
Outside snow was falling, though not fast enough to obscure the light of the
moon which shone through the belt of firs.

Leonard walked on down the drive till he neared the gate, when suddenly he
heard the muffled sound of feet pursuing him through the snow. He turned with
an exclamation, believing that the footsteps were those of Arthur Beach, for at
the moment he was in no mood for further conversation with any male member of
that family. As it chanced, however, he found himself face to face not with
Arthur, but with Jane herself, who perhaps had never looked more beautiful than
she did at this moment in the snow and the moonlight. Indeed, whenever Leonard
thought of her in after-years, and that was often, there arose in his mind a
vision of a tall and lovely girl, her auburn hair slightly powdered over with
the falling flakes, her breast heaving with emotion, and her wide grey eyes
gazing piteously upon him.

“Oh! Leonard,” she said nervously, “why do you go without
saying good-bye to me?”

He looked at her awhile before he answered, for something in his heart told him
that this was the last sight which he should win of his love for many a year,
and therefore his eyes dwelt upon her as we gaze upon one whom the grave is
about to hide from us for ever.

At last he spoke, and his words were practical enough.

“You should not have come out in those thin shoes through the snow, Jane.
You will catch cold.”

“I wish I could,” she answered defiantly, “I wish that I
could catch such a cold as would kill me; then I should be out of my troubles.
Let us go into the summer-house; they will never think of looking for me
there.”

“How will you get there?” asked Leonard; “it is a hundred
yards away, and the snow always drifts in that path.”

“Oh! never mind the snow,” she said.

But Leonard did mind it, and presently he hit upon a solution of the
difficulty. Having first glanced up the drive to see that nobody was coming, he
bent forward and without explanation or excuse put his arms around Jane, and
lifting her as though she were a child, he bore her down the path which led to
the summer-house. She was heavy, but, sooth to say, he could have wished the
journey longer. Presently they were there, and very gently he laid her on her
feet again, kissing her upon the lips as he did so. Then he took off his
overcoat and wrapped it round her shoulders.

All this while Jane had not spoken. Indeed, the poor girl felt so happy and so
safe in her lover’s arms that it seemed to her as though she never wished
to speak, or to do anything for herself again. It was Leonard who broke the
silence.

“You ask me why I left without saying good-bye to you, Jane. It was
because your father has dismissed me from the house and forbidden me to have
any more to do with you.”

“Oh, why?” asked the girl, lifting her hands despairingly.

“Can’t you guess?” he answered with a bitter laugh.

“Yes, Leonard,” she whispered, taking his hand in sympathy.

“Perhaps I had better put it plainly,” said Leonard again;
“it may prevent misunderstandings. Your father has dismissed me because
my father embezzled all my money. The sins of the father are visited
upon the children, you see. Also he has done this with more than usual
distinctness and alacrity, because he wishes you to marry young Mr. Cohen, the
bullion-broker and the future owner of Outram.”

Jane shivered.

“I know, I know,” she said, “and oh! Leonard, I hate
him!”

“Then perhaps it will be as well not to marry him,” he answered.

“I would rather die first,” she said with conviction.

“Unfortunately one can’t always die when it happens to be
convenient, Jane.”

“Oh! Leonard, don’t be horrid,” she said, beginning to cry.
“Where are you going, and what shall I do?”

“To the bad probably,” he answered. “At least it all depends
upon you. Look here, Jane, if you will stick to me I will stick to you. The
luck is against me now, but I have it in me to see that through. I love you and
I would work myself to death for you; but at the best it must be a question of
time, probably of years.”

“Oh! Leonard, indeed I will if I can. I am sure that you do not love me
more than I love you, but I can never make you understand how odious they all
are to me about you, especially Papa.”

“Confound him!” said Leonard beneath his breath; and if Jane heard,
at that moment her filial affections were not sufficiently strong to induce her
to remonstrate.

“Well, Jane,” he went on, “the matter lies thus: either you
must put up with their treatment or you must give me the go-by. Listen: in six
months you will be twenty-one, and in this country all her relations put
together can’t force a woman to marry a man if she does not wish to, or
prevent her from marrying one whom she does wish to marry. Now you know my
address at my club in town; letters sent there will always reach me, and it is
scarcely possible for your father or anybody else to prevent you from writing
and posting a letter. If you want my help or to communicate in any way, I shall
expect to hear from you, and if need be, I will take you away and marry you the
moment you come of age. If, on the other hand, I do not hear from you, I shall
know that it is because you do not choose to write, or because that which you
have to write would be too painful for me to read. Do you understand,
Jane?”

“Oh! yes, Leonard, but you put things so hardly.”

“Things have been put hardly enough to me, love, and I must be
plain—this is my last chance of speaking to you.”

At this moment an ominous sound echoed through the night; it was none other
than the distant voice of Mr. Beach, calling from his front-door step,
“Jane! Are you out there, Jane?”

“Oh! heavens!” she said, “there is my father calling me. I
came out by the back door, but mother must have been up to my room and found me
gone. She watches me all day now. What shall I do?”

“Go back and tell them that you have been saying good-bye to me. It is
not a crime; they cannot kill you for it.”

“Indeed they can, or just as bad,” replied Jane. Then suddenly she
threw her arms about her lover’s neck and burying her beautiful face upon
his breast, she began to sob bitterly, murmuring, “Oh my darling, my
darling, what shall I do without you?”

Over the brief and distressing scene which followed it may be well to drop a
veil. Leonard’s bitterness of mind forsook him now, and he kissed her and
comforted her as he might best, even going so far as to mingle his tears with
hers, tears of which he had no cause to be ashamed. At length she tore herself
loose, for the shouts were growing louder and more insistent.

“I forgot,” she sobbed, “here is a farewell present for you;
keep it in memory of me, Leonard,” and thrusting her hand into the bosom
of her dress she drew from it a little packet which she gave to him.

Then once more they kissed and clung together, and in another moment she had
vanished back into the snow and darkness, passing out of Leonard’s sight
and out of his life, though from his mind she could never pass.

“A farewell present. Keep it in memory of me.” The words yet echoed
in his ears, and to Leonard they seemed fateful—a prophecy of utter loss.
Sighing heavily, he opened the packet and examined its contents by the feeble
moonlight. They were not large: a prayer-book bound in morocco, her own, with
her name on the fly-leaf and a short inscription beneath, and in the pocket of
its cover a lock of auburn hair tied round with silk.

“An unlucky gift,” said Leonard to himself; then putting on his
coat, which was yet warm from Jane’s shoulders, he also turned and
vanished into the snow and the night, shaping his path towards the village inn.

He reached it in due course, and passed into the little parlour that adjoined
the bar. It was a comfortable room enough, notwithstanding its adornments of
badly stuffed birds and fishes, and chiefly remarkable for its wide
old-fashioned fireplace with wrought-iron dogs. There was no lamp in the room
when Leonard entered, but the light of the burning wood was bright, and by it
he could see his brother seated in a high-backed chair gazing into the fire,
his hand resting on his knee.

Thomas Outram was Leonard’s elder by two years and cast in a more fragile
mould. His face was the face of a dreamer, the brown eyes were large and
reflective, and the mouth sensitive as a child’s. He was a scholar and a
philosopher, a man of much desultory reading, with refined tastes and a really
intimate knowledge of Greek gems.

“Is that you, Leonard?” he said, looking up absently; “where
have you been?”

“To the Rectory,” answered his brother.

“What have you been doing there?”

“Do you want to know?”

“Yes, of course. Did you see Jane?”

Then Leonard told him all the story.

“What do you think she will do?” asked Tom when his brother had
finished. “Given the situation and the woman, it is rather a curious
problem.”

“It may be,” answered Leonard; “but as I am not an equation
in algebra yearning to be worked out, I don’t quite see the fun of it.
But if you ask me what I think she will do, I should say that she will follow
the example of everybody else and desert me.”

“You seem to have a poor idea of women, old fellow. I know little of them
myself and don’t want to know more. But I have always understood that it
is the peculiar glory of their sex to come out strong on these exceptional
occasions. ‘Woman in our hours of ease,’ etc.”

“Well, we shall see. But it is my opinion that women think a great deal
more of their own hours of ease than of those of anybody else. Thank heaven,
here comes our dinner!”

Thus spoke Leonard, somewhat cynically and perhaps not in the best of taste.
But, his rejoicing over its appearance notwithstanding, he did not do much
justice to the dinner when it arrived. Indeed, it would be charitable to make
allowances for this young man at that period of his life. He had sustained a
most terrible reverse, and do what he might he could never quite escape from
the shadow of his father’s disgrace, or put out of his mind the stain
with which his father had dimmed the honour of his family. And now a new
misfortune hung over him. He had just been driven with contumely from a house
where hitherto he was the most welcome of guests; he had parted, moreover, from
the woman whom he loved dearly, and under circumstances which made it doubtful
if their separation would not be final.

Leonard possessed the gift of insight into character, and more common sense
than can often be expected from a young man in love. He knew well that the
chief characteristic of Jane’s nature was a tendency to yield to the
circumstances of the hour, and though he hoped against hope, he could find no
reason to suppose that she would exhibit greater determination in the matter of
their engagement than her general lack of strength might lead him to
anticipate. Besides, and here his common sense came in, would it be wise that
she should do so? After all, what had he to offer her, and were not his hopes
of future advancement nothing better than a dream? Roughly as he had put it,
perhaps Mr. Beach was right when he told him that he, Leonard, was both selfish
and impertinent, since was it not a selfish impertinence in him to ask any
woman to link her fortune with his in the present state of his affairs?

Let us therefore make excuses for his words and outward behaviour, for at heart
Leonard had much to trouble him.

When the cloth had been cleared away and they were alone again, Tom spoke to
his brother, who was moodily filling his pipe.

“What shall we do to-night, Leonard?” he said.

“Go to bed, I suppose,” he answered.

“See here, Leonard,” said his brother again, “what do you say
to having a last look at the old place?”

“If you wish, Tom, but it will be painful.”

“A little pain more or less can scarcely hurt us, old fellow,” said
Tom, laying his thin hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Then they started. A quarter of an hour’s walking brought them to the
Hall. The snow had ceased falling now and the night was beautifully clear, but
before it ceased it had done a welcome office in hiding from view all the
litter and wreckage of the auction, which make the scene of a recent sale one
of the most desolate sights in the world. Never had the old house looked
grander or more eloquent of the past than it did on that night to the two
brothers who were dispossessed of their heritage. They wandered round it in
silence, gazing affectionately at each well-known tree and window, till at
length they came to the gun-room entrance. More from habit than for any other
reason Leonard turned the handle of the door. To his surprise it was open;
after the confusion of the sale no one had remembered to lock it.

“Let us go in,” he said.

They entered and wandered from room to room till they reached the greater hall,
a vast and oak-roofed chamber built after the fashion of the nave of a church,
and lighted by a large window of ecclesiastical design. This window was filled
with the armorial bearings of many generations of the Outram family, wrought in
stained glass and placed in couples, for next to each coat of arms were the
arms of its bearer’s dame. It was not quite full, however, for in it
remained two blank shields, which had been destined to receive the escutcheons
of Thomas Outram and his wife.

“They will never be filled now, Leonard,” said Tom, pointing to
these; “curious, isn’t it, not to say sad?”

“Oh! I don’t know,” answered his brother; “I suppose
that the Cohens boast some sort of arms, or if not they can buy them.”

“I should think that they would have the good taste to begin a new window
for themselves,” said Tom.

Then he was silent for a while, and they watched the moonlight streaming
through the painted window, the memorial of so much forgotten grandeur, and
illumining the portraits of many a dead Outram that gazed upon them from the
panelled walls.

“Per ardua ad astra,” said Tom, absently reading the family
motto which alternated pretty regularly with a second device that some members
of it had adopted—“For Heart, Home, and Honour.”

“‘Per ardua ad astra’—through struggle to the
stars—and ‘For Heart, Home, and Honour,’” repeated Tom;
“well, I think that our family never needed such consolations more, if
indeed there are any to be found in mottoes. Our Heart is broken, our hearth is
desolate, and our honour is a byword, but there remain the ‘struggle and
the stars.’”

As he spoke his face took the fire of a new enthusiasm: “Leonard,”
he went on, “why should not we retrieve the past? Let us take that
motto—the more ancient one—for an omen, and let us fulfil it. I
believe it is a good omen, I believe that one of us will fulfil it.”

“We can try,” answered Leonard. “If we fail in the struggle,
at least the stars remain for us as for all human kind.”

“Leonard,” said his brother almost in a whisper, “will you
swear an oath with me? It seems childish, but I think that under some
circumstances there is wisdom even in childishness.”

“What oath?” asked Leonard.

“This; that we will leave England and seek fortune in some foreign
land—sufficient fortune to enable us to repurchase our lost home; that we
will never return here until we have won this fortune; and that death alone
shall put a stop to our quest.”

Leonard hesitated a moment, then answered:

“If Jane fails me, I will swear it.”

Tom glanced round as though in search of some familiar object, and presently
his eye fell upon what he sought. A great proportion of the furniture of the
old house, including the family portraits, had been purchased by the in-coming
owner. Among the articles which remained was a very valuable and ancient bible,
one of the first ever printed indeed, that stood upon an oaken stand in the
centre of the hall, to which it was securely chained. Tom led the way to this
bible, followed by his brother. Then they placed their hands upon it, and
standing there in the shadow, the elder of them spoke aloud in a voice that
left no doubt of the earnestness of his purpose, or of his belief in their
mission.

“We swear,” he said, “upon this book and before the God who
made us that we will leave this home that was ours, and never look upon it
again till we can call it ours once more. We swear that we will follow this,
the purpose of our lives, till death destroys us and it; and may shame and
utter ruin overtake us if, while we have strength and reason, we turn our backs
upon this oath! So help us God!”

“So help us God!” repeated Leonard.

Thus in the home of their ancestors, in the presence of their Maker, and of the
pictured dead who had gone before them, did Thomas and Leonard Outram devote
their lives to this great purpose. Perhaps, as one of them had said, the thing
was childish, but if so, at the least it was solemn and touching. Their cause
seemed hopeless indeed; but if faith can move mountains, much more can honest
endeavour attain its ends. In that hour they felt this. Yes, they believed that
the end would be attained by one of them, though they guessed little what
struggles lay between them and the Star they hoped to gain, or how strangely
they should be borne thither.

On the morrow they went to London and waited there a while, but no word came
from Jane Beach, and for good or ill the chains of the oath that he had taken
riveted themselves around Leonard Outram’s neck.

Within three months of this night the brothers were nearing the shores of
Africa, the land of the Children of the Mist.

Chapter III.

AFTER SEVEN YEARS

“What is the time, Leonard?”

“Eleven o’clock, Tom.”

“Eleven—already? I shall go at dawn, Leonard. You remember Johnston
died at dawn, and so did Askew.”

“For heaven’s sake don’t speak like that, Tom! If you think
you are going to die, you will die.”

The sick man laughed a ghost of a laugh—it was half a death-rattle.

“It is no use talking, Leonard; I feel my life flaring and sinking like a
dying fire. My mind is quite clear now, but I shall die at dawn for all that.
The fever has burnt me up! Have I been raving, Leonard?”

“A little, old fellow,” answered Leonard.

“What about?”

“Home mostly, Tom.”

“Home! We have none, Leonard; it is sold. How long have we been away
now?”

“Seven years.”

“Seven years! Yes. Do you remember how we said good-bye to the old place
on that winter night after the auction? And do you remember what we
resolved?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it.”

“We swore that we would seek wealth enough to buy Outram back till we won
it or died, and that we would never return to England till it was won. Then we
sailed for Africa. For seven years we have sought and done no more than earn a
livelihood, much less a couple of hundred thousand pounds or so.”

“Leonard.”

“Yes, Tom?”

“You are sole heir to our oath now, and to the old name with it, or you
will be in a few hours. I have fulfilled my vow. I have sought till I died. You
will take up the quest till you succeed or die. The struggle has been mine, may
you live to win the Star. You will persevere, will you not, Leonard?”

“Yes, Tom, I will.”

“Give me your hand on it, old fellow.”

Leonard Outram knelt down beside his dying brother, and they clasped each
other’s hands.

“Now let me sleep awhile. I am tired. Do not be afraid, I shall wake
before the—end.”

Hardly had the words passed his lips when his eyes closed and he sank into
stupor or sleep.

His brother Leonard sat down upon a rude seat, improvised out of an empty
gin-case. Without the tempest shrieked and howled, the great wind shook the
Kaffir hut of grass and wattle, piercing it in a hundred places till the light
of the lantern wavered within its glass, and the sick man’s hair was
lifted from his clammy brow. From time to time fierce squalls of rain fell like
sheets of spray, and the water, penetrating the roof of grass, streamed to the
earthen floor. Leonard crept on his hands and knees to the doorway of the hut,
or rather to the low arched opening which served as a doorway, and, removing
the board that secured it, looked out at the night. Their hut stood upon the
ridge of a great mountain; below was a sea of bush, and around it rose the
fantastic shapes of other mountains. Black clouds drove across the dying moon,
but occasionally she peeped out and showed the scene in all its vast solemnity
and appalling solitude.

Presently Leonard closed the opening of the doorway, and going back to his
brother’s side he gazed upon him earnestly. Many years of toil and
privation had not robbed Thomas Outram’s face of its singular beauty, or
found power to mar its refinement. But death was written on it.

Leonard sighed, then, struck by a sudden thought, sought for and found a scrap
of looking-glass. Holding it close to the light of the lantern, he examined the
reflection of his own features. The glass mirrored a handsome bearded man,
dark, keen-eyed like one who is always on the watch for danger, curly-haired
and broad-shouldered; not very tall, but having massive limbs and a form which
showed strength in every movement. Though he was still young, there was little
of youth left about the man; clearly toil and struggle had done an evil work
with him, ageing his mind and hardening it as they had hardened the strength
and vigour of his body. The face was a good one, but most men would have
preferred to see friendship shining in those piercing black eyes rather than
the light of enmity. Leonard was a bad enemy, and his long striving with the
world sometimes led him to expect foes where they did not exist.

Even now this thought was in his mind: “He is dying,” he said to
himself, as he laid down the glass with the care of a man who cannot afford to
hazard a belonging however trivial, “and yet his face is not so changed
as mine is. My God! he is dying! My brother—the only man—the only
living creature I love in the world, except one perhaps, if indeed I love her
still. Everything is against us—I should say against me now, for I cannot
count him. Our father was our first enemy; he brought us into the world,
neglected us, squandered our patrimony, dishonoured our name, and shot himself.
And since then what has it been but one continual fight against men and nature?
Even the rocks in which I dig for gold are foes—victorious
foes—” and he glanced at his hands, scarred and made unshapely by
labour. “And the fever, that is a foe. Death is the only friend, but he
won’t shake hands with me. He takes my brother whom I love as he has
taken the others, but me he leaves.”

Thus mused Leonard sitting sullenly on the red box, his elbow on his knee, his
rough hands held beneath his chin pushing forward the thick black beard till it
threw a huge shadow, angular and unnatural, on to the wall of the hut, while
without the tempest now raved, now lulled, and now raved again. An
hour—two—passed and still he sat not moving, watching the face of
the fever-stricken man that from time to time flushed and was troubled, then
grew pale and still. It seemed to him as though by some strange harmony of
nature the death-smitten blood was striving to keep pace with the beat of the
storm, knowing that presently life and storm would pass together into the same
domain of silence.

At length Tom Outram opened his eyes and looked at him, but Leonard knew that
he did not see him as he was. The dying eyes studied him indeed and were
intelligent, but he could feel that they read something on his face that was
not known to himself, nor could be visible to any other man—read it as
though it were a writing.

So strange was this scrutiny, so meaningless and yet so full of a meaning which
he could not grasp, that Leonard shrank beneath it. He spoke to his brother,
but no answer came,—only the great hollow eyes read on in that book which
was printed upon his face; that book, sealed to him, but to the dying man an
open writing.

The sight of the act of death is always terrible; it is terrible to watch the
latest wax and ebb of life, and with the intelligence to comprehend that these
flickerings, this coming and this going, these sinkings and these last
recoveries are the trial flights of the animating and eternal
principle—call it soul or what you will—before it trusts itself
afar. Still more terrible is it under circumstances of physical and mental
desolation such as those present to Leonard Outram in that hour.

But he had looked on death before, on death in many dreadful shapes, and yet he
had never been so much afraid. What was it that his brother, or the spirit of
his brother, read in his face? What learning had he gathered in that sleep of
his, the last before the last? He could not tell—now he longed to know,
now he was glad not to know, and now he strove to overcome his fears.

“My nerves are shattered,” he said to himself. “He is dying.
How shall I bear to see him die?”

A gust of wind shook the hut, rending the thatch apart, and through the rent a
little jet of rain fell upon his brother’s forehead and ran down his
pallid cheeks like tears. Then the strange understanding look passed from the
wide eyes, and once more they became human, and the lips were opened.

“Water,” they murmured.

Leonard gave him to drink, with one hand holding the pannikin to his
brother’s mouth and with the other supporting the dying head. Twice he
gulped at it, then with a brusque motion of his wasted arm he knocked the cup
aside, spilling the water on the earthen floor.

“Leonard,” he said, “you will succeed.”

“Succeed in what, Tom?”

“You will get the money and Outram—and found the family
afresh—but you will not do it alone. A woman will help you.”

Then his mind wandered a little and he muttered, “How is Jane? Have you
heard from Jane?” or some such words.

At the mention of this name Leonard’s face softened, then once more grew
hard and anxious.

“I have not heard of Jane for years, old fellow,” he said;
“probably she is dead or married. But I do not understand.”

“Don’t waste time, Leonard,” Tom answered, rousing himself
from his lethargy. “Listen to me. I am going fast. You know dying men see
far—sometimes. I dreamed it, or I read it in your face. I tell
you—you will die at Outram. Stay here a while after I am dead.
Stay a while, Leonard!”

He sank back exhausted, and at that moment a gust of wind, fiercer than any
which had gone before, leapt down the mountain gorges, howling with all the
voices of the storm. It caught the frail hut and shook it. A cobra hidden in
the thick thatch awoke from its lethargy and fell with a soft thud to the floor
not a foot from the face of the dying man—then erected itself and hissed
aloud with flickering tongue and head swollen by rage. Leonard started back and
seized a crowbar which stood near, but before he could strike, the reptile sank
down and, drawing its shining shape across his brother’s forehead, once
more vanished into the thatch.

His eyes did not so much as close, though Leonard saw a momentary reflection of
the bright scales in the dilated pupils and shivered at this added terror,
shivered as though his own flesh had shrunk beneath the touch of those deadly
coils. It was horrible that the snake should creep across his brother’s
face, it was still more horrible that his brother, yet living, should not
understand the horror. It caused him to remember our invisible companion, that
ancient enemy of mankind of whom the reptile is an accepted type; it made him
think of that long sleep which the touch of such as this has no power to stir.

Ah! now he was going—it was impossible to mistake that change, the last
quick quiver of the blood, followed by an ashen pallor, and the sob of the
breath slowly lessening into silence. So the day had died last night, with a
little purpling of the sky—a little sobbing of the wind—then ashen
nothingness and silence. But the silence was broken, the night had grown alive
indeed—and with a fearful life. Hark! how the storm yelled! those blasts
told of torment, that rain beat like tears. What if his brother——He
did not dare to follow the thought home.

Hark! how the storm yelled!—the very hut wrenched at its strong supports
as though the hands of a hundred savage foes were dragging it. It
lifted—by heaven it was gone!—gone, crashing down the rocks on the
last hurricane blast of the tempest, and there above them lowered the sullen
blue of the passing night flecked with scudding clouds, and there in front of
them, to the east and between the mountains, flared the splendours of the dawn.

Something had struck Leonard heavily, so heavily that the blood ran down his
face; he did not heed it, he scarcely felt it; he only clasped his brother in
his arms and, for the first time for many years, he kissed him on the brow,
staining it with the blood from his wound.

The dying man looked up. He saw the glory in the East. Now it ran along the
mountain sides, now it burned upon their summits, to each summit a pillar of
flame, a peculiar splendour of its own diversely shaped; and now the shapes of
fire leaped from earth to heaven, peopling the sky with light. The dull clouds
caught the light, but they could not hold it all: back it fell to earth again,
and the forests lifted up their arms to greet it, and it shone upon the face of
the waters.

Thomas Outram saw—and staggering to his knees he stretched out his arms
towards the rising sun, muttering with his lips.

Then he sank upon Leonard’s breast, and presently all his story was told.

Chapter IV.

THE LAST VIGIL

For a while Leonard sat by the body of his brother. The daylight grew and
gathered about him, the round ball of the sun appeared above the mountains.

The storm was gone. Were it not for some broken fragments of the vanished hut,
it would have been difficult to know even that it had been. Insects began to
chirrup, lizards ran from the crevices of the rocks, yonder the rain-washed bud
of a mountain lily opened before his eyes. Still Leonard sat on, his face stony
with grief, till at length a shadow fell upon him from above. He looked
up—it was cast by a vulture’s wings, as they hurried to the place
of death.

Grasping his loaded rifle Leonard sprang to his feet. Nearer and nearer came
the bird, wheeling above him in lessening circles: it forgot the presence of
the living in its desire for the dead. Leonard lifted the rifle, aimed and
fired. The report rang out clearly on the silent air, and was echoed from
krantz and kloof and mountain side, and from above answered the thud of the
bullet. For a moment the smitten bird swayed upon its wide pinions, then they
seemed to crumple beneath its weight, and it fell heavily and lay flapping and
striking at the stones with its strong beak.

“I also can kill,” said Leonard to himself as he watched it die.
“Kill till you are killed—that is the law of life.” Then he
turned to the body of his brother and made it ready for burial as best he
might, closing the eyes, tying up the chin with a band of twisted grass, and
folding the thin toil-worn hands upon the quiet heart.

When all was finished he paused from his dreadful task, and a thought struck
him.

“Where are those Kaffirs?” he said aloud—the sound of his
voice seemed to dull the edge of solitude—“the lazy hounds, they
ought to have been up an hour ago. Hi! Otter, Otter!”

The mountains echoed “Otter, Otter;” there was no other reply.
Again he shouted without result. “I don’t like to leave it,”
he said, “but I must go and see;” and, having covered the body with
a red blanket to scare away the vultures, he started at a run round some
projecting rocks that bordered the little plateau on which the hut had stood.
Beyond them the plateau continued, and some fifty paces from the rocks was a
hollow in the mountain side, where a softer vein of stone had been eaten away
by centuries of weather.

It was here that the Kaffirs slept—four of them—and in front of
this cave or grotto it was their custom to make a fire for cooking. But on that
morning no fire was burning, and no Kaffirs were to be seen.

“Still asleep,” was Leonard’s comment as he strode swiftly
towards the cave. In another moment he was in it shouting “Otter,
Otter!” and saluting with a vigorous kick a prostrate form, of which he
could just see the outline. The form did not move, which was strange, for such
a kick should have suffered to wake even the laziest Basuto from his soundest
sleep. Leonard stopped to examine it, and the next moment started back
violently, exclaiming:

“Great heavens! it is Cheat, and he is dead.”

At this moment a thick voice spoke from the corner of the cave in Dutch, the
voice of Otter:

“I am here, Baas, but I am tied: the Baas must loosen me, I cannot
stir.”

Leonard advanced, striking a match as he came. Presently it burned up, and he
saw the man Otter lying on his back, his legs and arms bound firmly with rimpis
of hide, his face and body a mass of contusions. Drawing his hunting-knife
Leonard cut the rimpis and brought the man from out the cave, carrying rather
than leading him.

Otter was a knob-nosed Kaffir, that is of the Bastard Zulu race. The brothers
had found him wandering about the country in a state of semi-starvation, and he
had served them faithfully for some years. They had christened him Otter, his
native patronymic being quite unpronounceable, because of his extraordinary
skill in swimming, which almost equalled that of the animal after which he was
named.

In face the man was hideous, though his ugliness was not unpleasant, being due
chiefly to a great development of his tribal feature, the nose, and in body he
was misshapen to the verge of monstrosity. In fact Otter was a dwarf, measuring
little more than four feet in height. But what he lacked in height he made up
in breadth; it almost seemed as though, intended by nature to be a man of many
inches, he had been compressed to his present dimensions by art. His vast chest
and limbs, indicating strength nearly superhuman, his long iron arms and
massive head, all gave colour to this idea. Otter had one redeeming feature,
however—his eyes, that when visible, which at this moment was not the
case, were large, steady, and, like his skin, of a brilliant black.

“What has happened?” said Leonard, also speaking in Dutch.

“This, Baas! Last night those three Basuto villains, your servants, made
up their minds to desert. They told me nothing, and they were so cunning that,
though I watched even their thoughts, I never guessed. They knew better than to
tell me, for I would have beaten them—yes, all! So they waited till I was
sound asleep, then came behind me, the three of them, and tied me fast that I
should not hinder them and that they might take away Baas Tom’s gun which
you lent me, and other things. Soon I found out their plans, and though I
laughed in their faces, oh! my heart was black with rage.

“When the Basuto dogs had tied me they mocked me, calling me foul names
and saying that I might stop and starve with the white fools, my masters, who
always dug for yellow iron and found so little, being fools. Then they got
together everything of value, yes, down to the kettle, and made ready to go,
and each of them came and slapped me on the face, and one burnt me here upon
the nose with a hot brand.

“All this I bore as a man must bear trouble which comes from the skies,
but when Cheat took up Baas Tom’s gun and the others came with a reim to
tie me to the rock, I could bear it no more. So I shouted aloud and drove at
Cheat, who held the gun. Ah! they had forgotten that if my arms are strong, my
head is stronger! Butting like a bull I caught him fair in the middle, and his
back was against the side of the cave. He made one noise, no more; he will
never make another noise, for my head smashed him up inside and the rock hurt
me through him. Then the other two hit me with kerries—great
blows—and my arms being tied I could not defend myself, though I knew
that they would soon kill me; so I groaned and dropped down, pretending to be
dead—just like a stink-cat.

“At last, thinking that they had finished me, the Basutos ran away in a
great hurry, for they feared lest you might hear the shouting and should come
after them with rifles. They were so much afraid that they left the gun and
most of the other things. After that I fainted; it was silly, but those kerries
of theirs are of rhinoceros horn—I should not have minded so much had
they been of wood, but the horn bites deep. That is all the story. It will
please Baas Tom to know that I saved his gun. When he hears it he will forget
his sickness and say ‘Well done, Otter! Ha! Otter, your head is
hard.’”

“Make your heart hard also,” said Leonard with a sad smile;
“Baas Tom is dead. He died at daybreak in my arms. The fever killed him
as it killed the other Inkoosis (chiefs).”

Otter heard, and, letting his bruised head fall upon his mighty chest, remained
for a while in silence. At length he lifted it, and Leonard saw two tears
wandering down the battered countenance. “Wow,” he said,
“is it so? Oh! my father, are you dead, you who were brave like a lion
and gentle as a girl? Yes, you are dead, my ears have heard it, and were it not
for your brother, the Baas Leonard, I think that I would kill myself and follow
you. Wow, my father, are you indeed dead, who smiled upon me
yesterday?”

“Come,” said Leonard; “I dare not leave him long.”

And he went, Otter following him with a reeling gait, for he was weak from his
injuries. Presently they reached the spot, and Otter saw that the hut was gone.

“Certainly,” he said, “our bad spirits were abroad last
night. Well, next time it will be the turn of the good ones.” Then he
drew near to the corpse and saluted it with uplifted hand and voice.

“Chief and Father,” he said in Zulu, for Otter had wandered long
and knew many tongues, but he loved the Zulu best of all. “While you
lived upon earth, you were a good man and brave, though somewhat quick of
temper and quarrelsome like a woman. Now you have wearied of this world and
flown away like an eagle towards the sun, and there where you live in the light
of the sun you will be braver and better yet, and become more patient and not
quarrel any more with those who are less clever than you. Chief and Father, I
salute you! May he whom you named the Otter serve you and the Inkoosi
your brother once more in the House of the Great-Great, if one so ugly and
misshapen can enter there. As for the Basuto dog whom I slew and who would have
stolen your gun, I see now that I killed him in a fortunate hour, that he might
be the slave beneath your feet in the House of the Great-Great. Ah! had I
known, I would have sent a better man, for there as here Cheat will still be
Cheat. Hail, my father! Hail and farewell! Let your spirit watch over us and be
gentle towards us, who love you yet.”

And Otter turned away without further ado; and having washed his wounds, he set
himself to the task of preparing such coarse food as they had in store.

When it was ready Leonard ate of it, and after he had finished eating, together
they bore the body to the little cave for shelter. It was Leonard’s
purpose to bury his brother at sundown; he might not delay longer, but till
then he would watch by him, keeping the last of many vigils. So all that
remained of the Basuto Cheat having been dragged forth and thrust
unceremoniously into an ant-bear hole by Otter, who while he disposed of the
body did not spare to taunt the spirit of his late treacherous foe, the corpse
of Thomas Outram was laid in its place, and Leonard sat himself by its side in
the gloom of the cave.

About midday Otter, who had been sleeping off his sorrows, physical and mental,
came into the cavern. They were short of meat, he said, and with the leave of
the Baas he would take the gun of the dead Baas and try to shoot a buck.

Leonard bade him go, but to be back by sundown, as he should require his help.

“Where shall we dig a hole, Baas?” asked the dwarf.

“One is dug,” answered Leonard; “he who is dead dug it
himself as the others did. We will bury him in the last pit he made looking for
gold, to the right of where the hut stood. It is deep and ready.”

“Yes, Baas, a good place—though perhaps Baas Tom would not have
worked at it so strongly had he known. Wow! Who knows to what end he
labours? But perchance it is a little near the donga. Twice that hole has been
flooded while Baas Tom was digging in it. Then he would jump out, but
now——”

“I have settled it,” said Leonard shortly; “go, and be back
half an hour before sundown at latest. Stop! Bring some of those rock-lilies if
you can. The Baas was fond of them.”

The dwarf saluted and went. “Ah!” he said to himself as he waddled
down the hill where he hoped to find game, “ah! you do not fear men dead
or living—overmuch; yet, Otter, it is true that you are better here in
the sun, though the sun is hot, than yonder in the cave. Say, Otter, why does
Baas Tom look so awful now that he is dead—he who was so gentle while yet
he lived? Cheat did not look awful, only uglier. But then you killed Cheat, and
the Heavens killed Baas Tom and set their own seal upon him. And what will Baas
Leonard do now that his brother is dead and the Basutos have run away? Go on
digging for the yellow iron which is so hard to find, and of which, when it is
found, no man can even make a spear? Nay, what is that to you, Otter? What the
Baas does you do—and here be the spoor of an impala buck.”

Otter was right. The day was fearfully hot. It was summer in East Africa, or
rather autumn, the season of fever, thunder and rain, a time that none who
valued their lives would care to spend in those latitudes searching for gold
with poor food and but little shelter. But men who seek their fortunes are not
chary of hazarding their own lives or those of others. They become fatalists,
not avowedly perhaps, but unconsciously. Those who are destined to die must
die, they think, the others will live. And, after all, it does not greatly
matter which they do, for, as they know well, the world will never miss them.

When Leonard Outram, his brother, and two companions in adventure heard from
the natives that at a particular spot on the mountains, nominally in the
Portuguese territory near the lowest branch of the Zambesi, gold could be dug
out like iron ore, and when, at the price of two Tower muskets and a half-bred
greyhound, they received a concession from the actual chief of that territory
to dig up and possess the gold without let or hindrance from any person
whatsoever, they did not postpone their undertaking because the country was
fever-stricken and the unhealthy season drew on. In the first place, their
resources were not great at the moment; and in the second, they feared lest
some other enterprising person with three Tower muskets and two grey-hounds
should persuade the chief to rescind their concession in his favour.

So they journeyed laboriously to the place of hidden wealth, and with the help
of such native labour as they could gather began their search. At first they
were moderately successful; indeed, wherever they dug they found
“colour,” and once or twice stumbled upon pockets of nuggets. Their
hopes ran high, but presently one of the four—Askew by
name—sickened and died of fever. They buried him and persevered with
varying luck. Then a second member of their party, Johnston, was taken ill. He
lingered for a month and died also.

After this Leonard was for abandoning the enterprise, but, as fate would have
it, on the day following Johnston’s death they found gold in very
promising quantities, and his brother, whose desire to win the wealth necessary
was only increased by many disappointments, would not listen to such advice.

So they rebuilt the hut on a higher and healthier spot and stayed. But on one
unfortunate day Thomas Outram went out shooting, and losing his path in the
bush was forced to spend a night in the fever-fog. A week afterwards he
complained of sickness and pains in the back and head—three weeks later
he died as we have seen.

All these events and many others antecedent passed through Leonard’s mind
as he wore out the long hours seated by the side of his dead brother. Never
before had he felt so lonely, so utterly desolate, so bankrupt of all love and
hope. It was a fact that at this moment he had no friend in the wide world,
unless he could call the knob-nosed native Otter a friend. He had been many
years away from England, his few distant relations there troubled themselves no
more about him or his brother, outcasts, wanderers in strange lands, and his
school and college companions in all probability had forgotten his existence.

There was one indeed, Jane Beach. But since that night of parting, seven years
ago, he had heard nothing of her. Twice he had written, but no answer came to
his letters. Then he gave up writing, for Leonard was a proud man; moreover he
guessed that she did not reply because she could not. As he had said to his
brother, Jane might be dead by now, or more probably married to Mr. Cohen. And
yet once they had loved each other, and to this hour he still loved her, or
thought that he did. At least, through all the weary years of exile, labour,
and unceasing search after the unattainable, her image and memory had been with
him, a distant dream of sweetness, peace, and beauty, and they were with him
yet, though nothing of her remained to him except the parting gift of her
prayer-book and the lock of hair within it. The wilderness is not a place where
men can forget their earliest love. No, he was alone, absolutely and utterly
alone, a wanderer in wild lands, a sojourner with rough unlettered men and
savages.

And now, what should he do? This place was played out. There was alluvial gold
indeed, but Leonard knew to-day that it was not in the earth, but in the veins
of quartz which permeated the mountains, that the real wealth must be sought
for, and how could he extract it from the quartz without machinery or capital?
Besides, his Kaffir servants had deserted him, worn out with hard work and
fever, and there were no others to be had at this season. Well, it was only one
more disappointment; he must go back to Natal and take his chance. At the worst
he could always earn his living as a transport-rider, and at the best he
wearied of this search for wealth which was to build up their family afresh.

Then of a sudden Leonard remembered what he had promised—to go on seeking
till he died. Very good, he would keep the promise—till he died. And he
remembered also that curious prophecy to which Thomas had given utterance on
the previous night, that prophecy of wealth which should come to him.

Of course it was nothing but the distraught fancy of a dying man. For many
years his brother had brooded over this possibility of gaining riches, not for
their own sake indeed, but that it might be the means of restoring the ancient
family, which their father had brought to shame and ruin. It was not wonderful
in a man of his excitable temperament that at the hour of his death he should
have grasped at some vision of attainment of the object of his life, though by
the hand of another. And yet how strangely he had looked at him! With what
conviction he had spoken! But all this was beside the point; he, Leonard, had
sworn an oath many years ago, and only last night he had promised to continue
to observe that oath. Therefore, come good or ill, he must pursue it to the
end.

Thus he mused till he grew weary as he sat hour after hour by the side of that
rigid thing, which had been his playmate, his brother, and his friend. From
time to time he rose and walked about the cave. As the afternoon waned the air
grew hotter and stiller, while a great cloud gathered on the horizon.

“There will be thunder at sundown,” said Leonard aloud; “I
wish that Otter would come back, so that we might get the funeral over;
otherwise we shall have to wait till to-morrow.”

At length, about half an hour before nightfall, the dwarf appeared at the mouth
of the cave, looking more like a gnome than a man against the lurid background
of the angry sky. A buck was tied across his enormous shoulders, and in his
hand he held a large bunch of the fragrant mountain lilies.

Then the two of them buried Thomas Outram, there in his lonely grave which he
himself had dug by the gully, and the roll of the thunder was his requiem. It
seemed a fitting termination to his stormy and laborious life.

Chapter V.

OTTER GIVES COUNSEL

When the burial was finished and Thomas Outram slept his last sleep beneath six
feet of earth and stones, his brother took out the prayer-book that Jane Beach
had given him, which in truth formed all his library, and read the funeral
service over the grave, ending it by the glare of the lightning flashes. Then
he and Otter went back to the cave and ate, speaking no word. After they had
done their meal Leonard called to the dwarf, who took his food at a little
distance.

“Otter,” he said, setting the lantern between them, “you are
a faithful man and clever in your way. I would tell you a story and ask you
something. At the least,” he added to himself in English, “in such
a matter your judgment is as good as mine.”

“Speak on, Baas,” said the dwarf; “my ears are open;”
and he squatted down on the further side of the lantern like some great toad,
watching his master’s face with his black eyes.

“Otter, the Baas who is dead and I journeyed to this country about seven
years ago. Before we came here we had been rich men, chiefs in our own place,
but we lost our kraals and cattle and lands; they were sold, others took them
and we became poor. Yes, we who were fat grew lean as trek oxen at the end of
winter. Then we said to each other, ‘Here we have no longer any home, the
shame of poverty has come upon us, we are broken vessels, empty men of no
account; also we are chiefs by blood, and here we cannot let ourselves out to
labour like the common people, lest both the common people and the nobles
should make a mock of us. Our great stone kraal that has been ours for many
generations is taken from us, others dwell in it, strange women order it, and
their children shall move about the land. We will go away.’”

“The blood is the blood,” broke in Otter, “the wealth is
nothing; that comes and goes, but the blood is always the blood. Why did you
not gather an impi, my father, and put these strangers to the spear and take
your kraal again?”

“In our land this may not be, Otter, for there wealth is more than race.
So we should have been brought to still greater shame. Riches alone could give
us back our home, and we had none left. Therefore we swore an oath together,
the dead Baas and I, that we would journey to this far country and seek to win
wealth that we might buy back our lands and kraal and rule over them as in past
years, and our children after us.”

“A good oath,” said Otter, “but here we should have sworn it
otherwise, and there would have been a ringing of steel about that kraal, not
the chink of yellow iron.”

“We came, Otter, and for seven years we have laboured harder than the
lowest of our servants; we have travelled to and fro, mixing with many peoples,
learning many tongues, and what have we found? The Baas yonder a grave in the
wilderness—I the food that the wilderness gives, no more.”

“A poor wage so far,” said Otter. “Ah! the ways of my people
are more simple and better. A red spear is brighter than the red gold, yes, and
it is more honest.”

“The wealth is unwon, Otter, and I have sworn to win the wealth or die.
But last night I swore it again to him who lies dead.”

“It is well, Baas; an oath is an oath and true men must keep it. But
riches cannot be gathered here, for the gold, most of it, is hid in those rocks
that are far too heavy to carry, and who may charm gold out of the rock? Not
all the wizards in Zululand. At the least you and I cannot do it alone, even
should the fever spare us. We must trek, Baas, and look elsewhere.”

“Listen, Otter, the tale is yet to tell. The Baas who is dead dreamed
before he died, he dreamed that I should win the gold, that I should win it by
the help of a woman, and he bade me wait here a while after he was dead. Say
now, Otter, you who come of a people learned in dreams and are the child of a
dream-doctor, was this a true dream or a sick man’s fancy?”

“Nay, Baas, who can tell for sure?” the dwarf answered; then
pondered a while, and set himself to trace lines in the dust of the floor with
his finger. “Yet I say,” he went on, “that the words of the
dead uttered on the edge of death shall come true. He promised that you should
win the wealth: you will win it by this way or that, and the great kraal across
the water shall be yours again, and the children of strangers shall wander
there no more. Let us obey the words of the dead and bide here awhile as he
commanded.”

Seven days had passed, and on the night of the seventh Leonard Outram and Otter
sat together once more in the little cave on Grave Mountain, for so they named
this fatal spot. They did not speak, though each of them was speaking after his
own fashion, and both had cause for thought. They had been hunting all day, but
killed nothing except a guinea-fowl, most of which they had just eaten; it was
the only food left to them. Game seemed to have abandoned the district—at
least they could find none.

Since his brother’s death Leonard had given up all attempt to dig for
gold—it was useless. Time hung heavy on his hands, for a man cannot
search all day for buck which are not. Gloom had settled on his mind also; he
felt his brother’s loss more acutely now than on the day he buried him.
Moreover, for the first time he suffered from symptoms of the deadly fever
which had carried off his three companions. Alas! he knew too well the meaning
of this lassitude and nausea, and of the racking pain which from time to time
shot through his head and limbs. That was how his brother’s last sickness
had begun.

Would his own days end in the same fashion? He did not greatly care, he was
reckless as to his fate, for the hard necessities of life had left him little
time or inclination to rack himself with spiritual doubts. And yet it was awful
to think of. He rehearsed the whole scene in his mind again and yet again until
it became a reality to him. He saw his own last struggle for life and Otter
watching it. He saw the dwarf bearing him in his great arms to a lonely grave,
there to cover him with earth, and then, with a sigh, to flee the haunted spot
for ever. Why did he stop to die of fever? Because his brother had bidden him
to do so with his dying breath; because of a superstition, a folly, which would
move any civilised man to scorn.

Ah! there was the rub, he was no longer a civilised man; he had lived so long
with nature and savages that he had come to be as nature makes the savage. His
educated reason told him that this was folly, but his instinct—that
faculty which had begun to take the place of educated reason with
him—spoke in another voice. He had gone back in the scale of life, he had
grown primitive; his mind was as the mind of a Norseman or of an Aztec. It did
not seem wonderful to him that his brother should have prophesied upon his
dying bed; it did not strike him as strange even that he should believe in the
prophecy and act upon it. And yet he knew that in all probability this
obedience would result in his own death.

Those who have lived much with nature will in some degree be familiar with such
sensations, for man and nature are ever at variance, and each would shape the
other to its ends. In the issue nature wins. Man boasts continually of his
conquests over her, her instincts, her terrors, and her hopes. But let him
escape from out his cities and the fellowship of his kind, let him be alone
with her for a while, and where is his supremacy? He sinks back on to her
breast again and is lost there as in time to be all his labours shall be lost.
The grass of the field and the sand of the desert are more powerful than
Babylon; they were before her, they are after her; and so it is with everything
physical and moral in their degrees, for here rules a nurse whom we human
children must obey at last, however much we may defy her.

Thus brooded Leonard as he sat, his hands in his pockets and an empty pipe
between his teeth. Their tobacco was done, and yet he drew at the pipe, perhaps
from habit. And all the while Otter watched him.

“Baas,” he said at length, “you are sick, Baas.”

“No,” he answered, “that is, perhaps a little.”

“Yes, Baas, a little. You have said nothing, but I know, I who watch. The
fever has touched you with his finger, by-and-by he will grip you with his
whole hand, and then, Baas——”

“And then, Otter, good night.”

“Yes, Baas, for you good night, and for me, what? Baas, you think too
much and you have nothing to do, that is why you grow sick. Better that we
should go and dig again.”

“What for, Otter? Ant-bear holes make good graves.”

“Evil talk, Baas. Rather let us go away and wait no more than that you
should talk such talk, which is the beginning of death.”

Then there was silence for a while.

“The truth is, Otter,” said Leonard presently, “we are both
fools. It is useless for us to stay here with nothing to eat, nothing to drink,
nothing to smoke, and only the fever to look forward to, expecting we know not
what. But what does it matter? Fools and wise men all come to one end. Lord!
how my head aches and how hot it is! I wish that we had some quinine left. I am
going out,” and he rose impatiently and left the cave.

Otter followed him. He knew where he would go—to his brother’s
grave. Presently they were there, standing on the hither edge of a ravine. A
cloud had hidden the face of the moon, and they could see nothing, so they
stood awhile idly waiting for it to pass.

As they rested thus, suddenly a moaning sound came to their ears, or rather a
sound which, beginning with a moan, ended in a long low wail.

“What is that?” asked Leonard, looking towards the shadows on the
further side of the ravine, whence the cry seemed to proceed.

“I do not know,” answered Otter, “unless it be a ghost, or
the voice of one who mourns her dead.”

“We are the only mourners here,” said Leonard, and as he spoke once
more the low and piercing wail thrilled upon the air. Just then the cloud
passed, the moonlight shone out brilliantly, and they saw who it was that cried
aloud in this desolate place. For there, not twenty paces from them, on the
other side of the ravine, crouched upon a stone and rocking herself to and fro
as though in an agony of despair and grief, sat a tall and withered woman.

With an exclamation of surprise Leonard started towards her, followed by the
dwarf. So absorbed was the woman in her sorrow that she neither saw nor heard
them. Even when they stood close to her she did not perceive them, for her face
was hidden in her bony hands. Leonard looked at her curiously. She was past
middle age, but he could see that once she had been handsome, and, for a
native, very light in colour. Her hair was grizzled and crisp rather than
woolly, and her hands and feet were slender and finely shaped. At the moment he
could discern no more of the woman’s personal appearance, for the face
was covered, as has been said, and her body wrapped in a tattered blanket.

“Mother,” he said, speaking in the Sisutu dialect, “what ails
you that you weep here alone?”

The stranger let drop her hands and sprang up with a cry of fear. As it
chanced, her gaze fell first upon the dwarf Otter, who was standing in front of
her, and at the sight of him the cry died upon her lips, and her sunken cheeks,
clear-cut features, and sullen black eyes became as those of one who is
petrified with terror. So strange was her aspect indeed that the dwarf and his
master neither spoke nor moved; they stood hushed and expectant. It was the
woman who broke this silence, speaking in a low voice of awe and adoration and,
as she spoke, sinking to her knees.

“And hast thou come to claim me at the last,” she said, addressing
Otter, “O thou whose name is Darkness, to whom I was given in marriage,
and from whom I fled when I was young? Do I see thee in the flesh, Lord of the
night, King of blood and terror, and is this thy priest? Or do I but dream?
Nay, I dream not; slay on, thou priest, and let my sin be purged.”

“Here it seems,” said Otter, “that we have to do with one who
is mad.”

“Nay, Jâl,” the woman answered, “I am not mad, though madness
has been nigh to me of late.”

“Neither am I named Jâl or Darkness,” answered the dwarf with
irritation; “cease to speak folly, and tell the White Lord whence you
come, for I weary of this talk.”

“If you are not Jâl, Black One, the thing is strange, for as Jâl is so
you are. But perchance it does not please you, having put on the flesh, to avow
yourself before me. At the least be it as you will. If you are not Jâl, then I
am safe from your vengeance, and if you are Jâl I pray you forget the sins of
my youth and spare me.”

“Who is Jâl?” asked Leonard curiously.

“Nay, I know not,” answered the woman, with a sudden change of
manner. “Hunger and weariness have turned my brain, and I spoke wandering
words. Forget them and give me food, White Man,” she added in a piteous
tone, “give me food, for I starve.”

“There is scant fare here,” answered Leonard, “but you are
welcome to it. Follow me, mother,” and he led the way across the donga to
the cave, the woman limping after him painfully.

There Otter gave her meat, and she ate as one eats who has gone hungry for
long, greedily and yet with effort. When she had finished she looked at Leonard
with her keen dark eyes and said:

“Say, White Lord, are you also a slave-trader?”

“No,” he answered grimly, “I am a slave.”

“Who is your master then—this Black One here?”

“Nay, he is but the slave of a slave. I have no master, mother; I have a
mistress, and she is named Fortune.”

“The worst of mistresses,” said the old woman, “or the best,
for she laughs ever behind her frown and mingles stripes with kisses.”

“The stripes I know well, but not the kisses,” answered Leonard
gloomily; then added in another tone, “What is your errand, mother? How
are you named, and what do you seek wandering alone in the mountains?”

“I am named Soa, and I seek succour for one whom I love and who is in
sore distress. Will my lord listen to my tale?”

“Speak on,” said Leonard.

Then the woman crouched down before him and told this story.

Chapter VI.

THE TALE OF SOA

“My lord, I, Soa, am the servant of a white man, a trader who lives on
the banks of the Zambesi some four days’ march from hence, having a house
there which he built many years ago.”

“How is the white man named?” asked Leonard.

“The black people call him Mavoom, but his white name is Rodd. He is a
good master and no common man, but he has this fault, that at times he is
drunken. Twenty years ago or more Mavoom, my lord, married a white woman, a
Portuguese whose father dwelt at Delagoa Bay, and who was beautiful, ah!
beautiful. Then he settled on the banks of the Zambesi and became a trader,
building the house where he is now, or rather where its ruins are. Here his
wife died in childbirth; yes, she died in my arms, and it was I who reared her
daughter Juanna, tending her from the cradle to this day.

“Now, after the death of his wife Mavoom became more drunken. Still, when
he is not in liquor he is very clever and a good trader, and several times he
has collected ivory and feathers and gold worth much money, and also has bred
cattle by hundreds. Then he would say that he must leave the wilderness and go
to another country across the water, I know not where, that country whence the
Englishmen come.

“Twice he has started to go, and I with him and his daughter Juanna, my
mistress, who is named the Shepherdess of Heaven by the black people, because
they think that she has the gift of foretelling rain. But once Mavoom stopped
in a town, at Durban in Natal, and getting drunk he gambled away all his money
in a month, and once he lost it in a river, the boat being overset by a
river-horse and the ivory and gold sinking out of sight. Still, the last time
that he started he left his daughter, the Shepherdess, at Durban, and there she
stayed for three years learning those things that the white women know, for she
is very clever, as clever as she is beautiful and good. Now, for nearly two
years she has been back at the Settlement, for she came to Delagoa Bay in a
ship, and I with her, and Mavoom met us.

“But one month gone my mistress the Shepherdess spoke to her father
Mavoom, telling him that she wearied of their lonely life in the wilderness and
wished to sail across the waters to the land which is called Home. He listened
to her, for Mavoom loves his daughter, and said that it should be so. But he
said this also: that first he would go on a trading journey up the river to buy
a store of ivory of which he knew. Now she was against this, saying, ‘Let
us start at once, we have tempted chance too long, and once again we are rich.
Let us go to Natal and pass over the seas.’

“Still he would not listen, for he is a headstrong man. So on the morrow
he started to search for the store of ivory, and the lady Juanna his daughter
wept, for though she is fearless, it was not fitting that she should be left
thus alone; also she hated to be apart from her father, for it is when she is
not there to watch that he becomes drunken.

“Mavoom left, and twelve days went by while I and my mistress the
Shepherdess sat at the Settlement waiting till he returned. Now it is the
custom of my mistress, when she is dressed, to read each morning from a certain
holy book in which are written the laws of that Great-Great whom she worships.
On the thirteenth morning, therefore, she sat beneath the verandah of the
house, reading in the book according to her custom, and I went about my work
making food ready. Suddenly I heard a tumult, and looking over the wall which
is round the garden and to the left of the house, I saw a great number of men,
some of them white, some Arab, and some half-breeds, one mounted and the others
on foot, and behind them a long caravan of slaves with the slave-sticks set
upon their necks.

“As they came these men fired guns at the people of the Settlement, who
ran this way and that. Some of the people fell, and more were made captive, but
others of them got away, for they were at work in the fields and had seen the
slave-traders coming.

“Now, as I gazed affrighted, I saw my mistress, the Shepherdess, flying
towards the wall behind which I stood, the book she was reading being still in
her hand. But as she reached it, the man mounted on the mule overtook her, and
she turned about and faced him, setting her back against the wall. Then I
crouched down and hid myself among some banana-trees, and watched what passed
through a crack in the wall.

“The man on the mule was old and fat, his hair was white and his face
yellow and wrinkled. I knew him at once, for often I have heard of him before,
who has been the terror of this country for many years. He is named the Yellow
Devil by the black people, but his Portuguese name is Pereira, and he has his
place in a secret spot down by one of the mouths of the Zambesi. Here he
collects the slaves, and here the traders come twice a year with their dhows to
carry them to market.

“Now this man looked at my mistress as she stood terrified with her back
against the wall; then he laughed and cried aloud in Portuguese, ‘Here we
have a pretty prize. This must be that Juanna of whose beauty I have heard.
Where is your father, my dove? Gone trading up the river, has he not? Ah! I
knew it, or perhaps I should not have ventured here. But it was wrong of him to
leave one so pretty all alone. Well, well, he is about his business, and I must
be about mine, for I am a merchant also, my dove, a merchant who trades in
blackbirds. One with silver feathers does not often come my way, and I must
make the most of her. There is many a young man in our part who will bid
briskly for such eyes as yours. Never fear, my dove, we will soon find you a
husband.’

“Thus the Yellow Devil spoke, White Man, while the Shepherdess my
mistress crouched against the wall and stared at him with frightened eyes, and
the slave-traders his servants laughed aloud at his evil words. Presently she
seemed to understand, and I saw her slowly lift her hand towards her head. Then
I knew her purpose.

“Now, there is a certain deadly poison, White Man, of which I have the
secret, and that secret I taught long ago to my mistress. It is so deadly that
a piece of it no larger than the smallest ant can kill a man—yes, the
instant after it touches his tongue he will be dead. Living alone as she does
in the wilds, it is the custom of my mistress to carry a portion of this poison
hidden in her hair, since a time might come when she must use it to save
herself from worse than death. Now it seemed to her that this hour was upon
her, and I knew that she was about to take the poison. Then in my fear I
whispered to her through the crack in the wall, speaking in an ancient tongue
which I have taught her, the tongue of my own people, White Man, and saying:
‘Hold your hand, Shepherdess; while you live you may escape, but from
death there is no escape. It will be time to use the poison when the worst is
with you.’

“She heard and understood, for I saw her bow her head slightly, and her
hand fell to her side. Then Pereira spoke again:

“‘And now, if you are ready,’ he said, ‘we will be
moving, for it is eight days’ journey to my little Nest on the coast, and
who can tell when the dhows will come to fetch my blackbirds? Have you anything
to say before you go, my dove?’

“Now my mistress spoke for the first time, answering, ‘I am in your
power, but I do not fear you, for if need be I can escape you. But I tell you
this: that your wickedness shall bring your own death upon you;’ and she
glanced round at the bodies of those whom the slave-traders had murdered, at
the captives upon whom they were setting chains and forks of wood, and the
columns of smoke that were rising from her home, for the roof of the Settlement
had been fired.

“For a moment the Portuguese looked frightened, then he laughed aloud and
said with an oath, crossing himself after the fashion of his people as a
protection against the curse, ‘What! you prophesy, do you, my dove, and
you can escape me at your will, can you? Well, we shall see. Bring the other
mule for this lady, you fellows.’

“The mule was brought, and Juanna, my mistress, was set upon it. Then the
slave-traders shot down such of the captives as they thought to be of no value,
the drivers flogged the slaves with their three-thonged sjambochs of
hippopotamus-hide, and the caravan moved on down the banks of the river.

“When all had gone I crept from my hiding-place and sought out those men
of the Settlement who had escaped the slaughter, praying them to find arms and
follow on the Yellow Devil’s spoor, waiting for an opportunity to rescue
the Shepherdess whom they loved. But they would not do this, for the heart was
out of them, they were cowed by fear, and most of the head-men had been taken
captive. No, they would do nothing except weep over their dead and the burnt
kraals. ‘You cowards,’ I said, ‘if you will not come, then I
must go alone. At the least let some of you pass up the river and search for
Mavoom, to tell him what has chanced here in his house.’

“The men said that they would do this, and taking a blanket and a little
food, I followed upon the track of the slave-drivers. For four days I followed,
sometimes coming in sight of them, till at length the meat was done and my
strength left me. On the morning of the fifth day I could go no farther, so I
crept to the top of a koppie and watched their long line winding across the
plain. In its centre were two mules, and on one of these mules sat a woman.
Then I knew that no harm had befallen my mistress as yet, for she still lived.

“Now from the koppie I saw a little kraal far away to the right, and to
this kraal I came that same afternoon with my last strength. I told its people
that I had escaped from the slave-drivers, and they treated me kindly. Here it
was also I learnt that some white men from Natal were digging for gold in these
mountains, and next day I travelled on in search of them, thinking perchance
they would help me, for I know well that the English hate the slave-drivers.
And here, my lord, I am come at last with much toil, and now I pray you deliver
my mistress the Shepherdess from the hands of the Yellow Devil. Oh! my Lord, I
seem poor and wretched; but I tell you that if you can deliver her you shall
win a great reward. Yes, I will reveal to you that which I have kept hidden all
my life, ay, even from Mavoom my master; I will reveal to you the secret
treasures of my people, ‘The Children of the Mist.‘”

Now when Leonard, who all the while had been listening attentively and in
silence to Soa’s tale, heard her last words, he raised his head and
stared at her, thinking that her sorrows had made her mad. There was no look of
madness upon the woman’s fierce face, however, but only one of the most
earnest and indeed passionate entreaty. So, letting this matter go by for the
while, he spoke to her:

“Are you then crazed, mother?” he said. “You see that I am
alone here with one servant, for my three companions, of whom the people in the
kraal told you, are dead through fever, and I myself am smitten with it. And
yet you ask me, alone as I am, to travel to this slave-trader’s camp that
is you know not where, and there, single-handed, to rescue your mistress, if
indeed you have a mistress, and your tale is true. Are you then mad,
mother?”

“No, Lord, I am not mad, and that which I tell you is true, every word of
it. I know that I ask a great thing, but I know also that you Englishmen can do
great things when you are well paid. Strive to help me and you shall have your
reward. Ay, should you fail, and live, I can still give you a reward; not much
perhaps, but more than you have ever earned.”

“Never mind the reward now, mother,” broke in Leonard testily, for
the veiled sarcasm of Soa’s speech had stung him, “unless, indeed,
you can cure me of the fever,” he added with a laugh.

“I can do that,” she answered quietly; “to-morrow morning I
will cure you.”

“So much the better,” he said, with an incredulous smile.
“And now of your wisdom tell me how am I to look for your mistress, to
say nothing of rescuing her, when I do not know whither she has been taken?
Probably this Nest of which the Portugee talked is a secret place. How long has
she been carried off?”

“This will be the twelfth day, Lord. As for the Nest, it is secret; that
I have discovered. It is to your wisdom that I look to find it.”

Leonard mused awhile, then a thought struck him. Turning to the dwarf, who had
been sitting by listening to all that was said in stolid silence, his great
head resting upon his knees, he spoke to him in Dutch:

“Otter, were you not once taken as a slave?”

“Yes, Baas, once, ten years ago.”

“How was it?”

“Thus Baas. I was hunting on the Zambesi with the soldiers of a tribe
there—it was after my own people had driven me out because they said that
I was too ugly to become their chief, as I was born to be. Then the Yellow
Devil, that same man of whom the woman speaks, fell upon us with Arabs, and
took us to his place, there to await the slave-dhows. He was a stout man,
horrible to see, and elderly. The day the dhows came in I escaped by swimming;
and all the others who remained alive were taken off in ships to
Zanzibar.”

“Could you find your way to that place again, Otter?”

“Yes, Baas. It is a hard spot to find, for the path runs through
morasses; moreover the place is secret and protected by water. All of us slaves
were blindfolded during the last day’s march. But I worked up my bandage
with my nose—ah! my big nose served me well that day—and watched
the path from beneath it, and Otter never forgets a road over which his feet
have travelled. Also I followed that path back.”

“Could you find the spot from here?”

“Yes, Baas. I should go along these mountains, ten days’ journey or
more, till we struck the southernmost mouth of the Zambesi below Luabo. Then I
should follow the river down a day’s journey. Afterwards two or more days
through the swamps and we come to the place. But it is a strong place, Baas,
and there are many men armed with guns in it; moreover, there is a big cannon,
a ‘by-and-by’!”

Again Leonard thought a moment, then he turned to Soa and asked, “Do you
understand Dutch? No? Well I have found out something of this Nest from my
servant. Pereira said that it was eight days’ journey from your
master’s settlement, so your mistress has been there some three or four
days if she ever reached it. Now, from what I know of the habits of
slave-traders on this coast, the dhows will not begin to take in their cargoes
for another month, because of the monsoon. Therefore, if I am correct, there is
plenty of time. Mind you, Mother, I am not saying that I will have anything to
do with this business; I must think it over first.”

“Yes, you will, White Man,” she answered, “when you know the
reward; but of that I will tell you to-morrow, after I have cured you of your
fever. And now I pray, Black One, show me a place where I may sleep, for I am
very weary.”

Chapter VII.

LEONARD SWEARS ON THE BLOOD OF ACA

On the morrow Leonard woke early from a troubled sleep, for his fever would
scarcely let him rest. But, early as it was, the woman Soa had been up before
him, and on coming out of the cave the first thing that he saw was her tall
shape bending over a little fire, whereon a gourd was boiling, the contents of
which she stirred from time to time.

“Good morning to you, White Man,” she said; “here is that
which shall cure you of your sickness as I promised to do;” and she
lifted the gourd from the fire.

Leonard took it and sniffed at the liquor, which smelt abominably.

“It is more likely to poison me, mother,” he said.

“No, no,” she answered with a smile; “drink half of it now
and half at midday, and the fever shall trouble you no more.”

So soon as the stuff was cool enough Leonard obeyed, though with a doubting
heart.

“Well, mother,” he said, setting the gourd down with a gasp,
“if nastiness is any proof of virtue your medicine should be good.”

“It is good,” she answered gravely; “many have been dragged
from the edge of death by it.”

And here it may be stated, whether it was owing to Soa’s medicine or to
other causes, that Leonard began to mend from that hour. By nightfall he felt a
different man, and before three days were over he was as strong as he had ever
been in his life. But into the ingredients of the draught he never found the
courage to inquire, and perhaps it was as well.

Shortly after he had taken his dose Leonard observed Otter walking up the hill,
bearing a huge lump of meat upon his shoulders.

“The old woman has brought us luck,” said the dwarf as he loosed
himself from his burden. “Once more the bush is full of game; scarcely
had I reached it when I killed a young koodoo, fat, ah! fat, and there are many
of them about.”

Then they prepared breakfast, and ate it, and when the meal was done once more
they talked.

“Mother,” began Leonard, “last night you asked me to
undertake a great venture, and promised a reward in payment. Now, as you said,
we Englishmen will do much for gold, and I am a poor man who seeks wealth. You
demand of me that I should risk my life; now tell me of its price.”

The woman Soa looked at him awhile, and answered:

“White Man, have you ever heard of the People of the Mist?”

“No,” he said, “that is, except in London. I mean that I know
nothing of such a people. What of them?”

“This: I, Soa, am one of that people. I was the daughter of their
head-priest, and I fled from them many many years ago, because I was doomed to
be offered up as a sacrifice to the god Jâl, he who is shaped like the Black
One yonder,” and she pointed to Otter.

“This is rather interesting,” said Leonard; “go on.”

“White Man, that people is a great people. They live in a region of mist,
upon high lands beneath the shadow of the tops of snow mountains. They are
larger than other men in size, and very cruel, but their women are fair. Now of
the beginning of my people I know nothing, for it is lost in the past. But they
worship an ancient stone statue fashioned like a dwarf, and to him they offer
the blood of men. Beneath the feet of the statue is a pool of water, and beyond
the pool is a cave. In that cave, White Man, he dwells whom they adore in
effigy above, he, Jâl, whose name is Terror.”

“Do you mean that a dwarf lives in the cave?” asked Leonard.

“No, White Man, not a dwarf, but a holy crocodile which they name the
Snake, the biggest crocodile in the whole world, and the oldest, for he has
dwelt there from the beginning. It is this Snake that devours the bodies of
those who are offered to the Black One.”

“As I remarked before,” said Leonard, “all this is very
romantic and interesting, but I cannot see that there is much profit to be made
out of it.”

“White Man, the lives of men are not the only things which the priests of
the Children of the Mist offer to their god; they offer also such toys as
this, White Man,” and suddenly she unclosed her hand and exhibited
to Leonard’s astonished gaze a ruby, or what appeared to be a ruby, of
such size and so lovely a colour, that his eyes were dazzled when he looked at
it. The gem, though roughly polished, was uncut, but its dimensions were those
of a small blackbird’s egg, it was of the purest pigeon-blood colour,
without a flaw, and worn almost round, apparently by the action of water. Now,
as it chanced, Leonard knew something of gems, although unhappily he was less
acquainted with the peculiarities of the ruby than with those of most other
stones. Thus, although this magnificent specimen might be a true stone, as
indeed appeared to be the case, it was quite possible that it was only a
spinel, or a garnet, and alas! he had no means of setting his doubts at rest.

“Do your people find many of these pebbles, Soa?” he asked,
“and if so, where do they find them?”

“Yes, White Man, they find many, though few of such a size as this. They
dig them out of a dry river-bed in some spot that is known to the priests only,
and with them other beautiful stones of a blue colour.”

“Sapphires probably,” said Leonard to himself: “they
generally go together.”

“Every year they dig them,” she went on, “and the biggest of
those that are found in their digging they bind upon the brow of her who is to
be offered as a wife to the god Jâl. Afterwards, before she dies, they take the
gem from her brow and store it in a secret place, and there in that secret
place are hidden all those that have been worn by the victims of countless
years. Moreover the eyes of Jâl are made of such stones, and there are others.

“This is the legend of my people, White Man, that Jâl, God of Death and
Evil, slew his mother, Aca, in the far past. There where the stones are found
he slew her, and the red gems are her blood, and the blue gems are her tears
which she shed praying to him for mercy. Therefore the blood of Aca is offered
to Jâl, and so it shall be offered till Aca comes again to drive his worship
from the land.”

“A nice bit of mythology, I am sure,” said Leonard. “Our old
friends the Darkness and the Dawn in an African shape, I suppose. But listen to
me, mother. This stone, if it is genuine, is worth many ounces of gold, but
there are other stones so like it that none who are not learned can tell the
difference, and if it be one of these it is of little value. Still it may
happen that this, and the others of which you speak, are true rubies; at any
rate I should be willing to take my chance of that. But now, tell me, what is
your plan? This is a very pretty story, and the rubies may be there, but how am
I to get them?”

“I have a plan, White Man,” she answered. “If you will help
me, I offer to give you that stone, which I have borne hidden about me for many
years, tellings its story to none, no, not even to Mavoom. I offer to give it
to you now if you will promise to attempt the rescue of my mistress, for I know
by your eyes that if once you promise you will not desert the quest;” and
she paused, looking at him keenly.

“Very well,” said Leonard, “but considering the risks the
price does not seem quite good enough. As I told you, this stone may be worth
nothing: you must make a better bid, mother.”

“Truly, White Man, I have judged you well,” answered Soa with a
sneer; “also you are wise: little work for little wage. Listen now, this
is the pay I proffer you.

“If you succeed, and the Shepherdess is saved alive from the grip of the
Yellow Devil, I promise this on her behalf and on my own: that I will guide you
to the land of the People of the Mist, and show you a way to win for yourself
all those other countless stones that are hidden there.”

“Good,” said Leonard, “but why do you promise on behalf of
your mistress and yourself? What has she got to do with it?”

“Without her nothing can be done, White Man. This people is great and
strong, and we have no force with which to conquer them in war. Here craft must
be your spear.”

“You must speak more clearly, Soa. I cannot waste time in guessing
riddles. How will you conquer this people by craft, and what has Miss Rodd,
whom you name the Shepherdess, to do with the matter?”

“That you shall learn by-and-by, after you have rescued her, White Man;
till then my lips are shut. I tell you that I have a plan, and this must be
enough, for more I will not say. If you are not content, let me go to seek help
elsewhere.”

Leonard thought a moment, and seeing that she was determined not to be more
explicit, said:

“Very well, then. And now how am I to know that your mistress will fall
in with this scheme?”

“I answer for her,” said Soa, “she will never go back upon my
word. Look you, White Man, it is not for a little thing that I would have told
you this tale. If you journey to the land of the People of the Mist, I must go
with you, and there, should I be discovered, my death waits me. I tell you the
tale, or some of it, and I offer you the bribe because I see that you need
money, and I am sure that without the chance of winning money you will not
hazard your life in this desperate search. But I love my mistress so well that
I am ready to hazard mine; ay, I would give six lives, if I had them, to save
her from the shame of the slave. Now, White Man, we have talked enough; is it a
bargain?”

“What do you say, Otter?” asked Leonard, thoughtfully pulling at
his beard, “you have heard all this wonderful tale and you are
clever.”

“Yes, Baas,” said the dwarf, speaking for the first time, “I
have heard the tale, and as for being clever, perhaps I am and perhaps I am
not. My people said that I was clever, and that is one of the reasons why they
would not have me for a chief. If I had been clever only, they could have borne
it, they said, or if I had been ugly only, but being both ugly and clever I was
no chief for them. They feared lest I should rule them too well and make all
the people to be born ugly also. Ah! they were fools; they did not understand
that it wants someone cleverer than I to make people so ugly.”

“Never mind all that,” said Leonard, who understood however that
the dwarf was talking thus in order to give himself time to think before he
answered. “Show me your mind, Otter.”

“Baas, what can I say? I know nothing of the value of that red stone. I
do not know whether this woman, of whom my heart tells me no good, speaks truth
or lies about a distant people who live in a fog and worship a god shaped as I
am. None have ever worshipped me, yet there may be a land where I should be
deemed worthy of worship, and if so I should like to travel in that land. But
as to the rescue of this Shepherdess from the Nest of the Yellow Devil, I do
not know how it can be brought about. Say, mother, how many of the men of
Mavoom were taken prisoners with your mistress?”

“Fifty of them perchance,” answered Soa.

“Well now,” went on the dwarf, “if we could loose those men
and if they are brave we might do something, but there are many
if’s about it, Baas. Still if you think the pay is good enough we
can try. It will be better than sitting here, and it does not matter what
happens. Every man to his fate, Baas, and fate to every man.”

“A good motto,” said Leonard. “Soa, I take your offer, though
I am a fool for my pains. And now, with your leave, we will put the matter into
writing so that there may be no mistake about it afterwards. Get a little blood
from the buck’s flesh, Otter, and mix gunpowder with it; that will do for
ink if we add some hot water.”

While the dwarf was compounding this ominous mixture Leonard sought of paper.
He could find none; the last had been lost when the hut was blown away on the
night of his brother’s death. Then he bethought him of the prayer-book
which Jane Beach had given him. He would not use the fly-leaf, because her name
was on it, so he must write across the title-page. And thus he wrote in small,
neat letters with his mixture of blood and gunpowder straight through the
Order of Common Prayer:—

“AGREEMENT BETWEEN LEONARD OUTRAM AND SOA, THE NATIVE
WOMAN.

“I. The said Leonard Outram agrees to use his best efforts to rescue
Juanna, the daughter of Mr. Rodd, now reduced to a state of slavery and
believed to be in the power of one Pereira, a slave-dealer.

“II. In consideration of the services of the said Leonard Outram, the
said Soa delivers to him a certain stone believed to be a ruby, of which the
said Leonard Outram hereby acknowledges the receipt.

“III. Should the rescue be effected, the said Soa hereby agrees, on
behalf of herself and the said Juanna Rodd, to conduct the said Leonard Outram
to a certain spot in central South Eastern Africa, inhabited by a tribe known
as the People of the Mist, there to reveal to him and to help him to gain
possession of the store of rubies used in the religious ceremonies of the said
tribe. Further, the said Soa agrees, on behalf of the said Juanna Rodd, that
she, the said Juanna, will accompany her upon the journey, and will play among
the said People of the Mist any part that may be required of her as necessary
to the success of this undertaking.

“IV. It is mutually agreed that these enterprises be prosecuted until the
said Leonard Outram is satisfied that they are fruitless.

“Signed in the Manica Mountains, Eastern Africa,

on the ninth day of May 18—.”

When he had finished this document, perhaps one of the most remarkable that
were ever written since Pizarro drew up his famous agreement for the division
of the prospective spoils of Peru, Leonard read it aloud and laughed heartily
to himself. It was the first time that he had laughed for some months. Then he
translated it to his companions, not without complaisancy, for it had a truly
legal sound, and your layman loves to affect the lawyer.

“What do you think of that, Otter?” he asked when he had finished.

“It is fine, Baas, very fine,” answered the dwarf. “Wonderful
are the ways of the white man! But, Baas, how can the old woman promise things
on behalf of another?”

Leonard pulled his beard reflectively. The dwarf had put his finger upon the
weak spot in the document. But he was saved the necessity of answering by Soa
herself, who said quietly, “Have no fear, White Man; that which I promise
in her name, my mistress will certainly perform, if so be that you can save
her. Give me the pen that I may make my mark upon the paper. But first do you
swear upon the red stone that you will perform what you undertake in this
writing.”

So Leonard laughed, swore, and signed, and Soa made her mark. Then Otter
affixed his, as witness to the deed, and the thing was finished. Laughing again
at the comicality of the transaction, which indeed he had carried out more by
way of joke than for any other reason, Leonard put the prayer-book in his
pocket and the great ruby into a division of his belt. The old woman watched
the stone vanish with an expression of triumph on her face, then she cried
exultingly:

“Ah! White Man, you have taken my pay, and now you are my servant to the
end. He who swears upon the blood of Aca swears an oath indeed, and woe be to
him if he should break it.”

“Quite so,” answered Leonard; “I have taken your pay and I
mean to earn it, so we need not enter into the matter of the blood of Aca. It
seems to me more probable that our own blood will be in question before all is
said and done. And now we had better make ready to start.”

Chapter VIII.

THE START

Food was their first consideration, and to provide it Leonard bade Otter cut
the lump of raw meat into strips and set them upon the rocks to dry in the
broiling sun. Then they sorted their goods and selected such of them as they
could carry.

Alas! they were but few. A blanket apiece—a spare pair of boots
apiece—some calomel and sundries from the medicine-chest—a shot gun
and the two best rifles and ammunition—a compass, a water bottle, three
knives, a comb, and a small iron cooking-pot made up the total—a
considerable weight for two men and a woman to drag across mountains,
untravelled plains, and swamps. This baggage was divided into three loads, of
which Soa’s was the lightest, and that of Otter weighed as much as the
other two put together.

“It was nothing,” he said, “he could carry the three if need
were;” and so great was the dwarf’s strength that Leonard knew this
to be no idle boast.

At length all was prepared, and the articles that remained were buried in the
cave together with the mining tools. It was not likely that they would ever
return to seek them; more probably they will lie there till, thousands of years
hence, they are dug up and become priceless relics of the Anglo-African age.
Still they hid them on the chance. Leonard had melted the fruits of their
mining into little ingots. In all there were about a hundred ounces of almost
pure gold—the price of three men’s lives! Half of these ingots he
placed with the ruby in the belt about his middle, and half he gave to Otter,
who hid them in his bundle. Leonard’s first idea was to leave the
bullion, because it entailed the carrying of extra weight; but he remembered in
time that gold is always useful, and nowhere more so than among Portuguese and
Arab slave-drivers.

By evening everything was ready, and when the edge of the moon showed above the
horizon, Leonard rose, and lifting his load, fastened it upon his shoulders
with the loops of hide which had been prepared, Otter and Soa following his
example. It was their plan to travel by night so long as the state of the moon
served them, for thus they would escape the terrible heat and lessen the danger
of being observed.

“Follow me in a few minutes,” said Leonard to Otter; “you
will find me by the donga.”

The dwarf nodded. A quarter of an hour later he started also with Soa and found
his master standing bareheaded by his brother’s grave, taking a mute
farewell of that which lay beneath before he left it for ever to its long sleep
in the untrodden wilderness. It was a melancholy parting, but there have been
many such in the African fever belt.

With one last look Leonard turned and joined his companions. Then, having taken
counsel with them and with the compass, he set his face to the mountain and his
heart to the new adventures, hopes, and fears that were beyond it. The past was
done with, it lay buried in yonder grave, but by the mercy of God he was still
a man, living beneath the sunlight, and the future stretched away before him.
What would it bring? He cared little; experience had taught him the futility of
anxieties as to the future. Perchance a grave like those which he had left,
perchance wealth, love, and honour. Whatever the event he would strive to meet
it with patience, dignity, and resignation. It was not his part to ask
questions or to reason why; it was his part to struggle on and take such
guerdon as it pleased Providence to send him.

Thus thought Leonard, and this is the right spirit for an adventurer to
cultivate. It is the right spirit in which to meet the good and ill of
life—that greatest of adventures which every one of us must dare. He who
meets them thus and holds his heart pure and his hands clean will lay himself
down to sleep without a sigh or a regret when mountain, swamp, river, and
forest all are travelled, and the unknown innumerable treasure, buried from the
olden time far out of reach of man’s sight and knowledge, at last is
opened to his gaze.

So Leonard started, and his hopes were high notwithstanding the desperate
nature of their undertaking. For here it must be confessed that the undesirable
element of superstition still held fast upon his mind, and now with some slight
cause. Had not his brother spoken of wealth that he should win by the aid of a
woman? And had not a woman come to him, bearing in her hand a jewel which, if
real, was in itself worth a moderate fortune; promising also, with the help of
another woman, to lead him to a land where many such might be found? Yes, these
things were so, and it may be pardoned to Leonard if, setting aside the theory
of coincidence, he began to believe that the end would be as the beginning had
been, that the great adventure would be achieved and the wealth be won.

We shall not need to follow the footsteps of Leonard Outram and his companions
day by day. For a week they travelled on, journeying mostly by night as they
had proposed. They climbed mountains, they struggled through swamps and
forests, they swam rivers. Indeed one of these was in flood, and they never
could have crossed it had it not been for Otter’s powers of natation. Six
times did the dwarf face the torrent, bearing their goods and guns held above
the water with one hand. On the seventh journey he was still more heavily
weighted, for, with some assistance from Leonard, he must carry the woman Soa,
who could swim but little. But he did it, and without any great fatigue. It was
not until Otter was seen stemming a heavy current that his vast strength could
be measured. Here, indeed, his stunted stature was a positive advantage, for it
offered the less surface for the water to act upon.

So they travelled forward, sometimes hungry, sometimes full of meat, and even
of what were better, of milk and corn. For the country was not entirely
deserted; occasionally they came to scattered kraals, and were able to obtain
provisions from their peaceful inhabitants in return for some such trifle as an
empty cartridge of brass. At first Leonard was afraid lest Soa should tire, but
notwithstanding her years and the hardships and sufferings which she had
undergone, she showed wonderful endurance—endurance so wonderful that he
came to the conclusion that it was her spirit which supported the frailty of
her body, and the ever-present desire to rescue one whom she loved as a surly
dog sometimes loves its master. However this might be, she pushed forward with
the rest, rarely speaking except to urge them onwards.

On the eighth night of their journey they halted upon the crest of a high
mountain. The moon had set, and it was impossible to go further; moreover, they
were weary with long marching. Wrapping themselves up in their
blankets—for here the air was piercingly cold—they lay down beneath
the shelter of some bushes to sleep till dawn. It was Otter who woke them.
“Look, Baas,” he said to Leonard, “we have marched straight.
There below us is the big river, and there far to the right is the sea.”

They looked. Some miles from them, across the great plain of bush that merged
gradually into swamp, lay that branch of the Zambesi which they would reach.
They could not see it, indeed, for its face was hid by a dense cloak of soft
white mist that covered it like a cloud. But there it was, won at last, and
there away to the eastward shone the wide glitter of the sea, flecked with
faint lines of broken billows whence the sun rose in glory.

“See, Baas,” said Otter, when they had satisfied themselves with
the beautiful sight, “yonder, some five hours’ march from here, the
mountains curve down to the edge of the river. Thither we must go, for it is on
the further side of those hills that the great swamp lies where the Yellow
Devil has his place. I know the spot well; I have passed it twice.”

They rested till noonday; but that night, before the moon rose, they stood on
the curve of the mountain, close down to the water’s edge. At length she
came up, and showed them a wonderful scene of desolation. Beyond the curve of
hills the mountains trended out again to the south, gradually growing lower
till at last they melted into the skyline. In the vast semicircle thus formed
ran the river, spotted with green islands, while between it and the high
ground, over a space which varied from one mile at the narrowest to twenty
miles in width at the broadest of the curve, was spread a huge and dismal
swamp, marked by patches of stagnant water, clothed with reeds which grew to
the height of small trees, and exhaling a stench as of the rottenness of ages.

The loneliness of the place was dreadful, its waste and desolation were
appalling. And yet it lived with a life of its own. Wild fowl flew in wedges
from the sea to feed in its recesses, alligators and hippopotami splashed in
the waters, bitterns boomed among the rushes, and from every pool and quagmire
came the croaking of a thousand frogs.

“Yonder runs the slave road, or yonder it once ran,” said Otter,
pointing to the foot of a hill.

“Let us go and see,” answered Leonard; “we can follow it for
a while and camp.”

They climbed down the hill. At its foot Otter cast backwards and forwards among
the bushes like a hound. Then he held up his hand and whistled.

“I thought so,” he said, as the others drew near; “the path
is still the same. Look, Baas.”

As he spoke he broke down the branches of a creeping bush with his strong foot.
Among them lay the mouldering skeleton of a woman, and by her side that of a
child.

“Not long dead,” said Otter phlegmatically, “perhaps two
weeks. Ah! the Yellow Devil leaves a spoor that all may follow.”

Soa bent over the bones and examined them. “One of Mavoom’s
people,” she said; “I know the fashion of the anklets.”

Then they marched on for two hours or more, till at length they came to a spot
where the trail ran to the edge of the water and stopped.

“What now, Otter?” said Leonard.

“Here the slaves are put on boats, Baas,” the dwarf answered.
“The boats should be hidden yonder,” and he pointed to some thick
reeds. “There too they ‘weed the corn,’ killing out the
weakly ones, that they may not be burdened with them. Let us go and
look.”

They went, Otter leading the way. Presently he halted. “The boats are
gone,” he said, “all except one canoe; but the ‘weeds’
lie in a heap as of old.”

He was right. Piled in a little open space lay the bodies of some thirty men,
women, and children recently dead. In other spaces close by were similar heaps,
but these were of bleached bones on which the moonlight shone
brightly—mementoes of former sacrifices. Quite close to the first pile of
dead was a mooring-place where at least a dozen flat-bottomed boats had been
secured, for their impress could yet be seen in the sand. Now they were gone
with the exception of the canoe, which was kept there, evidently to facilitate
the loading and launching of the large boats.

Nobody made any comment. The sight was beyond comment, but a fierce desire rose
in Leonard’s heart to come face to face with this “Yellow
Devil” who fattened on the blood and agony of helpless human beings, and
to avenge them if he might.

“The light is going, we must camp here till the morning,” he said
after a while.

And there they camped in this Golgotha, this place of bones, every one of which
cried to heaven for vengeance.

The night wind swept over them whispering in the giant reeds, fashioning the
mists into fantastic shapes that threw strange shadows on the inky surface of
the water as it crept slowly to the sea. From time to time the frogs broke into
a sudden chorus of croaking, then grew silent again; the heron cried from afar
as some alligator or river-horse disturbed its rest, and from high in air came
the sound of the wings of wild-fowl that travelled to the ocean. But to
Leonard’s fancy all these various voices of nature were as one voice that
spoke from the piles of skeletons gleaming faintly in the uncertain starlight
and cried, “Oh! God, how long shall iniquity have power on the earth? Oh!
God, how long shall thy Hand be stayed?”

The darkness passed, the sun shone out merrily, and the travellers arose,
brushed the night-dew from their hair, and ate a scanty meal, for they must
husband such food as they had with them. Then, as though by common consent,
they went to the canoe, bailed her out, and started, Leonard and Otter using
the paddles.

Now it was that the dwarf’s marvellous memory for locality came into
play. Without him they could not have gone a mile, for their course ran through
numberless lagoons and canals, cut by nature and the current in the dense banks
of reeds. There was nothing to enable them to distinguish one of these canals
from another; in truth they all formed a portion of this mouth of the river.
There were no landmarks to guide them; everywhere spread a sea of swamp
diversified by rush-clothed islands, which to the inexperienced eye presented
few points of difference. This was the road that Otter led them on
unfalteringly; ten years had passed since he had travelled it, but he never
even hesitated. Time upon time they came to new openings in the reeds leading
this way and that. Then for a moment the dwarf would consider, and, lifting his
hand, point out which water-way they should choose, and they followed it.

Thus they went on for the most part of that day, till towards evening they
reached a place where the particular canal that they were following suddenly
divided itself into two, one branch running north and one in a southerly
direction.

“Which way, Otter?” asked Leonard.

“Nay, Baas, I know not. The water has changed; there was no land here,
the cut went straight on.”

This was a serious matter, for one false step in such a labyrinth meant that
they would be lost utterly. For long they debated which stream to take, and at
last decided to try that on the left hand, which Otter thought ran more nearly
in the true direction. They had already started in pursuance of his advice when
Soa, who had remained silent hitherto, suggested that they should first go a
little way down the right-hand stream on the chance of finding a clue. Leonard
demurred, but as the woman seemed bent upon it, he yielded, and turning the
boat they paddled her some three hundred yards in this new direction. As there
was nothing to be seen, however, Otter began to put her about again.

“Stay, White Man,” said Soa, who had been searching the surface of
the water with her quick eyes, “what is that thing yonder?” and she
pointed to a clump of reeds about forty yards away, among which some small
white object was just discernible.

“Feathers, I think,” Leonard answered, “but we will go and
see.” In another moment they were there.

“It is paper, Baas,” said Otter in a low voice, “paper stuck
on a reed.”

“Lift it carefully,” answered Leonard in the same tone, for his
anxiety was keen. How came it that they found paper fixed to a reed in such a
place as this?

Otter obeyed, laying the sodden sheet on the thwart of the canoe before
Leonard, who with Soa examined it closely.

“This is a leaf from that holy book in which my mistress reads,”
said the woman with conviction; “I know the shape of it well. She has
torn the paper out and affixed it on the reed as a sign to any who might come
after her.”

“It looks like it,” said Leonard; “that was a good thought of
yours to turn up here, old lady.” Then he bent down and read such verses
as were still legible on the page; they ran thus:

“For he hath looked down from the height of his sanctuary; from heaven
did the Lord behold the earth;”

“To hear the groaning of the prisoner; to loose those that are appointed
to death;”

“The children of thy servants shall continue, and their seed shall be
established before thee.”

“Hum!” said Leonard to himself, “the quotation seems very
appropriate. If one had faith in omens now, a man might say that this was a
good one.” And in his heart he believed it to be so.

Another hour’s journey brought them to the point of the island along
which they had been travelling.

“Ah,” said Otter, “now I know the path again. This is the
right stream, that to the left must be a new one. Had we taken it we should
have lost our way, and perhaps have found it no more for days, or not at
all.”

“Say, Otter,” said Leonard, “you escaped from this
slave-camp. How did you do it—in a boat?”

“No, Baas. The Baas knows that I am strong, my Spirit who gave me
ugliness gave me strength also to make up for it, and it is well, for had I
been beautiful as you are, Baas, and not very strong, I should have been a
slave now, or dead. With my chained hands I choked him who was set to watch me,
and took his knife. Then by my strength I broke the irons—see, Baas, here
are the scars of them to this day. When I broke them they cut into my flesh,
but they were old irons that had been on many slaves, so I mastered them. Then
as others came to kill me I threw myself into the water and dived, and they
never saw me more. Afterwards I swam all the way, resting from time to time on
the islands and from time to time running along the shore where the reeds were
not too thick, till at length I escaped into the open country. I travelled four
days to reach it, and most of that time I was in the water.”

“And what did you feed on?”

“Roots and the eggs of birds.”

“And did not the alligators try to eat you?”

“Yes, one, Baas, but I am quick in the water. I got upon the
water-snake’s back—ah! my Spirit was with me then—and I drove
the knife through his eye into his brain. Then I smeared myself over with his
blood, and after that they did not touch me, for they knew the smell and
thought that I was their brother.”

“Say, Otter, are you not afraid of going back to this place?”

“Somewhat, Baas, for there is that hell of which you white people talk.
But where the Baas goes there I can go also; Otter will not linger while you
run. Also, Baas, I am not brave, no, no, yet I would look upon that Yellow
Devil again, yes, if I myself must die to do it, and kill him with these
hands.”

And the dwarf dropped the paddle screaming “Kill him! kill him! kill
him!” so loudly that the birds rose in affright from the marshes.

“Be quiet,” said Leonard angrily; “do you want to bring the
Arabs on us?”

But to himself he thought that he should be sorry for Pereira, alias the
“Yellow Devil,” if once Otter found a chance to fly at his throat.

Chapter IX.

THE YELLOW DEVIL’S NEST

Sundown came, and, as on the previous night, the three travellers camped upon
an island waiting for the moon to rise. They had caught two flapper-ducks in
some weeds, and there was a talk of lighting a fire to cook them by. Finally
Leonard negatived this idea. “It is dangerous,” he said, “for
fires can be seen from afar.” So they made a wretched meal off a little
dried meat and some raw duck’s eggs.

It was fortunate that his caution prevailed, since, as the twilight was dying
into dark, they heard the stroke of paddles and made out the shapes of canoes
passing them. There were several canoes, each of which towed something behind
it, and the men in them shouted to one another from time to time, now in
Portuguese and now in Arabic.

“Lie still, lie still,” whispered Otter, “these are the
slave-men taking back the big boats.”

Leonard and Soa followed his advice to the letter, and the slavers, paddling
furiously up stream, passed within thirty feet of where they crouched in the
rushes.

“Give way, comrades,” called one man to the captain of the next
canoe; “the landing-place is near, and there is rum for those who earn
it.”

“I hope that they will not stop here,” said Leonard beneath his
breath.

“Hist!” answered Otter, “I hear them landing.”

He was right; the party had disembarked about two hundred yards away. Presently
they heard them collecting reeds for burning, and in ten minutes more two
bright tongues of flame showed that they had lit their fires.

“We had better get out of this,” said Leonard; “if they
discover us——”

“They will not discover us, Baas, if we lie still,” answered Otter;
“let us wait awhile. I have another plan. Listen, Baas.” And he
whispered in his ear.

So they waited. From the fires below them came the sound of men eating and
drinking—especially drinking. An hour passed, and Leonard rose, followed
by Otter, who said:

“I will come too, Baas; I can move like a cat.”

“Where are you going, White Man?” asked Soa.

“I am going to spy upon those men. I understand Portuguese, and wish to
hear what they say. Otter, take your knife and revolver, but no gun.”

“Good,” said the woman, “but be careful. They are very
clever.”

“Yes, yes,” put in Otter, “but the Baas is clever also, and
I, I am clever. Do not fear for us, mother.”

Then they started, creeping cautiously through the reeds. When they were within
twenty yards of the fires, Leonard missed his footing and fell into a pool of
water with a splash. Some of the slave-dealers heard the noise and sprang to
their feet. Instantly Otter grunted in exact imitation of a hippopotamus-calf.

“A sea-cow,” said a man in Portuguese. “She won’t hurt
us. The fire will frighten her.”

Leonard and Otter waited awhile, then crept to a clump of reeds whence they
could hear every word that was spoken. The men round the fire numbered
twenty-two. One, their leader, appeared to be a pure-bred Portugee, some of the
others were Bastards and the rest Arabs. They were drinking rum and water out
of tin pannikins—a great deal of rum and very little water. Many of them
seemed half-drunk already, at any rate their tongues were loosened.

“May a curse fall upon our father, the Devil!” said one, a
half-breed; “why did he take it into his head to send us back with the
boats just now? We shall miss the fun.”

“What fun?” answered the leader of the party. “They
won’t cage the birds for another three or four days; the dhows are not
ready, and there is talk of an English cruiser—may she sink to
hell!—hanging about outside the river mouth.”

“No, not that,” said the man who had spoken first, “there is
not much sport in driving a lot of stinking niggers on to a dhow. I mean the
auction of the white girl, the English trader’s daughter, whom we caught
up the river yonder. There’s a beauty for some lucky dog; I never saw
such a one. What eyes she has, and what a spirit! why, most of the little dears
would have cried themselves blind by now.”

“You needn’t think about her,” sneered his leader; “she
will go too dear for the likes of you; besides it is foolish to spend so much
on one girl, white or black. When is the auction?”

“It was to have been the night before the dhows sail, but now the Devil
says it shall be to-morrow night. I will tell you why—he is afraid of
her. He thinks that she will bring misfortune to him, and wants to be rid of
her. Ah! he is a wag, is the old man—he loves a joke, he does. ‘All
men are brothers,’ he said yesterday, ‘white or black; therefore
all women are sisters.’ So he is going to sell her like a nigger girl.
What is good enough for them is good enough for her. Ha! ha! pass the rum,
brother, pass the rum.”

“Perhaps he will put it off and we may be back in time, after all,”
said the captain. “Anyhow, here is a health to her, the love. By the way,
did some of you think to ask the password before we left this morning? I forgot
to do so, myself.”

“Yes,” said a Bastard, “the old word, ‘the
Devil.’”

“There is none better, comrades, none better,” hiccoughed the
leader.

Then for an hour or more their talk went on—partly about Juanna, partly
about other things. As they grew more drunk the conversation became more and
more revolting, till Leonard could scarcely listen to it and lie still. At
length it died away, and one by one the men sank into a sound and sodden sleep.
They did not set a sentry, for here on the island they had no fear of foes.

Then Otter rose upon his hands and knees, and his face looked fierce in the
faint light.

“Baas,” he whispered, “shall we——” and he
drew his hand across his throat.

Leonard thought awhile. His rage was deep, and yet he shrank from the slaughter
of sleeping men, however wicked. Besides, could it be done without noise? Some
of them would wake—fear would sober them, and they were many.

“No,” he whispered back. “Follow me, we will cut loose the
boats.”

“Good, good,” said Otter.

Then, stealthily as snakes, they crept some thirty yards to where the boats
were tied to a low tree—three canoes and five large flat-bottomed punts,
containing the arms and provisions of the slave-dealers. Drawing their knives
they cut these loose. A gentle push set them moving, then the current caught
them, and slowly they floated away into the night.

This done they crawled back again. Their path took them within five paces of
where that half-breed ruffian lay who had begun the talk to which they had
listened. Leonard looked at him and turned to creep away; already Otter was
five paces ahead, when suddenly the edge of the moon showed for the first time
and its light fell full upon the slaver’s face. The sleeping man awoke,
sat up, and saw them.

Now Leonard dared not hesitate, or they were lost. Like a tiger he sprang at
the man’s throat and had grasped it in his hand before he could even cry
aloud. Then came a struggle short and sharp, and a knife flashed. Before Otter
could get back to his side it was done—so swiftly and so silently that
none of the band had wakened, though one or two of them stirred and muttered in
their heavy sleep.

Leonard sprang up unhurt, and together they ran, rather than walked, back to
the spot where they had left Soa.

She was watching for them, and pointing to Leonard’s coat, asked
“How many?”

“One,” answered Otter.

“I would it had been all,” Soa muttered fiercely, “but you
are only two.”

“Quick,” said Leonard, “into the canoe with you. They will be
after us presently.”

In another minute they had pushed off and were clear of the island, which was
not more than a quarter of a mile long. They paddled across the river, which at
this spot ran rapidly and had a width of some eight hundred yards, so as to
hide in the shadow of the opposite bank. When they reached it Otter rested on
his paddles and gave vent to a suppressed chuckle, which was his nearest
approach to laughter.

“Why do you laugh, Black One?” asked Soa.

“Look yonder,” he answered, and he pointed to some specks on the
surface of the river which were fast vanishing in the distance. “Yonder
go the boats of the slave-dealers, and in them are their arms and food. We cut
them loose, the Baas and I. There on the island sleep two-and-twenty
men—all save one: there they sleep, and when they wake what will they
find? They will find themselves on a little isle in the middle of great waters,
into which, even if they could, they will not dare to swim because of the
alligators. They can get no food on the island, for they have no guns and ducks
do not stop to be caught, but outside the alligators will wait in hundreds to
catch them. By-and-by they will grow hungry—they will shout and
yell, but none will hear them—then they will become mad, and, falling on
each other, they will eat each other and die miserably one by one. Some will
take to the water, those will drown or be caught by the alligators, and so it
shall go on till they are all dead, every one of them, dead, dead, dead!”
and again Otter chuckled.

Leonard did not reprove him; with the talk of these wretches yet echoing in his
ears he could feel little pity for the horrible fate which would certainly
overtake them.

Hark! a faint sound stole across the quiet waters, a sound which grew into a
clamour of fear and rage. The slavers had awakened, they had found the dead man
in their midst mysteriously slain by an invisible foe. And now the clamour
gathered to a yell, for they had learned that their boats were gone and that
they were trapped.

From their shelter on the other side of the river, as they dropped leisurely
down the stream, Leonard and Otter could catch distant glimpses of the frantic
men rushing to and fro in the bright moonlight and seeking for their boats. But
the boats had departed to return no more. By degrees the clamour lessened
behind them, till at last it died away, swallowed in the silence of the night.

Then Leonard told Soa what he had heard by the slaver’s fire.

“How far is the road, Black One?” she asked when he had finished.

“By sundown to-morrow we shall be at the Yellow Devil’s
gates!” answered Otter.

Two hours later they overtook the boats which they had cut adrift. Most of them
were tied together, and they floated peacefully in a group.

“We had better scuttle them,” said Leonard.

“No, Baas,” answered Otter, “if we escape we may want them
again. Yonder is the place where we must land,” and he pointed to a
distant tongue of marsh. “Let us go with the boats there and make them
fast. Perhaps we may find food in them, and we need food.”

The advice was good, and they followed it. Keeping alongside of the punts and
directing them, when necessary, with a push of the paddles, they reached the
point just as the dawn was breaking. Here in a sheltered bay they found a
mooring-place to which they fastened all the boats with ropes that hung ready.
Then they searched the lockers and to their joy discovered food in plenty,
including cooked meat, spirits, biscuits, bread, and some oranges and bananas.
Only those who have been forced to do without farinaceous food for days or
weeks will know what this abundance meant to them. Leonard thought that he had
never eaten a more delicious meal, or drunk anything so good as the rum and
water with which they washed it down.

They found other things also: rifles, cutlasses and ammunition, and, better
than all, a chest of clothes which had evidently belonged to the officer or
officers of the party. One suit was a kind of uniform plentifully adorned with
gold lace, having tall boots and a broad felt hat with a white ostrich feather
in it to match. Also there were some long Arab gowns and turbans, the gala
clothes of the slave-dealers, which they took with them in order to appear
smart on their return.

But the most valuable find of all was a leather bag in the breeches of the
uniform, containing the sum of the honest gains of the leader of the party,
which he had preferred to keep in his own company even on his travels. On
examination this bag was found to hold something over a hundred English
sovereigns and a dozen or fifteen pieces of Portuguese gold.

“Now, Baas,” said Otter, “this is my word, that we put on
these clothes.”

“What for?” asked Leonard.

“For this reason: that should we be seen by the slave-traders they will
think us of their brethren.”

The advantages of this step were so obvious that they immediately adopted it.
Thus disguised, with a silk sash round his middle and a pistol stuck in it,
Leonard might well have been mistaken for the most ferocious of slave-traders.

Otter too looked sufficiently strange, robed as an Arab and wearing a turban.
Being a dwarf, the difficulty was that all the dresses proved too long for him.
Finally it was found necessary to cut one down by the primitive process of
laying it on a block of wood and chopping through it with a sabre.

When this change of garments had been effected, and their own clothes with the
spare arms were hidden away in the rushes on the somewhat remote chance that
they might be useful hereafter, they prepared for a start on foot across the
marshes. By an afterthought Leonard fetched the bag of gold and put it in his
pocket. He felt few scruples in availing himself of the money of the
slave-driver, not for his own use indeed, but because it might help their
enterprise.

Now their road ran along marshes and by secret paths that none save those who
had travelled them could have found. But Otter had not forgotten. On they went
through the broiling heat of the day, since linger they dared not. They met no
living man on their path, though here and there they found the body of some
wretched slave, whose corpse had been cast into the reeds by the roadside. But
the road had been trodden, and recently, by many feet, among which were the
tracks of two mules or donkeys.

At last, about an hour before sunset, they came to the home of the Yellow
Devil. The Nest was placed thus. It stood upon an island having an area of ten
or twelve acres. Of this, however, only about four and a half acres were
available for a living space; the rest was a morass hidden by a growth of very
tall reeds, which morass, starting from a great lagoon on the northern and
eastern sides, ran up to the low enclosure of the buildings that, on these
faces, were considered to be sufficiently defended by the swamp and the wide
waters beyond. On the southern and western aspects of the camp matters were
different, for here the place was strongly fortified both by art and nature.
Firstly, a canal ran round these two faces, not very wide or deep indeed, but
impassable except in boats, owing to the soft mud at its bottom. On the further
side of this canal an earthwork had been constructed, having its crest stoutly
palisaded and its steep sides planted with a natural defence of aloes and
prickly-pears.

So much for the exterior of the place. Its interior was divided into three
principal enclosures. Of these three the easternmost was the site of the Nest
itself, a long low thatched building of wood, in front and to the west of which
there was an open space or courtyard, with a hard floor. Herein were but two
buildings, a shed supported on posts and open from the eaves to the ground,
where sales of slaves were carried on, and further to the north, almost
continuous with the line of the Nest itself, but separate from it, a small
erection, very strongly built of brick and stone, and having a roof made from
the tin linings of ammunition and other cases. This was a magazine. All round
this enclosure stood rows of straw huts of a native build, evidently occupied
as a camp by the Arabs and half-breed slave-traders of the baser sort.

The second enclosure, which was to the west of the Nest, comprised the slave
camp. It may have covered an acre of ground, and the only buildings in it were
four low sheds, similar in every respect to that where the slaves were sold,
only much longer. Here the captives lay picketed in rows to iron bars which ran
the length of the sheds, and were fixed into the ground at either end. This
camp was separated from the Nest enclosure by a deep canal, thirty feet in
width and spanned at one point by a slender and primitive drawbridge that led
across the canal to the gate of the camp. Also it was protected on the Nest
side by a low wall, and on the slave-camp side by an earthwork, planted as
usual with prickly-pears. On this earthwork near the gate and little
guard-house a six-pounder cannon was mounted, the muzzle of which frowned down
upon the slave camp, a visible warning to its occupants of the fate that
awaited the froward. Indeed, all the defences of this part of the island were
devised as safeguards against a possible emeute of the slaves, and also
to provide a second line of fortifications should the Nest itself chance to be
taken by an enemy.

Beyond the slave camp, lay the garden that could only be approached through it.
This also was fortified by water and earthworks, but not so strongly.

Such is a brief description of what was in those days the strongest slave-hold
in Africa.

Chapter X.

LEONARD MAKES A PLAN

The road which Leonard and his companions were following led them to the edge
of the main and southernmost canal, debouching exactly opposite the water-gate
that gave access to the Nest. But Otter did not venture to guide them to this
point, for there they should be seen by the sentries, and, notwithstanding
their masquerade dress, awkward questions might be asked which they could not
answer. Therefore when they had arrived within five hundred yards of the gate,
he struck off to the left into the thick bush that clothed the hither side of
the canal. Through this they crawled as best they might till finally they
halted near the water’s edge, almost opposite to the south-west angle of
the slave camp, and under the shadow of a dense clump of willows.

“See, Baas,” said the dwarf in a low voice, “the journey is
accomplished and I have brought you straight. Yonder is the house of the Yellow
Devil—now it remains only to take it, or to rescue the maiden from
it.”

Leonard looked at the place in dismay. How was it possible that they—two
men and a woman—could capture this fortified camp, filled as it was with
scores of the most wicked desperadoes in Africa? How was it possible even that
they could obtain access to it? Viewed from far off, the thing had seemed
small—to be done somehow. But now! And yet they must do something, or all
their labour would be in vain, and the poor girl they came to rescue must be
handed over to her shameful fate, or, if she chose it in preference and could
compass the deed, to self-murder.

“How on earth!” said Leonard aloud, then added, “Well, Otter,
I can tell you one thing. I have come a long way on this business, and I am not
going to turn my back to it now. I have never yet turned my back on a venture
and I will not begin with this, though I dare say that my death lies in
it.”

“It is all in the hand of to-morrow,” answered Otter; “but it
is time that we made a plan, for the night draws on. Now, Baas, here is a thick
tree shaded by other trees. Shall we climb it and look down into the
camp?”

Leonard nodded, and climbing the tree with ease, they peeped down through the
leafiest of its boughs. All the camp lay beneath them like a map, and Otter,
clinging monkey-wise to a branch, pointed out its details to Leonard. He had
been a prisoner there, and the memories of prisoners are long.

The place was peopled by numbers of men in strange costumes, and of different
nationalities; dealers in “black ivory” of various degree. Perhaps
there may have been more than a hundred of them. Some were strolling about in
knots smoking and talking, some were gambling, others were going on their
business. One group—captains, to judge from the richness of their
attire—were standing round the arms-house and peeping through a grating
in the wall, which they reached by sitting upon each other’s shoulders.
This amusement lasted them for some time, till at length a man, of whom at that
distance they could see only that he was old and stout, came and drove them
away, and they broke up laughing.

“That is the Yellow Devil,” said Otter, “and those men were
looking at the maid who is called the Shepherdess. She is locked up there until
the hour comes for her to be sold. They will be the bidders.”

Leonard made no reply; he was studying the place. Presently a drum was beaten,
and men appeared carrying large tin pails of smoking stuff.

“Yonder is the food for the slaves,” said Otter again. “See,
they are going to feed them.”

The men with the pails, accompanied by some of the officers having
sjambochs or hide whips in their hands, advanced across the open space
till they came to the moat which separated the slave camp from the Nest, whence
they called to the sentry on the embankment to let down the drawbridge. He
obeyed and they crossed. Each man with a bucket was followed by another who
bore a wooden spoon, while a third behind them carried water in a large gourd.
Having come to the first of the open sheds, they began their rounds, the man
with the wooden spoon ladling out portions of the stiff porridge and throwing
it down upon the ground before each slave in turn as food is thrown to a dog.
Then the Arab with the gourd poured water into wooden bowls, that the captives
might drink.

Presently there was a halt, and the officers gathered together to discuss
something.

“A slave is sick,” said Otter.

The knot separated, but a big white man with a hippopotamus-hide whip began to
strike at a dark thing on the ground which did not seem to move.

The man ceased beating and called aloud. Then two of the Arabs went to the
little guard-house that was by the drawbridge and brought tools with which they
loosed the fetters on the limbs of the poor creature—apparently a
woman—thus freeing her from the long iron bar. This done, some of the
officers sauntering after them, they dragged the body to the high enclosure of
earth and up a short ladder having a wooden platform at the top of it, that
overhung the deep canal below.

“This is how the Yellow Devil buries his dead and cures his sick,”
said Otter.

“I have seen enough,” answered Leonard, and began to descend the
tree hastily, an example which Otter followed with more composure.

“Ah! Baas,” he said when they reached the ground, “you are
but a chicken. The hearts of those who have dwelt in slave camps are strong,
and, after all, better the belly of a fish than the hold of a slave dhow.
Wow! who do these things? Is it not the white men, your brothers, and do
they not say many prayers to the Great Man up in the sky while they do
them?”

“Be still,” said Leonard, “and give me some brandy.” He
was in no mood to discuss the blessings of civilisation as they have often been
put into practice in Africa. And to think that this fate might soon be his own!

Leonard drank the brandy and sat awhile in silence, pushing up his beard with
his hand and gazing into the gathering gloom with his hawk-like eyes. Thus he
had sat beside his dying brother’s bed; it was a pose that he adopted
unconsciously when lost in thought.

“Come, Soa,” he said at length, “we have travelled here to
please you; now give us the benefit of your suggestions. How are we going to
get your mistress out of that camp?”

“Loose the slaves and let them kill their masters,” Soa answered
laconically.

“I doubt there is not much pluck in slaves,” said Leonard.

“There should be fifty of Mavoom’s men there,” she replied,
“and they will fight well enough if they have arms.”

Then Leonard looked at Otter, seeking further ideas.

“My snake puts it into my head,” said the dwarf, “that fire
is a good friend when men are few and foes are many; also that the reeds yonder
are dry, and the sea wind rises and will blow hard before midnight. Moreover
all these houses are thatched, and in a wind fire jumps. But can a regiment
have two generals? You are our captain, Baas; speak and we will do your
bidding. Here one counsel is as good as another. Let fate speak through your
mouth.”

“Very well,” said Leonard. “This is my plan; it goes a little
further than yours, that is all. We must gain entrance to the Nest while it is
still dark, before the moon rises. I know the watchword, ‘Devil,’
and disguised as we are, perhaps the sentry will let us pass unquestioned. If
not, we must kill him, and silently.”

“Good,” said Otter, “but how about the woman here?”

“We will leave her hidden in the bush; she could be of no help in the
camp and might hinder us.”

“No, White Man,” broke in Soa, “where you go I go also;
moreover my mistress is yonder and I would seek her.”

“As you like,” answered Leonard, then went on: “we must get
between the hut, there is only one, and the low wall that borders the canal
separating the Nest from the slave camp, and, if the drawbridge is up and no
other means can be found, we must swim the dike, dispose of the sentry there
also and gain the slave camp. Then we must try to free some of the slaves and
send them round through the garden into the morass to fire the reeds, should
the wind blow strong enough. Meanwhile I propose to walk boldly into the camp,
salute Pereira, pass myself off as a slaver with a dhow at the mouth of the
river, and say that I have come to buy slaves, and above all to bid for the
white girl. Luckily we have a good deal of gold. That is my plan so far as it
goes, the rest we must leave to chance. If I can buy the Shepherdess I will. If
not, I must try to get her off in some other way.”

“So be it, Baas, and now let us eat, for we shall need all our strength
to-night. Then we will go down to the landing-place and take our chance.”

They ate of the food they had with them and drank sparingly of the
slave-dealers’ brandy, saying little the while, for the shadow of what
was to come lay upon them. Even the phlegmatic and fatalistic Otter was
depressed, perhaps because of the associations of the place, which, for him,
were painful, perhaps because of the magnitude of their undertaking. Never had
he known such a tale, never had he seen such an adventure as this—that
two men and an old woman should attack an armed camp. Indeed, although he was
not acquainted with the saying, Otter’s feelings would have been
correctly summed up in the well-known phrase, “C’est magnifique,
mais ce n’est pas la guerre.”

As yet the night was intensely dark, and its gloom did not tend to improve
their spirits; also, as Otter had predicted, the wind was rising and soughed
through the reeds and willows in melancholy notes.

So the time passed till it was nine o’clock.

“We must move down to the landing-place,” said Leonard;
“there will soon be some light, enough for us to work by.”

Then Otter took the lead and slowly, step by step, they crept back to the road
and followed it down the shore of the canal opposite the water-gate. Here was a
place where boats and canoes were tied, both for convenience in crossing the
canal to and from the camp and for the use of the slave-dealers when they
passed to the secret harbour six miles away, where the dhows embarked their
cargoes.

They waited awhile. From the Nest came the sound of revelry, and from the slave
camp there rose other sounds, the voice of groaning broken by an occasional
wail wrung out of the misery of some lost creature who lay there in torment.
Gradually the sky brightened a little.

“Perhaps we had better be making a start,” said Leonard;
“there is a canoe which will serve our turn.”

Before the words were out of his mouth they heard the splash of oars, and a
boat crept past them and made fast to the water-gate twenty yards away.

“Who goes there?” came the challenge of the sentry in Portuguese.
“Speak quick or I fire.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry with your rifle, fool,” answered a
coarse voice. “The very best of friends goes here. An honest trader
called Xavier who comes from his plantation on the coast to tell you all good
news.”

“Pardon, senor,” said the sentry, “but how was a man to see
in the dark, big as you are? What is the news then? Are the dhows in
sight?”

“Come down and help us to tie up this cursed boat and I will tell you.
You know where the post is, and we can’t find it.”

The sentry obeyed with alacrity, and the man called Xavier went on: “Yes,
the dhows are in sight, but I don’t think that they will get in to-night
because of this wind, so you may look for a busy day to-morrow loading up the
blackbirds. One is in by the way—a small one from Madagascar. The
captain is a stranger, a big Frenchman named Pierre, or he may be an Englishman
for anything I know. I hailed him and found that he is all right, but I
didn’t see him. However, I sent him a note to tell him that there was fun
on here to-night, which was generous of me, as he may be a rival bidder.”

“Is he coming, senor? I ask because, if so, I must look out for
him.”

“I don’t know: he answered that he would if he could. But how is
the English girl? She is to be put up to-night, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes, senor, there will be a great to-do at twelve, when the moon is
high. So soon as she has been bought, the priest Francisco is to marry her to
the lucky man, there and then. The old fellow insists on it; he has grown
superstitious about the girl and says that she shall be properly
married.”

Xavier laughed aloud, “Has he now? He is getting into his dotage. Well,
what does it matter? We have a good law of divorce in these parts, friend. I am
going in for that girl; if I give a hundred ounces for her I will buy her, and
I have brought the gold with me.”

“A hundred ounces for one girl! It is a large sum, senor, but you are
rich. Not like us poor devils who get all the risk and little profit.”

By this time the men had finished tying up the boat and taking some baggage or
provisions out of her, Leonard could not see which. Then Xavier and the sentry
went up the steps together, followed by the two boatmen, and the gates were
shut behind them.

“Well,” whispered Leonard, “we have learnt something at any
rate. Now, Otter, I am Pierre the French slave-trader from Madagascar, and,
understand, you are my servant; as for Soa, she is the guide, or interpreter,
or anyone you like. We must pass the gates, but the real Pierre must never pass
them. There must be no sentry to let him in. Do you think that you can manage
it, Otter, or must I?”

“It comes into my head, Baas, that we may learn a lesson from this
Xavier. I might forget something in the canoe, and the sentry might help me to
find it after you have passed the gates. For the rest I am quick and strong and
silent.”

“Quick and strong and silent you must be. A noise, and all is
lost.”

Then they crept to the canoe which they had selected and loosened her. They
embarked and Otter took the paddle. First he let her float gently down stream
and under cover of the shore for a distance of about fifty yards. Then he put
about and the play began.

“Now, you fool, where are you paddling to?” said Leonard in a loud
voice to Otter, speaking in the bastard Arabic which passes current for a
language on this coast. “You will have us into the bank, I tell you.
Curse this wind and the darkness! Steady now, you ugly black dog; those must be
the gates the letter told of—are they not, woman? Hold on with the
boat-hook, can’t you?”

A wicket at the gate above rattled and the voice of the sentry challenged them.

“A friend—a friend!” answered Leonard in Portuguese;
“one who is a stranger and would pay his respects to your leader, Dom
Antonio Pereira, with a view to business.”

“What is your name?” asked the guard suspiciously.

“Pierre is my name. Dog is the name of the dwarf my servant, and as for
the old woman, you can call her anything you like.”

“The password,” said the sentry; “none come in here without
the word.”

“The word—Ah! what did the Dom Xavier say it was in his letter?
‘Fiend!’ No, I have it, ‘Devil’ is the word.”

“Where do you hail from?”

“From Madagascar, where the goods you have to supply are in some demand
just now. Come, let us in; we don’t want to sit here all night and miss
the fun.”

The man began to unbar the door, and stopped, struck by a fresh doubt.

“You are not of our people,” he said; “you speak Portuguese
like a cursed Englishman.”

“No, I should hope not; I am a ‘cursed Englishman,’ that is
half—son of an English lord and a French creole, born in the Mauritius at
your service, and let me ask you to be a little more civil, for cross-bred dogs
are fierce.”

Now at length the sentry opened one side of the gate, grumbling, and Leonard
swaggered up the steps followed by the other two. Already they were through it,
when suddenly he turned and struck Otter in the face.

“Why, Dog,” he said angrily, “you have forgotten to bring up
the keg of brandy, my little present for the Dom. Go and fetch it. Quick,
now.”

“Pardon, Chief,” answered Otter, “but I am a small man and
the keg is heavy for me alone—if you will deign to help me, for the old
woman is too weak.”

“Do you take me for a porter that I should roll kegs of cognac up steps?
Here, my friend,” he went on addressing the sentry, “if you wish to
earn a little present and a drink, perhaps you will give this fellow a hand
with the cask. There is a spigot in it, and you can try the quality
afterwards.”

“Right, Senor,” said the man briskly, and led the way down the
steps.

A look of dreadful intelligence passed between the dwarf and his master. Then
Otter followed, his hand upon the hilt of the Arab sabre which he wore, while
Leonard and Soa waited above. They heard the man’s heavily booted feet
going down the steps followed by Otter’s naked footfall.

“Where is your keg? I don’t see it,” said the sentry
presently.

“Lean over, senor, lean over,” answered Otter; “it is in the
stern of the canoe. Let me help you.”

There was a moment’s pause, to the listeners it seemed hours. Then came
the sound of a blow and a heavy splash. They hearkened on, but nothing more was
to be heard except the beating of their hearts and the distant noise of revelry
from the camp.

Three seconds passed and Otter stood beside them. In the dim light Leonard
could see that his eyes stared wide and his nostrils twitched.

“Quick was the blow, strong was the blow, silent is the man for
ever,” whispered Otter. “So the Baas commanded, so it is.”

Chapter XI.

THAT HERO OTTER

“Help me to secure the gate,” said Leonard presently.

In another minute the great iron bar had been dropped into its place, and
Leonard withdrew the key and put it in his pocket.

“Why do you secure the door, Baas?” whispered Otter.

“To keep the real Pierre out, in case he should come this way. Two
Pierres would be one too many at this game. Now we must win or perish.”

Then they crept along the embankment till they gained the shelter of the hut or
barrack-shed which stood with its back to the dike that separated the Nest from
the slave camp. Happily none saw them, and there were no dogs in the place.
Dogs make a noise at inconvenient times, therefore slave-dealers do not love
them.

The end of the shed behind which they were crouching was situated some eight or
ten paces from the drawbridge, that formed the only path of entry to the slave
camp.

“Baas,” said Otter, “let me go forward and look. My eyes are
the eyes of a cat; I can see in the dark. Perhaps the bridge is down.”

Without waiting for an answer, he crept forward on his hands and knees so
quietly that they could scarcely hear a movement. Notwithstanding his white
dress, there was little chance of his being seen, for the shadow of the shed
was dense and a fringe of rushes grew along the edge of the dike.

Five minutes passed—ten minutes passed, and Otter did not return.
Leonard’s anxiety grew very keen.

“Let us go and see what happened, mother,” he whispered to Soa.

They crept along to the end of the shed. Within a yard of it they discovered
the arms and clothes of Otter. But Otter! Where was he?

“The Black One has deserted us,” said Soa beneath her breath.

“Never!” answered Leonard.

By now the clouds were breaking before the wind, which was rising steadily, and
some stars shone out, giving a little light. The dike lay deep between its
banks and was not more than twenty feet in width, so that the air did not
ruffle it; moreover, as any observer of nature will have noticed, the surface
of still water is never quite dark, even on much blacker nights than this.

Why had Otter taken off his clothes, Leonard wondered? Evidently that he might
go into the water. And what could he want to go into the water for, unless it
was that his heart failed him and, as Soa suggested, he had deserted. But this
was impossible, for he knew well that the dwarf would die first. In his great
perplexity Leonard stared at the dike. Now he could see that on its further
side rose a flight of wooden steps, protected at the top by gates and that a
man was seated on the lowest step, with a rifle beside him, his feet hanging
down to within a few inches of the surface of the dike. It must be the sentry.

Next instant Leonard saw something else. Beneath the feet of the man a ripple
grew on the face of the deep water, and something gleamed in the ripple like to
the flash of steel. Then a small black object projected itself towards the feet
of the sentry, who was half asleep and humming to himself drowsily. Suddenly he
saw the man slide from his seat as though by magic. He said nothing, but making
one ineffectual grasp at some rushes, he vanished into the deeps below. For a
minute or more Leonard could distinguish a slight disturbance on the surface of
the water, and that was all.

Now he guessed what had happened. Otter had dived, and rising beneath the feet
of the man, he seized him, and with a sudden movement dragged him down to death
by drowning. Either this, or an alligator had taken him, and that flash was the
flash of his fangs.

As Leonard thought thus a dark form rose gasping at the foot of the steps; it
drew itself out of the water and slipped stealthily up them. It was Otter, and
he held a knife in his hand. Now the dwarf vanished through the gates into the
little guard-house at the top of the embankment. Another minute, and ropes
began to creak. Then the tall drawbridge, standing upright like a scaffold
against the sky, was seen to bend itself forward. Down it came very softly, and
the slave-camp was open to them. Again the black shape appeared, this time on
the bridge.

“Come along,” whispered Leonard to his companion; “that hero
Otter has drowned the sentry and won the bridge. Stop, pick up his clothes and
arms.”

At that moment Otter himself arrived. “Quick,” he said, “come
over, Baas, before they see that the bridge is down. Give me my clothes and the
gun.”

“All right, here they are,” answered Leonard, and in another minute
they were over the bridge and standing on the parapet of the slave-camp.

“Into the guard-house, Baas; the windlass is there, but no man.”

They entered: a lamp was burning in the place. Otter seized the handle of the
windlass and began to wind. He was naked, and it was a wonderful sight to see
the muscles starting out in knots on his huge but dwarfish frame as he strained
at the weight of the bridge.

Presently it was up, and, leaning on the handle of the wheel, Otter chuckled
aloud.

“Now we are safe for a time,” he said, “and I will dress
myself. Let the Baas forgive me for appearing thus before him—I, who am
so ugly.”

“Tell us the tale, Otter.”

“It is short, Baas,” the dwarf replied, as he put on his robe and
turban. “When I left you I watched, I who can see in the dark, and in a
little while I saw the guard come down the steps and sit by the edge of the
water. He was sleepy, for he yawned and lit a roll of paper to smoke it.
Presently it went out, and he had no more matches. He looked up to the house
there, but was too lazy to fetch them; then I guessed that he was alone, for
else he would have called to his companion for fire. Now he grew sleepier, and
I said to myself, ‘Otter, Otter, how can you kill this man silently? You
must not shoot, because of the noise; and if you throw a knife or a spear, you
may miss, or wound him only.’ And my snake spoke in my heart and
answered, ‘Otter, Otter, dive, seize his feet, and drag him down swiftly
and stamp him into the mud, you who are half a fish and can swim as no other
man can swim. Do it at once, Otter, before the light comes and men can see the
drawbridge move.’

“Well, and so I did it, Baas. Wow! I trod him deep into the mire,
I trampled him as an ox tramples corn upon a threshing-floor. Never will he
come up again. After that I rose and ran into the guard-house, fearing lest
there might be another whom I must silence also, for when I was a slave two
always kept watch. But the place was empty, so I let the bridge down. Ah! I
remembered how it worked. And that is the tale, Baas.”

“A great tale, Otter, but it is not finished yet. Now let us to the
slaves. Come, take the light and lead the way. Here we are safe, is it not
so?”

“Here, Baas, we are safe, for none can reach us except by storm, and
yonder is the big gun which turns upon itself. Let us twist the gun round
first, so that, if need be, we can fire into the camp.”

“I don’t know much of cannon,” said Leonard doubtfully.

“But I know something, White Man,” said Soa, speaking for the first
time. “Mavoom, my master, has a small one up at the Settlement, and often
I have helped to fire it for practice and as a signal to boats on the river,
and so have many of the men who were carried away, if we can find them
yonder.”

“Good,” said Leonard.

A path ran along the top of the embankment to the platform on which the gun was
mounted. It was a six-pounder muzzle-loader. Leonard unhooked the rammer and
ran it down the muzzle.

“She is loaded,” he said; “now let us swing her round.”

They did so easily enough, bringing the muzzle down upon the Nest camp; then
they entered the little hut which stood alongside. Piled up in it, in case of
emergency, were half-a-dozen rounds of grape-shot and powder.

“Lots of ammunition, if we should want to use it,” said Leonard.
“It never occurred to those gentlemen that a gun can shoot two ways. And
now, Otter, lead us to the slaves, quick.”

“This way, Baas, but first we must find the tools; they are in the
guard-hut, I suppose.”

So they crept back to the hut, holding their heads as low as possible, for the
light was increasing, although the moon was not yet up, and they feared lest
they should be seen against the sky-line. Here they found boxes containing
nippers, chisels, and other instruments such as are used to undo the irons upon
slaves. Also they found the keys of the padlocks that locked the iron bars to
which the captives were tethered. Taking a lantern with them, but leaving
another burning as before in the hut, lest its absence should excite suspicion,
they passed through two strong gates and down the steps on the further side of
the embankment. A few paces beyond stood the first slave-shed, a rough erection
supported on posts, but without sides.

They entered the shed, Otter leading the way with the lantern. In the middle of
it was a path, and on either side of this path ran the long bars to which the
captives were fastened in a double row. Perhaps there might have been two
hundred and fifty of them in this shed. Here the sights and scenes were such as
need not be described. Of the miserable captives some lay on the wet ground,
men and women together, trying to forget their sorrows in sleep; but the most
part of them were awake, and the sound of moans ran up and down their lines
like the moaning of trees in the wind.

When they saw the light the slaves ceased moaning, and crouched upon the ground
like dogs that await the whip, for they thought that this was a visit from
their captors. Some of them, indeed, stretched out their manacled hands
imploring pity, but these were the exceptions; the most of them had abandoned
hope and were sunk in dull despair. It was pitiful to see the glance of their
terror-filled eyes and the answering quiver of their wealed frames whenever an
arm was lifted or a sudden movement made.

Soa went down the line, rapidly examining the faces of the slaves.

“Do you see any of Mavoom’s people?” asked Leonard anxiously.

“Not here, White Man; let us go to the next shed, unless you want to
loose these.”

“No good in that, mother,” said Otter; “they would only
betray us.”

So they went to the next shed—in all there were four—and here at
the second man who was sleeping, his head bowed on his chained hands, Soa
stopped suddenly like a pointer dog when he scents game.

“Peter, Peter,” she said.

The man awoke—he was a fine fellow about thirty years of age—and
glared round wildly.

“Who called me by my old name?” he said hoarsely. “Nay, I
dream, Peter is dead.”

“Peter,” said the woman again, “awake, child of Mavoom; it is
I, Soa, who am come to save you.”

The man cried aloud and began to tremble, but the other slaves took no notice,
thinking only that he had been smitten with a scourge.

“Be silent,” said Soa again, “or we are lost. Loose the bar,
Black One; this is a head-man from the Settlement, a brave man.”

Soon the bar was undone, then Otter bade Peter hold out his wrists while he
twisted off the fetters. Presently they were gone, and in the ecstasy of his
recovered liberty the man leaped high into the air, then fell at Otter’s
feet as though he would embrace them.

“Get up, you fool,” said the dwarf roughly, “and if there are
any more of the men of Mavoom here, show them to us: quick, or you will soon be
fast again.”

“There should be forty or more,” Peter answered, recovering
himself, “besides a few women and children. The rest of us are dead,
except the Shepherdess alone, and she is yonder.”

Then they went down the lines slipping the chains from the Settlement captives.
Soon they had unmanacled ten or more men whom Soa selected, and others stood
round them with their hands still chained. As they went about the work Soa
explained something of the position to Peter, who was fortunately a native of
intelligence. He grasped the situation at once and earnestly seconded
Leonard’s efforts to preserve silence and to prevent confusion.

“Come,” said Leonard to Soa, “we have got enough to begin
with. I must be off. You can loose the rest at your leisure; the moon is
rising, it is a quarter to twelve, and we have not a moment to lose. Now,
Otter, before we go, how can we send men to fire the reeds—through the
garden?”

“No, Baas, I have thought of a better way, the way by which I escaped
myself—that is, if these men can swim.”

“They can all swim,” said Soa; “they were bred on the banks
of a river.”

“Good. Then they must swim down the dike where I killed the sentry, four
of them. At the end are bars of wood, but in my day they were rotten; at the
worst they can be climbed. Then they will find themselves in the morass among
thick reeds. But they must not fire these till they have worked round to the
place of the sunrise, whence the wind blows strongly. Then they must go from
spot to spot and bend down the driest of the reeds, setting fire to them.
Afterwards they can get to the back of the fire and wait till all is done one
way or the other. If we win they will find us, if we are killed they can try to
run away. But will the men go?”

Soa stepped forward and chose four of their number, but Peter she did not
choose, for he also knew something of the working of cannon.

“Listen,” she said, “you have heard the words of this Black
One. Now, obey. And if you depart from them by one jot,
may——” and she poured out so fearful a curse upon them that
Leonard stared at her astonished.

“Ay!” added Otter, “and if I live through this I will cut
your throats.”

“No need to threaten,” said one of the men; “we will do our
best for our own sakes, as well as for yours and that of the Shepherdess. We
understand the plan, but to light reeds we must have fire.”

“Here are matches,” said Otter.

“Wet matches will not light, and we must swim,” answered the
spokesman.

“Fool, do you then swim with your head under water? Tie them in your
hair.”

“Ah! he is clever,” said the spokesman. “Now, if we live to
reach them, when shall we fire the reeds?”

“As soon as you are ready,” answered Otter. “You will not
come easily to the back of them. Farewell, my children, and if you dare to
fail, pray that you may die rather than look upon my face again.”

“Ou! We have seen it once, is that not enough?” answered the
spokesman, looking at Otter’s huge nose with wonder not untouched by
fear.

Two minutes later the four men were swimming swiftly down the dike, taking
their chance of the alligators.

“Drop the bridge,” said Leonard; “we must start.”

Otter lowered it, at the same time explaining its mechanism, which was very
simple, to Soa, Peter, and some of the other Settlement men.

“Now, mother, good-bye,” said Leonard. “Loose all the men you
can, and keep a keen look-out, so as to be ready to lower the bridge if you
should see us or your mistress coming towards it. If we should not come by
dawn, be ready also, for then we shall probably be dead, or prisoners, and you
must act for yourself.”

“I hear you, Lord,” answered Soa, “and I say that you are a
brave man. Whether you win or lose, the red stone is well earned
already.”

Another minute and they were gone.

Having crossed the bridge, which was instantly hoisted again, Leonard and Otter
avoided observation by creeping back towards the water-gate as they had
come—that is, behind the shelter of the shed. Emerging from this, they
ran a few yards till they were opposite the gate, then walked leisurely across
the open space, a distance of fifty paces or more, to the thatched hut where
the sale of slaves was carried on.

There was nobody in this hut, but looking between the posts upon which it was
supported, they could see by the light of the moon, now growing momentarily
clearer, that a great and uproarious concourse of people was gathered beyond in
front of the verandah of the Nest itself.

“Come on, Otter,” whispered Leonard, “we must go among these
gentry. Watch me closely, do what I do, keep your weapons ready, and if it
comes to blows, get behind my back and fight like a fiend. Above all,
don’t be taken prisoner.”

Leonard spoke calmly, but his heart was in his mouth, and his sensations were
such as must have been known to Daniel when he went into the lions’ den,
for, as in the case of the prophet, he felt that nothing short of a special
Providence could save them. They were round the shed now, and immediately in
front of them was a mixed gathering of desperadoes—Portuguese, Arabs,
Bastards, and black men of various tribes—such as Leonard had never seen
in all his experience.

Villainy and greed were written on every countenance; it was a crew of human
demons, and an extensive one. These wretches, most of whom had already drunk
too freely and were drinking more, stood with their backs to them, looking
towards the verandah of the Nest. On the steps of this verandah, surrounded by
a choice group of companions, all of them gaudily dressed, a man was standing
whom Leonard would have had no difficulty in identifying as the Dom Pereira,
even without Otter’s warning whisper of “See! The Yellow
Devil!”

This remarkable person demands some description as he stood in glory that
night, at the apex and, though he knew it not, the conclusion of his long
career of infamy. He was old, perhaps seventy, his hair was white and
venerable-looking, and his person obese. His black eyes were small, cunning,
cold, and bright, and they had the peculiarity of avoiding the face of any
person with whom he chanced to be in conversation, at least when that person
was looking his way. Their glance passed over him, under him, round him,
anywhere but at him.

As his sobriquet suggested, the colouring of Pereira’s flesh was yellow,
and the loose skin hung in huge wrinkles upon his cheeks. His mouth was large
and coarse, and his fat hands twitched and grasped continually, as though with
a desire of clutching money. For the rest he was gorgeously dressed, and, like
his companions, somewhat in liquor.

Such was the outward appearance of Pereira, the fountain-head of the
slave-trade on this part of the coast, who was believed in his day to be the
very worst man in Africa, a pre-eminence to which few can hope to attain. Until
his face had been seen, stamped as it was with the traces of long and
unmentionable wickedness, few honest men could guess to what depths humanity
can sink. Some indeed have declared that to see him was to understand the Evil
One and all his works.

Chapter XII.

A CHOICE LOT

At the moment of Leonard’s and Otter’s introduction to his society,
the Yellow Devil was about to make a speech, and all eyes were fixed on him so
intently that none saw or heard the pair approach.

“Now, my friends, make a path, if you please,” said Leonard in a
loud voice and speaking in Portuguese. “I wish to pay my respects to your
chief.”

A dozen men wheeled round at once.

“Who are you?” they cried, seeing a stranger.

“If you will be so kind as to let me pass, I shall be most happy to
explain,” Leonard answered, pushing his way through the throng.

“Who is that?” cried Pereira in coarse, thick tones. “Bring
him here.”

“There, you hear him—let us through, friends,” said Leonard,
“let us through!”

Thus adjured the throng opened a path, and Leonard and Otter passed down it,
many suspicious eyes scanning them as they went.

“A greeting to you, senor,” said Leonard when they had emerged in
front of the verandah.

“Curse your greeting! Who in Satan’s name are you?”

“A humble member of your honourable profession,” said Leonard
coolly, “come to pay his respects and do a little business.”

“Are you? You don’t look it. You look like an Englishman. And who
is that abortion, pray?” and he pointed to Otter. “I believe that
you are spies, and, by the Saints, if you are, I am the man to deal with
you!”

“This is a likely story,” said Leonard laughing, “that one
man and a black dog should venture into the headquarters of gentlemen like you,
not being of the cloth. But I think there is a noble gentleman among
you—I mean the Senor Xavier—who can vouch for me. Did he not send a
note to Captain Pierre, whose dhow lies in the harbour yonder, hailing from
Madagascar? Well, Captain Pierre has the honour of accepting his invitation and
arrives here, not without difficulty. Now he begins to think that he would have
done better to stick to his ship.”

“That is all right, Pereira,” said Xavier, a huge Portuguese with a
dash of negro blood and a villainous countenance, the same man whom they had
followed through the gate. “I sent a note to the Senor. I told you of
it.”

“Then I wish you had left it alone,” snarled Pereira for an answer.
“I don’t like your friend’s looks. He might be the captain of
an English man-of-war rigged up in our dress.”

At the words “English man-of-war” a murmur of fear and anger went
through the assembly. Some of those present had experience of these hated
vessels and their bigoted crews, who loved not this honest commerce, and to all
they were names of ill-omen. Things looked serious, and Leonard saw that he
must do something, and quickly. So he lost his temper, or pretended to do so.

“Curse you all for a pack of suspicious curs!” he said; “I
tell you that my dhow lies yonder. I am half an Englishman and half a Creole,
and as good a man as any of you. Now look here, Dom Pereira, if you, or any of
your crew, dare to doubt my word, just step out, and I will ram this down your
lying throat;” and placing his hand on the hilt of his sabre, he took a
pace forward and scowled.

The effect was instantaneous. Pereira turned a little pale beneath his yellow
skin, for like most cruel men he was a great coward.

“Put up your pig-sticker,” he said; “I see you are one of the
right sort. I only wanted to try you. As you know, we must be careful in our
business. Come and shake hands, brother, and be welcome. I trust you now, and
old Antonio never does things by halves.”

“Perhaps you had better try him a little further,” said a young man
who was standing near Pereira, as Leonard prepared to accept the invitation;
“send for a slave and let us have the old test—there is none
better.”

Pereira hesitated and Leonard’s blood turned cold.

“Look here, young man,” he said more furiously than before,
“I have cut the throats of more men than you have whipped, but if you
want a test, I will give you one. Come down, my young cockerel, come down;
there is plenty of light for comb-snipping.”

The man turned white with rage, but stood a moment contemplating
Leonard’s athletic form and keen eyes. Apparently he found that in them
which gave him pause, for instead of springing at him, he burst into a volume
of threats and filthy abuse.

How the matter would have ended it is difficult to say, but at this juncture
Pereira thought it well to interfere, and vigorously.

“Peace!” he thundered in his great voice, his white hair bristling
with rage. “I have welcomed this man, and he is welcome. Is my word to be
set aside by a drunken young brawler like you? Shut your ugly mouth or, by the
Saints, I will have you clapped in irons.”

The slave-driver obeyed; perhaps he was not sorry for an excuse to escape the
quarrel. At any rate with a scowl at Leonard he dropped back and was silent.

Harmony being thus restored, Pereira proceeded with the business of the
evening. First, however, he called Leonard to him, shook him by the hand, and
bade a slave-girl bring him drink. Then he addressed the company thus:

“My lambs, my dear companions, my true and trusted friends, this is a sad
moment for me, your old leader, for I stand here to bid you good-bye. To-morrow
the Nest will know the Yellow Devil no more, and you must find another captain.
Alas! I grow old, I am no longer up to the work, and trade is not what it was,
thanks to those infernal Englishmen and their cruisers, which prowl up and down
our waters, seeking to rob honest men of the fruits of their enterprise. For
nearly fifty years I have been connected with the business, and I think that
the natives of these parts will remember me—not angrily, oh! no, but as a
benefactor. For have not some twenty thousand of their young people passed
through my hands, rescued by me from the curse of barbarism and sent to learn
the blessings of civilisation and the arts of peace in the homes of kind and
indulgent masters?

“Sometimes, not often, but now and again, there has been bloodshed in the
course of our little expeditions. I regret it. But what will you? These people
are so obstinate that they cannot see how well it is for them to come under my
wing. And if they try to injure us in our good work, why, we must fight. We all
know the bitterness of ingratitude, but we have to put up with it. It is a
trial sent to us from Heaven, my lambs, always remember that. So I retire with
such modest gains as I have won by a life of labour—indeed, they have
gone before me, lest some of you might be put in the way of temptation—to
spend the evening of my day in peace and prayer.

“And now there is one more little thing. As it chanced during our last
journey, the daughter of an accursed Englishman fell into our hands. I took her
and brought her here, and as her guardian I have asked you to meet me to-night,
that I may choose her a husband, as it is my duty to do. I cannot keep her
myself, for among the settled people near Mozambique, where I am going to live,
her presence might lead to awkward questions. So I will be generous and pass
her on to another.

“But to whom shall I give this prize, this pearl, this sweet and lovely
maid? Among so many worthy gentlemen how can I set one above the others and
declare him most deserving of the girl? I cannot, so I must leave it to chance,
for I know that Heaven will choose better than I. Therefore to him who is ready
to make the largest present to me I will give this maid, to comfort him with
her love; to make a present, mind you, not to pay a price. Still, perhaps, it
will be best that the amount of the donation should be ascertained in the usual
way, by bidding—in ounces of gold, if you please!

“One condition more, there shall be nothing irregular in this matter, my
friends. The Church shall have its say in it, and he whom I select must wed the
maid, here, before us all. Have we not a priest at hand, and shall we find no
work for him? Now, my children, time draws on. Ho! you, bring out the English
girl.”

This speech was not delivered quite so continuously as it is printed here. On
the contrary, it was subject to many interruptions, mostly of an ironical
nature, the allusions to “a present” to be given for the girl and
to the proposed marriage ceremony being received with screams of ribald
laughter.

Now the noise died away, for every eye watched for the appearance of Juanna.

In a few moments a figure clad in white and guarded by several men was seen
advancing from the direction of the arms-house. This figure came on through the
moonlight with a swift agile step, looking neither to the right nor to the
left, till it arrived in front of the verandah and halted. Then it was that
Leonard first saw Juanna Rodd. She was very tall and slight, her dark hair was
twisted into a single knot at the back of her shapely head, her features were
small, her face fair in colouring and somewhat rounded in form. So much he saw
at a glance, but it was not until she looked up and round her that Leonard
discovered the girl’s peculiar glory, the glory of her eyes. Then and in
that light he was unable to distinguish their colour, a difficult task at any
time, for they varied from grey to blue according to the shadows which fell
upon them, but he could see that they were wide and splendid, fearless and yet
soft. For the rest she was clad in an Arab robe richly worked, and wore sandals
upon her feet.

Juanna stopped in front of the verandah and searched it with her eyes.
Presently they ceased their searching and she spoke in a clear, sweet voice.

“What do you want with me now, Dom Antonio Pereira?” she said.

“My dove,” he answered in his coarse, mocking tones, “do not
be angry with your slave. I promised you, my dove, that I would find a husband
for you, and now all these gallant gentlemen are gathered for the choice. It is
your marriage-hour, my dove.”

“Dom Antonio Pereira,” the girl answered, “for the last time
I plead to you. I am helpless here among you, and I have done you no injury:
let me go unharmed, I pray of you.”

“Let you go unharmed? Why, who would hurt you, my dove?” answered
the satyr. “Yes, that is what I mean to do. I will let you go to a
husband.”

“I shall never go to any husband of your choosing, Dom Antonio,”
Juanna said again in a low and steady voice. “Be assured of that, all of
you. I have no fear of you, for God will help me in my need. And now, as I have
pleaded to you for the last time, so for the last time I warn you, Dom Antonio,
and your wicked companions also. Go on with this iniquity if you will, but a
judgment awaits you. Death from Heaven above is near to you, you murderer, and
after death, vengeance.”

Thus she spoke, not loud indeed, but with conviction, a power, and a dignity of
mien that carried terror to the hearts of the most hardened villains there. It
was at the conclusion of her speech that her eyes first met those of Leonard
Outram. He was bending forward to listen, and in his grief and anger he had
forgotten to preserve the truculent expression which it was his part to wear.
Once more Leonard’s face was the face of an English gentleman, noble and
open, if somewhat stern.

Their eyes met, and there was that in his which caused Juanna to pause. She
looked at him swiftly as though she would read his very soul, and in answer he
put all his will and heart’s desire into his gaze, the will and the
desire that she should know him to be her friend. They had never met before,
she did not even dream of his existence, and there was little in
Leonard’s outward appearance to distinguish him from the ruffians by whom
he was surrounded. Yet her quick sense, sharpened by despair, read what was
written in his eyes, and read it aright. From that moment Juanna felt that she
was not alone among these wolves, that there was one person at least who would
save her if he could.

In an instant she had searched his face and dropped her eyes again, fearing
lest she should awake suspicion. Then came a pause, for the minds of men were
disturbed; she had aroused some remnant of conscience in them, she had called
to life a lively terror of vengeance to come, of vengeance very near at hand.
All were affected more or less, but chiefly was he affected to whom she had
addressed her words. The Yellow Devil sank back into the chair from which he
had risen to speak, a wonderful chair made of ebony inlaid with ivory, and
string-seated, with a footstool attached to it. Superstitious dread took hold
of him, and he shivered visibly.

The scene was one which Leonard never forgot. Above the bright moon shone in
the heavens, before him were rank upon rank of evil faces, each marked with
some new emotion, and standing alone in their midst was the beautiful girl,
proud in the depth of her shame, defiant even in the power of foes gathered to
destroy her.

For a while the wind had dropped and the silence was deep, so deep was it that
Leonard could hear the mew of a kitten which had crept from the verandah, and
was rubbing itself against Juanna’s feet. She heard it also, and,
stooping, lifted the little creature and held it to her breast.

“Let her go!” said a voice from the crowd. “She is a witch
and will bring ill-luck upon us.”

At the sound Pereira seemed to awake. With a hideous oath he flung himself from
the chair and waddled down the steps towards his victim.

“Curse you, you slut!” he said, “do you think to frighten men
with your threats? Let God help you if He can. The Yellow Devil is god here.
You are as much in my power as this brute,” and he snatched the kitten
from her arms and dashed it to the ground. “You see, God does not help
the kitten, and He will not help you. Here, let men see what they are going to
buy,” and gripping the breast of her white robe he rent it open.

With one hand Juanna gathered up the torn dress, and with the other she began
to do something to her hair. An agony of fear took hold of Leonard. He knew the
story of the poison which she carried: was she about to use it?

Once again their eyes met, and there was warning in his glance. Juanna loosed
her hair indeed, and let it fall about her shoulders, covering her rent robe to
the waist, but she did no more. Only after this Leonard saw that she kept her
right hand closed, and knew that her death was hidden within it. Then she spoke
once more to Pereira.

“In your last hour may you remember these two deeds!” she said,
pointing to the writhing kitten and to her torn dress.

Now slaves drew near to do their master’s bidding, but that audience
would not suffer this.

“Leave her alone,” they said; “we can see that the girl is
fair and perfect.”

Then the slaves hung back, nor did Pereira repeat his commands.

Returning to the verandah, he stood by the chair, and, taking an empty glass in
his hand by way of an auctioneer’s hammer, he began:

“Gentlemen, I am going to offer you a very choice lot, so choice that it
makes up all the sale. The lot is a white girl, half English and half
Portuguese by blood. She is well educated and devout; as to her docility I can
say nothing, that will be for her husband to attend to. Of her beauty I need
not speak; you can all see it yourselves. Look at that figure, that hair, those
eyes; have any of you known their equal?

“Well, this lot will be sold to him among you who is inclined to make me
the largest present in compensation; yes, he may take her this very hour, and
my blessing with her. But there are conditions: he whom I approve must be
lawfully married to the girl by the priest Francisco here,” and turning
he pointed to a small melancholy-looking man, with a womanish face and dark
blue eyes, who stood in the background, clothed in a somewhat tattered
priest’s robe. “Then I shall have done my duty by her. One more
thing, gentlemen: we are not going to waste time in little bids; the upset
price will be thirty ounces.”

“Silver?” said a voice.

“Silver? No, of course not. Do you think you are bidding for a nigger
girl, fool? Gold, man, gold! Thirty ounces of gold, and payment to be made on
the nail.”

There was a groan of disappointment, and one ruffian cried out:

“What are we poor fellows to do? Thirty ounces for a beginning! Where is
our chance?”

“What are you to do? Why, work hard at your profession, and grow rich, of
course! Do you suppose that these prizes are for the poor? Now then, the fair
is open. Who bids for the white girl Juanna? Thirty ounces is offered. What
advance, what advance?”

“Thirty-five,” said a wizened little man with a hectic cough, who
looked fitter for a burial than a bridal.

“Forty!” cried another, a pure-bred Arab of stately appearance and
saturnine expression, who wished to add to his harem.

“Forty-five,” answered the wizened man.

Then the Arab bid fifty, and for a while it seemed that these two alone were
competitors. When the bids had reached seventy ounces the Arab muttered
“Allah!” and gave up. He preferred to wait for the houris.

“Knock her down,” said the wizened man, “she is mine.”

“Hold on a bit, my little friend,” said the great Portugee, Xavier,
who had passed the water-gate before Leonard and his companions. “I am
going to begin now. Seventy-five.”

“Eighty,” said the little man.

“Eighty-five,” answered Xavier.

“Ninety,” screamed the other.

“Ninety-five,” said Xavier.

“A hundred,” yelled the small man, snapping his fingers.

“A hundred and five,” replied Xavier, triumphantly capping his bid.

Then with a curse his antagonist gave up also, and the mob shouted, thinking
that Xavier had won.

“Knock her down, Pereira,” said Xavier in his turn, as he surveyed
his prize with affected nonchalance.

“Wait a moment,” put in Leonard, speaking for the first time.
“I am going to begin now. A hundred and ten.”

The multitude shouted again, the contest was growing exciting. Xavier glared at
Leonard and bit his fingers with rage. He was very near his limit of possible
expenditure.

“Now then,” cried Pereira, licking his lips for joy, since the
price had already run twenty ounces higher than he expected, “Now then,
friend Xavier, am I to knock down this beauty to the stranger captain Pierre?
It sounds a lot, but she is cheap at the price, dirt cheap. Look at her and bid
up. But mind, it is cash down—no credit, no, not for an ounce.”

“A hundred and fifteen,” said Xavier, with the air of a man making
his last throw for fortune.

“A hundred and twenty,” replied Leonard quietly.

He had bid to the last ounce in his possession, and if Xavier went further he
must give in, unless, indeed, he chose to offer Soa’s ruby in payment.
This, needless to say, he was not anxious to do; moreover, no one would believe
a stone of that size to be genuine. Of all this, however, Leonard showed
nothing in his face, but turning coolly he called to a slave-girl to bring him
spirits and busied himself with filling his glass. His hand never trembled, for
he knew well that his antagonist was watching for a cue, and if he showed
uncertainty all might be lost. But in his heart, Leonard wondered what he
should do if another ounce was bid.

Meanwhile the spectators were shouting encouragement, and Pereira was urging
Xavier to increase his offer. For a while the Portugee hesitated, surveying
Juanna, who stood pale and silent, her head bowed upon her breast. At this
juncture Leonard turned, the glass still in his hand.

“Did you make any advance, senor?” he asked.

“No, curse you! Take her. I will not put down another ounce for her or
any woman on the earth.”

Leonard only smiled and looked at Pereira.

“Going!” said that worthy; “the white girl, Juanna, is going
to the stranger Pierre for one hundred and twenty ounces of gold. Going! Come,
Xavier, don’t lose her. If you do you will only be sorry once, and that
will be always. Now, for the last time,” and he lifted his glass in his
hand and paused.

Xavier made a step forward and opened his lips to speak.

Leonard’s heart stood still, but presently the Portugee changed his mind
and turned away.

“Gone!” screamed Pereira, bringing the glass down so heavily
on the arm of his chair that it flew into fragments.

Chapter XIII.

A MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE

“Gone,” said Pereira again. “Now, friend Pierre, before we
ratify this matter by the aid of holy Church, perhaps you will table the gold.
This is a cash transaction, remember.”

“Certainly,” answered Leonard. “Where is that black dog of
mine, the dwarf? Ah! there he is. Dog, weigh out the stuff; if you have not
enough, here is more.” And he unbuckled his belt, from which he had been
careful to extract the ruby, and threw it to Otter.

“Now, gentlemen and companions,” he went on, “for I hope that
we may do business together by and by, drink my health and my bride’s. I
have paid pretty dear for her, but what of it? A gentleman of our profession
should always be ready to back his fancy, for if his is apt to be a short life
he may as well make it a merry one.”

“She will think the better of you, and you of her for it,” cried a
voice. “Here is to Captain Pierre and the girl.” And they drank,
shouting aloud in their half-drunken merriment.

Meanwhile Otter, advancing with obsequious steps, was pouring handful after
handful of gold coin and ingots into the large scales which Pereira caused to
be held before him. At length all the gold was in, a shining heap.

“The balance does not turn,” said Xavier; “I claim the
girl.”

“Baas,” said Otter in a low voice, and speaking in Dutch,
“have you more gold? The weight is short.”

Leonard glanced carelessly at the scales: they were trembling on the turn.

“As much as you like,” he said, “but here is what will do
it.”

And drawing off his signet ring he threw it on the pile. The ruby excepted, it
was the last thing of value that he had about him. Then the scale vibrated and
sank down.

“Good,” said Pereira, rubbing his hands at the sight of so much
treasure. “Bring me the acid that I may test the stuff. No offence,
stranger Pierre, but this is a wicked world, in which brass has passed for gold
before to-day.”

The acid was brought and the ingots were tested at hazard, Pereira holding them
up to the light of a lamp.

“They are good,” he said. “Now, Father, do your part.”

The priest Francisco stepped forward. He was very pale and seemed terrified.
Leonard, watching him, wondered what had brought him into such company, for the
man’s face was good and even refined.

“Dom Antonio,” said the priest in a soft girlish voice, “I
protest against this. Fate has brought me among you, though not of my own will,
and I have been forced to bear the sight of much evil, but I have wrought none.
I have shriven the dying, I have ministered to the sick, I have comforted the
oppressed, but I have taken no share of the price of blood. I am a priest of
our holy Church, and if I wed these two before the sight of men, they will be
husband and wife till death, and I shall have set the seal of the blessing of
the Church upon an act of shame. I will not do it.”

“You will not do it, you shaveling traitor?” screamed Pereira in a
voice hoarse with rage. “Do you want to follow your brother then? Look
here, my friend, either you obey me and marry these two or——”
and he hissed a horrible threat.

“NO, no,” said Leonard, anxious to find an escape from this
abominable mockery. “Let him be. What do the cheat’s prayers
matter? The lady and I can do without them.”

“I tell you, stranger, that you shall marry the girl, and this sniveller
must marry you. If you don’t, I will keep both her and the gold. And as
for him, he can choose. Here, slaves, bring the sjamboch.”

Francisco’s delicate face flushed pink. “I am no hero that I can
suffer thus,” he said; “I will do your bidding, Dom Antonio, and
may God forgive me the sin! For you, Pierre and Juanna, I am about to make you
man and wife, to join you in a sacrament that is none the less holy and
indissoluble because of the dreadful circumstances under which it is
celebrated. I say to you, Pierre, abandon your wickedness, and love and cherish
this woman, lest a curse from heaven fall upon you. I say to you, Juanna, put
your trust in God, the God of the fatherless and oppressed, who will avenge
your wrongs—and forgive me. Let water be brought, that I may consecrate
it—water and a ring.”

“Here, take this one,” said Pereira, lifting Leonard’s signet
ring from the pile of gold. “I give it back for a luck-penny.”

And he tossed the ring to the priest.

Water was brought in a basin, and the father consecrated it.

Then he bade Leonard stand by the girl and motioned to the crowd to fall back
from them. All this while Leonard had been watching Juanna. She said no word,
and her face was calm, but her eyes told him the terror and perplexity which
tore her heart.

Once or twice she lifted her clenched right hand towards her lips, then dropped
it without touching them. Leonard knew but too well what deed she meditated. He
knew also the deadly nature of the drug she carried. If once it touched her
tongue! The suspense was terrible. He could bear it no longer; even at the risk
of discovery he must speak with her.

In obedience to the priest’s direction he sauntered to her side laughing.
Then, still laughing, with his hand he separated the tresses of dark hair, as
though to look at the beauty of her side face, and bent down as if to kiss her.

She stood pale and rigid, but once more her hand was lifted towards her mouth.

“Stop,” he whispered swiftly into her ear, speaking in English,
“I have come to rescue you. Go through with this farce, it means nothing.
Then, if I bid you, run for the drawbridge into the slave-camp.”

She heard, a light of intelligence shone in her eyes, and her hand fell again.

“Come, stop that, friend Pierre,” said Pereira suspiciously.
“What are you whispering about?”

“I was telling the bride how beautiful I think her,” he answered
carelessly.

Juanna turned and flashed on him a well-simulated glance of hate and scorn.
Then the service began.

The young priest was gifted with a low and beautiful voice, and by the light of
the moon he read the ritual of marriage so solemnly that even the villains who
stood round ceased their jokes and sneers and were silent. All things were done
in order, though Juanna made no reply to the usual questions. With much sham
courtesy the loathsome Pereira presided over the ceremony—their hands
were joined, the ring was set upon Juanna’s finger, the blessing was
pronounced, and it was finished.

All this while Leonard stood like a man in a dream. He felt as though he were
really being married; it even came into his mind, as he looked upon the
loveliness of the mock bride at his side, that a worse fate might befall him.
Then of a sudden he woke from his reverie—the farce was played, now they
must strive to escape.

“There, that is done with, Dom Antonio,” he said, “and I
think I heard this lady whisper that with your permission we will bid you
good-bye. My canoe——”

“Nonsense, you will stop here to-night,” said Pereira.

“Thanks, I think not,” answered Leonard. “To-morrow I may
return to do a little business of another kind. I have a commission for about
fifty, at a good price for the right sort.”

As Leonard spoke thus, glancing to the east, he saw dense masses of vapour
rising into the air far away. The damp reeds were fired at last. The Settlement
men had not failed in their task, and soon the flames would be discovered; he
must be gone and swiftly.

“Well, if you must, you must,” answered Pereira, and Leonard
observed that he looked relieved as he said it. He did not know the reason at
the time. It was this: Juanna had told him that the man who bought her would
find his death in it. He had a superstitious fear of the girl, and believed
her; therefore he was glad that her purchaser should go, lest it might be said
that he had murdered him in order to retain both the woman and her price. So he
bade him farewell, and Leonard turned to depart, followed by Otter and Juanna,
whom he led by the hand.

All might have gone well for that time had it not been for an unlucky chance.
Leonard’s scheme was to walk towards the water-gate, but, if no better
plan of reaching it should offer, to turn suddenly and run for the drawbridge,
where Soa and the others would be waiting, and thence, with or without the
people of Mavoom, to escape up the banks of the Zambesi.

Already he had started when the great Portuguese, Xavier, who was watching
plunged in sullen thought, stepped forward. “At least I will have a kiss
for my trouble,” he said, and seizing Juanna round the waist, he drew her
towards him.

Then it was that Leonard forgot his caution, as under such circumstances a man,
with nerves already strained to breaking point, well might do. Doubling his
fist, he struck the giant in the face with such force that Xavier fell headlong
to the ground, dragging Juanna after him. Leonard would have done better had he
suffered her to be insulted, but just then he remembered only that he was
protecting a helpless girl.

Juanna was up in a moment and at his side. Xavier also sprang to his feet,
cursing with fury and drawing his sabre as he rose.

“Follow me,” said Leonard to Juanna and Otter. Then without more
ado he took to his heels.

A shout of laughter went up from the mob.

“This is the brave man. This is the French fire-eater,” they cried.
“He strikes unawares and is afraid to fight.” Nor did they stop at
words. All of them were jealous of the stranger, and would have rejoiced to see
him dead.

“Stop him!” they shouted, and many of the men started, running like
dogs to turn a hare.

Still Leonard might have won through, for he was swift of foot. But neither
Juanna nor Otter could run so fast as he, and his pace must be their pace.
Before he had gone a hundred yards he found himself confronted by a dozen or
more of the slavers, some of whom had knives in their hands.

“Stop, coward, stop and fight,” they yelled in Portuguese and
Arabic, waving their weapons in his face.

“Certainly,” answered Leonard, wheeling round and glancing about
him.

There, not thirty yards away, was the drawbridge of the slave camp, and he
thought that he saw it tremble, as if it was about to fall. At his side were
Otter and Juanna, and towards him, his hideous face red with blood, rushed the
great Portugee, sabre aloft, and screaming imprecations.

“Otter,” Leonard said quickly, as he drew his sword, “guard
my back, for when I have killed this one the rest will spring. For you, young
lady, reach the bridge if you can. Soa and your people are there.”

Now Xavier was upon him with a rush. He struck furiously, and Leonard avoided
the blow, springing backwards out of his reach. Twice more he rushed on thus
and twice he smote, but each time Leonard ran backward towards the drawbridge,
that now was not more than twenty yards away. A fourth time the Portugee came
on, and the Englishman could not repeat his tactics, for the mob hemmed him in
behind. On sped Xavier and smote his hardest: Leonard saw the steel gleam in
the moonlight and lifted his sword to guard. The blow fell, fire sprang from it
in sparks, and down rattled fragments of shattered steel. His sword was broken.

“Fight on, Baas,” said the voice of Otter, “fight on! Both
swords have gone.”

Leonard looked up. It was true: the Portugee was casting aside his broken
weapon and clutching at his knife. Now Leonard had no knife, and at the moment
he never thought of his revolver. But he still held the hilt of his sword, and
with it he sprang straight at Xavier, who rushed to meet him.

They met with a dull shock as bull meets bull. Leonard struck one blow with the
broken sword-hilt, then dropped it—it was useless. But the stroke did him
good service, for, falling on the right hand of the Portugee, it paralysed his
arm for a second, causing him to let fall the dagger. Then they gripped each
other, fighting desperately with their naked strength alone. Twice the huge
Portugee lifted the Englishman from the ground, striving to throw him, while
the crowd yelled with excitement, but twice he failed. Not for nothing had
Leonard learnt wrestling as a lad and hardened his iron muscles by years of
toil. Xavier may have weighed sixteen stone and Leonard did not weigh thirteen,
but his arms were like bars of steel and he was struggling for dear life.

He waited awhile, letting the Portugee exhaust himself in efforts to hurl him
to the ground. Then suddenly tightening his grip, Leonard put out all his
strength. He could not hope to lift the man, that he knew, but he might throw
him. With a sudden movement he hooked his right leg behind Xavier’s left
calf. Then he cast his weight forward and pushed with all his strength upon the
great man’s breast.

Xavier tottered, recovered himself, tottered again, and strove to shift his
leg. Leonard felt the movement and met it with a supreme effort. Losing his
balance, his foe swayed slowly backwards like a falling tree, then fell with a
thud that shook the ground. It was a gallant throw, and even the “ranks
of Tusculum” as represented by the slave-drivers “could scarce
forbear to cheer.” Now Leonard lay upon the breast of the man, for he was
dragged to earth with him.

For a moment his enemy was still, breathing stertorously, for the shock of
their fall had been great. Leonard looked round; there, some eight feet away,
was the knife, and he who could grasp it must win this deadly game. But how
could he grasp it? Xavier, whose strength and powers were coming back, still
hugged him in his fearful grip; he also saw the knife, and would win it.
Rapidly, by instinct almost, Leonard measured the distance with his eye. There
was but one plan, to roll to it. The first roll would leave him undermost, but
the dagger would still be out of Xavier’s reach. Then, could he succeed
in turning him upon his back once more, Leonard would be uppermost again, and
if he was able to free his hand it might grasp the weapon. It was a terrible
risk, but he must take it. He lay motionless awhile, husbanding his force, and
the Portugee surged and heaved beneath him; he could feel the muscles of his
mighty frame start up in knots as he struggled. At last Leonard let him have
his way, and over they went, the two of them. Now Xavier was uppermost, and the
mob yelled in triumph, for they thought that the stranger’s strength was
spent.

“The knife, the knife!” gasped Xavier, and one of his servants
sprang forward to give it to him. But Otter was watching and started out of the
press, naked sabre in hand: his fierce and ugly face was twitching with
excitement, his black eyes shone, and his vast shoulders worked to and fro. To
Juanna, fascinated by the fearful struggle, the dwarf looked like some black
gnome, like a thing of supernatural power, half toad, half human.

“He who touches the knife dies!” he said in guttural Arabic,
stretching his long arm and sabre over it. “Let these cocks fight it out,
my masters.”

The man shrank back: he also was afraid of Otter, deeming him uncanny; nor did
any other interfere.

Now came the moment of death or victory. As he could not reach the weapon, with
a sudden movement Xavier freed his right hand and grasped the
Englishman’s throat; but to do this he must lessen the pressure on his
breast. Leonard felt the grip, and the knowledge that his end was at hand
renewed his powers. Twice he writhed like a snake, gripping the ground with the
muscles of his back and legs; once he swung his frame to the right, then a vast
effort, and lo! Xavier turned slowly over like a log of wood, and again Leonard
lay upon his breast.

Leonard lay upon his breast, and his right arm was free and within reach of the
dagger. But the giant’s grasp of his throat was cruel; the blood drummed
in his ears and his senses began to fail. No, he would not die thus and leave
the girl helpless. Where was it? He was blind, he could see nothing but her
white face. He must get free—ah, he knew now!

They thought that he was spent: see! his head fell, when suddenly he lifted
himself and heaved up his arm.

Crash it came full on the forehead of Xavier, that in its turn was pillowed on
the stony earth. The grip slackened. Crash again, a fearful and despairing
blow! Leonard’s throat was free, and the air rushed into his bursting
lungs. Now he could see and grasp the knife, but there was no need to use it.
The great man beneath him flung his arms wide, shivered, and grew still.

Then it was, while men paused wondering at those awful blows, that Juanna,
mindful of her deliverer’s bidding, turned and fled, sick at heart but
unhindered, to the edge of the ditch opposite the drawbridge. Otter also rushed
up and dragged Leonard from the ground.

“Wow!” he cried, “a good fight and a great blow! Dead,
by my mother’s spirit, and no touch of steel. Awake, my father, awake!
for if the boar is down the pigs remain!”

Leonard heard his words dimly and knew their import. With an effort he ceased
to stagger and rested his weight upon the dwarf, much as a man might lean upon
some sturdy post. His breath came back to him and his mind cleared. He looked
round and saw Juanna standing near the bridge like one who hesitates whether to
fly or stay.

“Sirs,” gasped Leonard, “I have fought and I have won. Now
let me go in peace with the girl. Is the man alive?”

A ring of men had crowded round the body of Xavier, and in their centre knelt
the priest Francisco. At this moment he rose and said:

“It is useless to minister to him; he is no more.”

The slavers looked at Leonard with awe not unmixed with admiration. Who had
ever seen such a thing, that one whose strength had been a byword should be
slain with the naked fist? They forgot that it is easy to kill the man whose
head rests upon a stone.

Presently, however, their wonder gave way to rage. Xavier had been a favourite
among them, and they were not minded that he should die unavenged. So they drew
round Leonard scowling and cursing.

“Stand back,” he said, “and let me pass. I fought your friend
fairly; had I wished to take advantage of him, should I not have used
this?” And for the first time he remembered and drew his Colt, the sight
of which cooled their ardour somewhat, for they gave way. “Perhaps you
will give me an arm, Father,” Leonard went on, speaking to the priest,
who was standing by. “I am much shaken.”

Francisco complied, and they started towards Juanna, Otter guarding their rear
with his sabre. Before they had gone ten yards, however, Pereira waddled
towards them after a hasty consultation with one of his captains.

“Seize that man,” he shouted; “he has killed the worthy Dom
Xavier: having first insulted him, he has slain him by violence, and he must
answer for it.”

A dozen ruffians sprang forward at his bidding, only to be met by the sabre and
pistol of Otter, with neither of which were they anxious to make a closer
acquaintance. Leonard saw that the position was very grave, and a thought came
into his mind. “You wish to escape from this place, Father?” he
said rapidly to the priest.

“Yes,” answered Francisco, “it is a hell.”

“Then lead me as swiftly as you may to that bridge; I am hurt and weak,
but there is succour beyond.”

As he spoke the drawbridge, which was not ten yards away, fell with a crash.

“Run across, Juanna Rodd,” cried Leonard in English.

She hesitated, then obeyed. It seemed to Leonard that the look upon her face
said, “How can I leave you?”

“Now, Father,” said Leonard, “make a rush for it,” and
leaning on the priest’s shoulder he stumbled towards the bridge. But he
would never have reached it had it not been for Otter.

“Treason!” roared Pereira; “stop him! Who let down the
bridge?”

A man came on the attack; it was the same young captain that Leonard had
offered to fight before the auction. In his hand was a knife already uplifted
to fall on Leonard’s back when Otter’s sabre flashed and the man
went down.

“Seize the bridge and hold it,” roared Pereira again.

“Wind up! wind up!” yelled Otter in answer, as with sabre and
pistol he held back the mob.

Those on the further side obeyed with such a will that Leonard and the priest
rolled down the slanting planks.

“Otter!” cried Leonard—“good God! he will be
killed!”

By way of answer Otter fired the last barrel of his pistol. Then with a yell,
before his foes could close upon him he sprang like a wild cat straight at the
iron chains of the bridge, which were used to secure it in its place when
needful. At the moment they hung four feet or more above his head, but he
grasped them and shouted to Soa to hoist away.

A man attempted to seize his legs, but Otter kicked him in the face and he fell
into the water. Next second he was out of their reach and rapidly rising high
into the air. Some threw knives and some fired pistol-shots after him, but none
of these touched him.

“Ah! Yellow Devil,” the dwarf cried as he swung, “look behind
you: there is another devil, yellower and fiercer than you.”

Pereira turned and all his company with him, and at that moment, with a
crackling roar, a vast sheet of flame burst up from the morass. The reeds had
caught at last in good earnest, and the strengthening wind was bringing the
fire down upon them.

Chapter XIV.

VENGEANCE

“Treachery! treachery!” screamed Pereira. “The reeds are
fired, and that witch has betrayed us.”

“Ha! ha! ha! ha!” cried Otter again from his airy perch.
“Treachery! treachery! And what if the slaves are loosed? And what if the
gates be barred?”

Hitherto the mob had been silent in their fear and wonder. There they stood
closely packed, a hundred or more of them, staring first at Otter, then at the
advancing flames. Now they found tongue.

“He is a fiend! Kill him! Storm the slave camp! To the gates!” they
yelled in this language and in that.

For many it was their last earthly cry, since at that moment a sheet of flame
burst from the rampart of the camp, followed by the boom of the cannon, and six
pounds of canister swept through the crowd. Right through them it swept,
leaving a wide lane of dead and dying; and such a shriek went up to heaven as
even that place of torment had never heard.

Then they broke and fled this way and that, screaming curses as they went.

When Leonard and the priest had rolled down the rising bridge they found Juanna
standing safely by the guard-house, surrounded by some of the Settlement men.

“To the gun!” he cried, “to the gun! Fire into them! I will
follow you.”

Then it was that he saw Otter left to his death and called out in fear. But
Otter saved himself as has been told, and clambered down the bridge safe and
sound.

Leaning on the dwarf and Francisco, Leonard, followed by Juanna, staggered
along the earthwork to the place where the gun was mounted. Before he had gone
a step he caught sight of the figure of Soa, outlined in bold relief against
the background of the fire and surrounded by many of the freed Settlement men.
At the instant when he saw her she was in the act of springing back from the
breech of the gun, the lanyard in her hand. Then came the roar of the shot and
the shriek of the smitten.

“Wow!” said Otter, “the old woman has not been idle.
She is clever as a man, that one.”

Another minute and they were helping to reload the piece, that is, except Soa,
who was on her knees kissing Juanna’s hands.

“Come, stop that!” said Leonard, sinking to the ground, for he was
utterly exhausted. “Those devils have gone for their arms. They will try
to storm us presently. Is the shot home, Peter? Then run her out, sharp; and
you, Soa, screw her nose down.” Next he bade the freed slaves arm
themselves with stakes or anything that they could find, for of rifles they had
but four, two of which they had found in the guard-house.

Presently the slavers came on with a yell, carrying long planks, by the help of
which they hoped to cross the dike.

“Look out!” said Leonard, “they are going to open fire. Under
the earthwork, every man of you!” And seizing Juanna who was standing
near, he pulled her down into cover.

It was not too soon, for next instant a storm of bullets swept over them. Most
of the men had understood and taken shelter, but some were too slow or too
stupid. Of these one fell dead and two more were hit. Soa and Peter alone took
no heed, and yet they remained unhurt. There stood the woman, while the bullets
whistled round her, laying the gun as coolly as though she had served in the
Royal Artillery, and with her was the head-man, Peter. Peter was shot through
the waist-cloth and a ball cut its way through Soa’s grizzled hair, but
neither of them seemed to notice these trifles.

“They are mad, Baas,” cried Otter, who was watching the enemy over
the top of the embankment. “See! they are coming across the open.”

Leonard looked. The dwarf was right: in their rage and hurry the slavers, half
hidden in a cloud of smoke caused by their rapid firing, were advancing across
the clear space instead of creeping along the edge of the dike. What was more,
the necessity of carrying the planks caused them to pack in groups. Soa gave a
final twist with her lever and waited, her hand on the lanyard. A bullet cut it
in two, but without firing the gun, and she grasped the shortened cord.

“Now for it!” cried Leonard, as the first party came into the line
of fire.

Soa sprang backwards with a yell: again the piece thundered out, and the
canister screamed through the air. It tore along the advancing files, then,
striking the beaten earth, rebounded and caught those who were following with
the ricochet, and with awful effect. Whole groups were mowed down by this one
discharge, the destruction being twice as large as that caused by the first
shot, for at this greater range the canister found room to spread. Also the
rebounding missiles flying hither and thither among the crowd did no little
execution. Down went the men in heaps, and with them the planks they carried.
They had no more wish to storm the slave camp; they had but one thought left,
the thought of safety, and the survivors of them fled in all directions,
yelling with fear and fury.

“Load up, load up!” cried Otter, lifting the charge of powder which
lay at hand. “They will try to break open the gates and get out, then
they will cut us off.”

As he spoke they saw many men run from the auction-shed to the water-gate. But
it could not be climbed, the key was gone, and the massive bolts and beams were
not easy to break. So they brought hammers and a tree-trunk which had supported
an angle of the shed, and battered at the gate. For two minutes or more it
held, then it began to give.

“Swift! swift!” cried Otter again as he dragged at the cannon to
turn it, “or all will yet be lost.”

“Hurry no man’s ox, Black One,” said Soa, as she laid the gun
with the help of Peter.

A cry went up from the slavers; the gate was tottering, but it still held by
the upper hinges. A few more blows and it must surely fall. But those blows
were never struck. Again Soa sprang backwards, and the roar of the gun was
answered by the screams of the slavers as the shrapnel ploughed through them.

Of those who were left the most part fled for shelter to the auction-hut and to
the Nest itself. Some ran across to the magazine, but appeared to be unable to
enter it, for soon they were seen flying back again, while about a dozen of the
boldest remained at the gate trying to complete its destruction. On these
Leonard and Otter opened fire with rifles, but it was not until three or four
of them had fallen that the rest fled to join their companions beneath the
shelter of the sheds.

“Oh! look, look!” said Juanna, pointing to the east.

It was indeed a spectacle never to be forgotten.

The dense reeds, measuring twelve to fifteen feet in height, had been fired far
to the east of the Nest, and as the wind gathered to a gale and the fire got
firmer hold, it rolled down upon the doomed place in billows and sheets—a
sea of flame that sometimes spouted high into the air and sometimes ran swiftly
along the ground.

The reeds crackled and roared like musketry as the fire ate into them, giving
out thick volumes of smoke. At first this smoke had passed above the
spectators, now it blew into their faces, half choking them and blotting out
the sky, and mixed up with it were showers of sparks and fragments of burning
reeds brought forward on the wind.

“The house and sheds will soon catch now,” said Leonard;
“then they must take refuge in the open spaces, where we can deal with
them,” and he nodded towards the gun.

As he spoke tongues of flame darted into the air, first from the thatch of the
shed, then from the roof of the Nest. They were afire.

“We must be careful, Baas,” said Otter, “or the
slave-shelters behind us will burn also, and all those in them.”

“Heavens! I never thought of that,” answered Leonard. “Here,
Father, if you wish to do a good work, take some of these people and the
buckets they use to water the slaves. Let three or four men get on to each roof
and extinguish the sparks as they fall, while others bring them water from the
moat.”

The priest sprang up and set to the task, at which he laboured gallantly for
two long hours. Had it not been for his efforts, the sheds and the slaves in
them must have been burnt, for the sparks fell thick upon the dry thatch, which
caught again and again.

Now the sights and sounds grew more and more fearful. Maddened with fear, the
remainder of the slave-drivers and their servants rushed from the flaming
buildings, striving to escape from the fire. Some flung themselves desperately
into the aloes and prickly-pears on the inner rampart, and, climbing the
palisade beyond, escaped into the marsh, while some collected on the open
space, and at these the gun was fired from time to time when the smoke lifted.
Others again ran to the dike of the slave camp begging for mercy, there to be
shot by Otter, who never wearied in his task of revenge. From behind them also
rose the hideous cries of the slaves, who believed that they were about to be
burned alive, and screamed as they dragged at their manacles.

“Oh, it is like hell!” said Juanna to Leonard, as she buried her
face in the grass that she might see no more, and to escape the suffocating
smoke. She was right.

So the time went on. One by one the roofs of the various buildings fell in, and
spouts of flame shot high into the air to descend about them in a rain of
sparks. But at last the cries ceased, for even the slaves could yell no more;
the fire grew less and less, and the wind dropped. Then the sun rose on the
scene of death and desolation. The morass was swept bare to the depth of many
hundred yards, and the camp was a smoking ruin strewn with the dead. The walls
of the Nest still stood, however, and here and there a charred post remained.
Everything else was gone, except the magazine, which had escaped the flames,
being built of brick and stone, and roofed with tin.

The adventurers looked around them in silence, then they looked at each other.
What a spectacle they presented in the clear light of the morning, as they
stood by the gun which had done them such signal service! All were begrimed
with smoke and powder, and their clothes were burnt by the falling sparks.
Leonard’s throat was a mass of bruises, his hands and face were bleeding,
and he was so stiff and hurt that he could scarcely move. Soa’s hair was
singed and cut by the bullet which had shaved her head; the priest’s robe
hung in charred threads, and his hands were blistered with fire; Juanna’s
broidered Arab dress, torn by the brutal hand of Pereira, scarcely retained a
trace of white, and her long dark locks were tangled and powdered with bits of
blackened reed. All were utterly exhausted—that is, all except Otter, who
advanced to speak to Leonard, begrimed and stripped to the waist, but fresh and
fierce as ever.

“What is it, Otter?” he asked.

“Will the Baas let me take these men,” and he nodded towards the
freed slaves who had belonged to the Settlement, “and hunt through the
camp yonder? Many of the devils still live, and wounded snakes strike
hardest.”

“As you like,” answered Leonard. “Arm them with anything you
can find, and search the camp thoroughly. But be careful.”

In ten minutes Otter was gone with the men. Then Leonard and the others fetched
water and washed as best they might, the guard-house being assigned to Juanna
and Soa, who made their toilet with the help of a comb they found in it. There
also they discovered food, the rations of the sentry, of which they ate with
such appetite as they might, and a plentiful supply of meal for the slaves.

As they were finishing their breakfast Otter returned unharmed, though of the
men who accompanied him five were missing. With him also were two of the four
Settlement men who had been sent to fire the reeds on the previous night. They
were much exhausted, for their task had been no easy one, and fortunately for
Leonard it was only after long delay that they succeeded in it. Their two
companions were dead: one had been taken by an alligator in the water, and the
other had fallen into a deep hole in the morass, and, striking his head against
a log, was drowned there.

“Is it finished?” said Leonard to the dwarf.

Otter nodded. “Some are dead and some are fled,” he answered;
“but from these last we have little to fear, for they believe that an
army has come against them. Still that is not all the tale, Baas. We have taken
one of them alive. Come and look at him, Baas.”

Leonard clambered up the steps of the embankment, followed by the others. On
its further side stood the group of Settlement men who had returned from
scouring the camp, thin and haggard fellows, scarred by the slave-irons, but
very fierce-looking. In their midst a white man crouched upon the ground,
moaning with terror and misery. Just then he lifted his face—it was that
of the Yellow Devil himself. There lay that aged Iniquity, that hoary Shame
caught at last in his own snares.

“Where did you find him, Otter?” asked Leonard as they crossed the
drawbridge.

“In the magazine, Baas, and your gold with him, also many rifles and much
powder. He had locked himself up there, but he had not the heart to fire the
powder and make an end.”

Pereira did not see them as yet, but raising his head he begged for water.

“Give him blood,” said one of the men sullenly. “He has drunk
it all his days, let it be his last drink.”

Leonard motioned to Francisco the priest to bring water, then Pereira saw them
and began to pray for mercy.

“Antonio Pereira,” Leonard answered sternly, “last night I
and two companions, a woman and a black dwarf, set ourselves a task—to
take this armed place of yours and rescue a white girl whom you had condemned
to slavery. It did not seem possible that we should do it, but between sunset
and sunrise we have done it. Who helped us then?—that we should have
carried out this thing which was impossible. I will tell you; God helped us as
He helped this lady when she called on Him. Cry to God, then, to do that which
is still more impossible—to help you. From me you will have justice and
no more.”

For a moment Pereira ceased whining, and a flash of the old ferocity came into
his eyes.

“Ah! my friend,” he muttered, “if I had but known!”
Then turning to Juanna he said: “My dove, have I not treated you kindly?
Will you say no word for me, now that my enemies prevail against me?”

By way of answer Juanna looked first at the human reptile before her, and next
at the bosom of her torn dress, now roughly pinned up with the spikes of aloe
leaves. Then she turned and went.

“Baas,” said Otter, “may I speak?”

“Speak on,” Leonard answered.

“Hearken, Yellow Devil,” said the dwarf. “Ten years ago you
took me, and I lay in this camp a slave; yes, in yonder shed. Here are the
marks of the irons—your own seal. Ah! you have forgotten the black dwarf,
or perhaps you never noticed him; but he remembers. Who could forget you,
Yellow Devil, that once had slept beneath your roof? I escaped, but as I fled I
swore that, if I might, I would bring vengeance upon you. The years went by,
and the hour came at last. I led Baas to this place. I found you this morning,
and we are not parted yet, Yellow Devil. What did you boast last
night—that you had sent twenty thousand of us black people to slavery?
Yes, and for every one that you have sold you have killed five—old men
white with years, women with child, little children at the breast, you have
murdered them all. Ah! yes, I have seen you laugh and kill them before the eyes
of their mothers, as last night you killed the kitten.

“And now your time has come at last, Yellow Devil, and I, Otter the
dwarf, will give you to drink of your own medicine. What! you cry for mercy,
you who never gave it even in a dream? I tell you, did my chief yonder bid me
loose you, I would disobey him even to force; I, who would rather die than put
aside his word on any other matter.

“Look now at these men,” and he pointed to the Settlement people,
who glared hungrily at the crouching wretch, much as hounds glare at a fox that
is held aloft by the huntsman; “look at them! Do you see mercy in their
eyes? They, whose fathers and mothers you have murdered, whose little children
you have stamped to death? Wow! Yellow Devil, the white men tell us of a
hell, a place where dead people are tormented. We know nothing of that, it is
for the white people, and they may keep it all to themselves. Now you are
beginning to taste that hell of yours—only beginning, Yellow Devil.

“Baas Leonard, I demand this man to be tried by us and dealt with
according to our customs, for it is against us black folk that he has sinned
most of all, and we ask his blood in payment for our blood.”

“What!” howled Pereira, “am I to be given over to these black
dogs? Mercy! Mercy! Francisco, plead for me. Shrive me. I know I killed your
brother, I had to do it. Plead for me!” and he rolled in the dust, trying
to clasp Leonard’s feet.

“I cannot shrive you,” answered the priest shuddering, “but I
will pray for you.”

Then the hungry-eyed natives pounced upon Pereira to drag him thence, but
Leonard broke through them saying:

“I will have none of your savage cruelties here. Let the man be shot if
you will, but no more.”

As it chanced, however, Pereira was not destined to die by the hand of man, for
even as Otter gripped him he turned livid, threw up his arms, groaned, and fell
to the earth.

Leonard looked at him; he was dead, dead through the fear of death, for terror
had stopped the beating of his wicked heart.

“The Shepherdess prophesied truly,” cried Otter presently,
“for the Heavens above have robbed us of our vengeance. Wow! it is
hard, but at least this one shall work no more evil.”

“Carry it away,” said Leonard with a shudder, for the dead
man’s face was ghastly to behold. Then turning to him as if nothing had
happened, he added:

“Otter, take these men and loose the rest of the slaves; then get the
ammunition, rifles, and stores from the arms-house and bring them to the
water-gate. We must clear out of this place at once, or we shall have the
escaped slavers and the crews of the dhows down upon us.”

Thus then did fate at last find out Antonio Pereira, the Yellow Devil.

Chapter XV.

DISILLUSION

Once more it was morning, and the travellers were encamped by that reedy point
where they had left the big boats which they cut loose from the island. From
the earliest dawn Leonard had been superintending the transport across the
river of the hundreds of slaves whom they had released. They there were put on
shore by the Settlement men, provided with a store of meal, and left to shift
for themselves, it being found utterly impossible to take them any further.

“There, they are gone,” said Otter, as the last boat-load set out
under the charge of Peter. “Well, let them go, the silly sheep. So much
the less trouble for us, who, although we have a Shepherdess, can scarcely lead
so large a flock. Well, we have pulled the Missie yonder out of the Slave Nest,
and the Yellow Devil—ah! we have talked with him and all his crew. And
now are we to go on to win the gold—the real Yellow Devil, Baas?”

“I suppose so, Otter,” answered Leonard—“that is, if
Soa keeps her word. But it isn’t gold, it is rubies. At any rate we must
make for the Settlement below Sena, to take these men back and see if we can
hear anything of Mavoom.”

“So,” said Otter after a pause. “Well, the Shepherdess, as
these Settlement people call her, will want to find her father. Say, Baas, she
is proud, is she not? She looks over our heads and speaks little.”

“Yes, Otter, she is proud.”

“And she is beautiful; no woman was ever so beautiful.”

“Yes, Otter, she is beautiful.”

“And she is cold, Baas; she does not say ‘thank you’ nicely
for all that you have done.”

“Perhaps she thinks it the more, Otter.”

“Perhaps she thinks it the more. Still, she might say ‘thank
you’ to you, Baas, who are her—husband.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, Baas, that you bought her first, according to our custom, and
married her afterwards according to your own, and if that does not make her
your wife, nothing can.”

“Stop that fool’s talk,” said Leonard angrily, “and
never let me hear you repeat it. It was only a game that we played.”

“As the Baas desires, so be it. I do but speak from my heart when I say
that she is your wife, and some might think that not so ill, for she is fair
and clever. Will the Baas rise and come to the river to bathe, that his
soreness may leave him?”

Leonard took the suggestion, and came back from his bath a new man, for rest
and the cold water had acted on him like magic. He was still stiff, indeed, and
remained lame in one leg for ten days or more, but, with the exception of an
aching of the throat where Xavier had gripped him, no other ill effects were
left. Among the booty of the slave camp was a good supply of clothing, flannel
shirts, corduroy suits, and hats. Casting aside the rags of the Portuguese
uniform in which he had disguised himself, Leonard put on some of these
articles and reappeared in the camp dressed like an ordinary English colonist,
roughly indeed, but becomingly.

Meanwhile Juanna had also been making her toilet, with the help of Soa, who
took this opportunity to tell her mistress the history of her meeting with
Leonard Outram. But, either from design or because she forgot to do so, she did
not at this time tell her about the agreement which had been entered into
between them. As yet Soa had never spoken fully to her mistress of her early
life or of the mysterious People of the Mist from whom she sprang, though she
had taught her the language they spoke. Perhaps, for reasons of her own, she
did not think this a favourable occasion on which to begin the story.

When Soa had finished Juanna fell into a reverie. She remembered that she had
expressed no gratitude to Mr. Outram for his heroic rescue of her. Yet in her
heart she was grateful enough. But for him she must now have been dead, and the
world of light and love would have closed its gates upon her for ever. Still,
mixed up with her gratitude and earnest admiration of the deed of heroism which
had been wrought for her sake, was another feeling, a feeling of resentment and
alarm. This stranger, this dark, keen-eyed, resolute man had bought her as a
slave; more, he had gone through a form of marriage with her that was not all a
form, for it had been solemnly celebrated by a priest, and there on her finger
was the memorial of it. Of course it meant nothing, but the thought of it
angered her and offended her pride.

Like other women, Juanna Rodd had not come to twenty years of age without
dreaming of love, and, strange to say, her fancy had always chosen some such
man as Leonard for the hero of the story. But that the hero should present
himself in this ultra-heroic fashion, that he should buy her with gold, that he
should go through a form of marriage with her within an hour of their first
meeting—for these things she had not bargained. It was a fact—that
marriage was an accomplished fact, although it might be null and void, and the
female mind has a great respect for accomplished facts. To a woman of
Juanna’s somewhat haughty nature this was very galling. Already she felt
it to be so, and as time went on the chain of its remembrance irked her more
and more, a circumstance which accounts for much of her subsequent conduct.

Thinking such thoughts as these, Juanna strolled back towards the camp along a
little pathway in the reeds, and suddenly came face to face with Leonard. She
was clad in a white Arab robe, part of the loot, which she had adapted cleverly
to the purposes of a dress, fastening it round her slender waist with an
embroidered scarf. She wore no hat, and her rich dark hair was twisted into a
great knot that shone in the sunlight. In her hand she held some crimson lilies
which she had gathered, that made a spot of colour on the whiteness of her
dress. The look of haunting terror was gone from her face, whose beauty had
come back during her sleep; her changing eyes shone beneath their dark lashes,
and she moved with the grace of a fawn.

Seen thus in that pure and pearly light against the green background of the
feathered reeds, nothing could have seemed more sweet and lovely than did this
girl, this child of the forest and the river, who mingled in herself the
different beauty of the Saxon and the Spaniard, ripened by the African sun and
dignified by the long companionship of Nature. There was a grace about her
movements, a purity in her face, a mystery in the wide eyes and curved and
smiling lips, such as Leonard had never seen before, and which overcame him
utterly. Alas for the fickleness of the human heart! from that moment the
adoration of his youth, the dream of his lonely years of wandering, Jane Beach,
began to grow faint and fade away. But though this was so, as yet he did not
admit it to himself; indeed, he scarcely knew it.

Juanna looked up and saw him standing before her, proud and handsome, an air of
command upon his thoughtful face, deep-chested, bearded, vigorous, a man
amongst men. She saw the admiration in his eyes and blushed, knowing that, do
what she would to prevent it, it was reflected in her own. She remembered all
that this stranger had done for her, how he had risked his life a hundred
times, how she would now have been dead and unlovely were it not for his
intrepid deeds, and remembering, something stirred at her heart.

Was it gratitude that moved her thus? She did not know; but whatever it was,
she turned her head that he might not read it on her face. Another moment, and
she was holding out her hand to him and smiling pleasantly.

“Good morning,” she said, “I hope that you have slept well,
and that you have no bad news.”

“I spent eight hours in a state of absolute stupor,” he answered
laughing, “and there is no news at all to speak of, except that I have
got rid of those slaves, poor creatures. I fancy that our friends, the
slave-dealers yonder, have had enough of our company, and are scarcely likely
to follow us.”

Juanna turned a shade paler, and answered:

“I trust so. At least I have had enough of them. By the way, Mr. Outram,
I—I—have to thank you for a great deal;” here her eyes caught
the gleam of the gold circlet on the third finger of her left
hand—“this ring belongs to you, I will return it at once.”

“Miss Rodd,” said Leonard gravely, “we have passed through a
very strange adventure together; will you not keep the ring in remembrance of
it?”

Her strong impulse was to refuse. While she wore this ring the thought of that
hateful scene and still more hateful mockery of marriage would be always with
her. And yet, as the words of prompt refusal were on her lips, a feeling, an
instinct, almost a superstition caused them to remain unspoken. “You are
very kind,” she said, “but this is your signet-ring—is not
that what you call it? You cannot wish to give it to a chance
acquaintance.”

“Yes, it is my signet-ring, and if you will look at the crest and motto
you will see that they are not inappropriate. And I do wish to give it even
‘to a chance acquaintance,’ Miss Rodd, if you will allow me no more
intimate term.”

“I have looked at them,” she answered, as she examined the ring
curiously. It was of plain and somewhat massive gold, and deeply cut into the
shield-faced bezel was the Outram crest, a hand holding a drawn sword, beneath
which the motto was engraved. “What is the last word of the motto?”
she went on; “it is so rubbed that I cannot read it—‘For
Home, Honour——‘”

“‘And Heart,’” said Leonard.

Juanna blushed, though why the word “heart” should make her blush
she knew not.

“Well, I will wear the ring, if you wish it, Mr. Outram, in memory of our
adventure—that is, until you ask it back again,” she said
confusedly; then added with a change of tone: “There is one detail of the
adventure that I hope you will not allude to more than you can avoid, for the
recollection of it is most painful to me, probably more so even than to
you.”

“I suppose you mean the ceremony of marriage, Miss Rodd.”

“I mean the wicked and abominable farce in which we were made to play a
part,” she answered passionately. “Most of the witnesses of that
shameful scene are dead and cannot speak of it, and if you will keep your
servant the dwarf silent I will do the same by Father Francisco. Let it be
forgotten by both of us.”

“Certainly, Miss Rodd,” said Leonard, “that is, if anything
so strange can be forgotten. And now, will you come to breakfast?”

She bowed her head in assent and swept past him, the red lilies in her hand.

“I wonder what hold she has over that priest,” thought Leonard to
himself, “that she talked of being able to keep him silent. By the way, I
must find out whether we are to have the pleasure of his company. I would
rather be without him myself. A strange girl! One can account for her beauty,
she inherited that; but it is difficult to understand the manner. By rights she
should be a half-wild hoyden, but I never saw an English lady with more grace
and dignity. Perhaps I have forgotten; it is so long since I associated with
ladies, or perhaps, like beauty, these are natural to her. After all, her
father seems to have been a gentleman of birth, and people who live with nature
may have every fault in the calendar, but they cannot be vulgar. That is the
gift of civilisation.”

When he reached the camp, Leonard found the priest talking confidentially to
Juanna.

“By the way, Father,” he said somewhat brusquely, “as you
see, I have got rid of those slaves. It was impossible to take them with us,
and now they must shift for themselves: at any rate, they are better off than
they were yonder. What are your plans? You have behaved well to us, but I
cannot forget that we found you in bad company. Perhaps you wish to return to
it, and in that case your way lies eastward,” and he nodded towards the
Nest.

“I do not wonder that you distrust me, senor,” said Francisco, his
pale and girlish face colouring as he spoke, “for appearances are much
against me. But I assure you that although I came into the company of Antonio
Pereira by my own will, it was for no evil purpose. To be brief, senor, I had a
brother who fled hither from Portugal because of a crime that he had committed,
and joined Pereira’s band. With much toil I tracked him out, and was
welcomed at the Nest because I am a priest who can comfort the sick and shrive
the dying, for wickedness does not console men at the last, senor. I persuaded
my brother to return with me, and we made a plan to escape. But Pereira’s
ears were long: we were betrayed, and my brother was hanged. They did not hang
me, because of my calling. Afterwards I was kept a prisoner and forced to
accompany the band in their expeditions. That is all the story. Now, with your
permission, I will follow you, for I have no money and nowhere else to go in
this wilderness, though I fear that I am not strong enough to be of much
service, and being of another faith you will scarcely need my
ministrations.”

“Very well, Father,” answered Leonard coldly, “but please
understand that we are still surrounded by many dangers, which any treachery
might cause to overwhelm us. Therefore I warn you that should I detect anything
of the sort my answer to it will be a quick one.”

“I do not think that you need suspect the Father, Mr. Outram,” said
Juanna indignantly. “I owe him a great deal: had it not been for his
kindness and counsel, I should not be alive to-day. I am most deeply grateful
to him.”

“If you vouch for him, Miss Rodd, that is enough. You have had the
advantage of a closer acquaintance than I can boast,” Leonard answered
gravely, mentally contrasting the difference of her manner in acknowledging the
priest’s services and his own.

From that hour till a certain conversation opened his eyes, struggle as he
would against it, Leonard disliked Francisco. He had a foolish British aversion
to his class, and Juanna’s marked partiality towards this particular
individual did not lessen it in this instance. Prejudice is a strong thing, and
when it is heightened by suspicion and jealousy, especially jealousy of the
unacknowledged kind, it becomes formidable, both to him who entertains it and
to him against whom it is entertained.

When their meal was done they proceeded up the river in the boats which they
had captured from the slavers, each boat being rowed by the best oarsmen among
the Settlement men. Including women and children their party numbered some
sixty souls. At evening they passed the island where they had left the company
of slavers, but could see no sign of life upon it, and never learned whether
the men perished or escaped.

An hour later they encamped upon the bank of the river, and it was while they
were sitting round the fire at night that Juanna told Leonard of the horrors
which she had undergone during her dreadful sojourn with the slave caravan. She
told him also how she had torn leaves from the Bible which she chanced to have
with her, and fixed them upon the reeds whenever she could find an opportunity
of so doing, in the hope that they might guide her father, should he return and
attempt her rescue.

“It is all like a nightmare,” she said; “and as for that
hideous farce of marriage with which it ended, I can scarcely bear to think of
it.”

Then Francisco, who had been sitting silent, spoke for the first time.

“You speak, senora,” he said in his subdued voice, “of that
‘hideous farce of marriage,’ and I suppose you mean the ceremony
which I performed between you and the Senor Outram, being forced to the act by
Pereira. It is my duty to tell you both that, however irregular this marriage
may have been, I do not believe it to be a farce. I believe that you are
lawfully man and wife until death shall part you, unless indeed the Pope should
annul the union, as he alone can do.”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” broke in Leonard; “you forget that
there was no consent; that we are of another religion, and that the form was
necessary to our plot.”

“The Church knows nothing of the reasons which lead to the undertaking of
wedlock,” Francisco answered mildly. “They are various, and many of
them would not bear investigation. But you were married without any open
protest on your part, on Portuguese territory, according to Portuguese custom,
and by a duly qualified priest. The fact that you are of the Protestant
religion, and were united by the Catholic ritual, does not matter at all. For
the purposes of the ceremony you accepted that ritual, as is customary when a
Protestant marries a Catholic. It is disagreeable for me to have to tell you
this, but the truth remains: I believe that you are man and wife before Heaven
and the world.”^[1]

[1]
The Editor does not hold himself responsible for Father Francisco’s views
on ecclesiastical marriage law.

Here Juanna jumped to her feet, and even in that light Leonard could see that
her breast was heaving and her eyes shone with anger.

“It is intolerable that I should be forced to listen to such
falsehoods,” she said, “and if you ever repeat them in my hearing,
Father Francisco, I will not speak to you again. I utterly repudiate this
marriage. Before the ceremony began, Mr. Outram whispered to me to go through
with the ‘farce,’ and it was a farce. Had I thought otherwise I
should have taken the poison. If there is any foundation for what the Father
says, I have been deceived and entrapped.”

“Pardon, senora,” replied the priest; “but you should not
speak so angrily. The Senor Outram and I only did what we were forced to
do.”

“Supposing that Father Francisco is right, which I do not believe,”
said Leonard, with sarcasm, “do you think, Miss Rodd, that such a sudden
undertaking would be more to my liking than to yours? Believe me, had I wished
to ‘deceive and entrap’ you, I could not have done so without
involving myself, since, if the marriage is binding, it is binding on both
parties, and even such a humble individual as I am does not take a wife on the
faith of a five minutes’ acquaintance. To be frank, I undertook your
rescue for purposes far other than those of matrimony.”

“Might I ask what they were?” replied Juanna, in a tone of equal
acerbity.

“Certainly, Miss Rodd. But first I must explain that I am no
knight-errant. I am an almost penniless adventurer, and for urgent reasons of
my own I seek to win fortune. Therefore, when the woman yonder,” and he
pointed to Soa, who was sitting watching them just out of range of the
firelight, “came to me with a marvellous tale of a countless treasure of
rubies, which she promised to reveal to me if I would undertake the little
matter of your rescue, and when she even paid down a specimen stone of
considerable value on account, having nothing better to do and nowhere to go,
being in short desperate, I consented. Indeed, I did more, I took the
precaution of reducing the matter to writing, I being one contracting party,
and Soa, acting on her own behalf and as your attorney, being the other.”

“I have not the least idea to what you allude, nor did I ever give Soa
any authority to sign documents on my behalf. But may I see this
writing?”

“Certainly,” Leonard answered; and rising he went to the baggage,
whence he returned presently with a lantern and the prayer-book.

Juanna placed the lantern beside her and opened the book. The first thing that
she saw was a name on the fly-leaf, “Jane Beach,” and beneath it
this inscription, which evidently had been written by some one in a great
hurry: “To dearest Leonard from Jane. 23 Jan.”

“Turn over,” he said hastily; “the document is on the other
side.”

She was not slow to note both the writing and the confusion which her perusal
of it caused him. Who was Jane Beach, she wondered, and why did she call Mr.
Outram “dearest Leonard”? In a moment, so strange are the hearts of
women, Juanna felt herself much prepossessed against her, whoever she might be.
But she turned the leaf and read the agreement. It was a pretty sight to see
her bending over the cramped writing in the circle of the lantern light, but
when at length she had finished and looked up, there was a smile upon her
lovely face which had more of scorn in it than was pleasant.

“Come hither, Soa,” she said, “and tell me what all this
nonsense means about rubies and the People of the Mist.”

“Shepherdess,” answered Soa, squatting down on the ground before
her, “it is not nonsense. The language which I taught you when you were
little is that of this people. It is a true tale, though hitherto I have hid it
from you and your father, Mavoom, lest Mavoom should seek to win the precious
stones and come to his death through them. Listen, Shepherdess,” and she
repeated the outlines of the story with which she had already made Leonard
acquainted, ending thus:

“I told this tale to the White Man because I saw that he was greedy,
after the fashion of his race, and my strait was desperate. For this reason I
bribed him with the red stone, and with the promise that I would lead him to
the land of the People of the Mist, for had I not done so he would never have
used his wit or put out his strength to rescue you from the Yellow Devil.
Therefore it was also that I marked this paper on your behalf and my own,
knowing well that I had no right to speak for you, and that by and by you could
refuse to abide by it, though I am bound.”

“Frank, at any rate,” said Leonard to himself. “What an
attorney the old lady would have made!”

“Say, Soa,” asked Juanna, “to succeed in the search for these
stones is it necessary that I should act a part among your people?”

“I can see no other way,” she answered. “But what of that?
You are free, and what I promised on your behalf is nothing. Let the White Man
go without his reward, it will save him a long journey.”

“Attorney!” murmured Leonard in admiration; “she ought to be
Attorney-General.”

“Wow! The wicked old cheat!” put in Otter. “If I had
my way I would break her neck, though she is so clever with the big gun.”

Juanna took no notice of these asides. For the moment she remained in thought,
then looked up smiling.

“Really,” she said, “this is a capital legal document. But
oh! Mr. Outram, why did you dispel my illusions? You see, I had been making up
such a romantic story out of this adventure. You were the knight-errant, and I
was the Christian maiden in the hands of the ogre, and when you heard of it you
buckled on your armour and started to the rescue. And now you bring me down to
the nineteenth century with a run.

“It is not knight-errantry, but a commercial transaction: I am in
difficulty, but by playing a certain undefined part you believe that I shall be
able to help you to secure treasure; therefore you agree to undertake the risk.
I am ignorant of what I am to do, for as yet nobody has explained it to me, but
you need have no fear, I shall not repudiate, as Soa suggests with so much
candour. Certainly I shall try my best to help you in this business, if I can,
for you have worked hard and endangered your life, Mr. Outram, and I am sure
that you have earned your money, or rather the prospect of it. Really it is all
very amusing,” and she laughed merrily.

As for Leonard, he sat before her, mad with secret wrath and burning with
shame. What a fool he had been thus to expose himself to the shafts of this
girl’s tongue—this girl, whose beauty was only equalled by her
malice! He wished that his hand had withered before he wrote that accursed
document. But now the only thing to do was to face it out.

“I am glad that you see me in my true light at last, Miss Rodd,” he
said. “It simplifies matters. I entered into that agreement because it
seemed to give me a remote chance of attaining my end, which is money. It does
not quite follow, however, that I should not have attempted your rescue had
there been no agreement; but, of course, I cannot expect you to believe
that.”

“I assure you, Mr. Outram, that I am deeply obliged to you for your
caution. It has lifted a great weight from my mind, for if in any way I can
help you to obtain possession of the valuables of this People of the Mist I
shall have paid off an obligation which at present crushes me.”

“We shall have to start early to-morrow morning, so with your permission
I think that I will be turning in,” said Leonard, springing up with
singular alacrity.

Juanna watched him go with innocent eyes, and as he passed she saw by the
firelight that his face was like a thunderstorm. “I have made him angry
this time,” she thought to herself, “and I am glad of it. What
business had he to rescue me for money? But he is a strange man, and I
don’t think that I quite understand him. I wonder who Jane Beach is. I
suppose that she wants the money. Women generally do, or at least they did in
Durban.”

Then she spoke aloud: “Soa, come here while I undress, and tell me again
all about your meeting with Mr. Outram, and what he said, forgetting nothing.
You have put me to shame, Soa, with your talk, and I will never forgive you.
Tell me also how I can help to win the treasure of the People of the
Mist!”

Chapter XVI.

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

For some days after the acrimonious conversation that has been reported, the
relations between Leonard and Juanna were not a little strained, although the
necessities of travel brought them into continual contact. Both felt that they
had cause of complaint against the other, and both were at heart somewhat
ashamed of the part which they had played. Leonard regretted ever having made
the agreement with Soa, and Juanna, now that she had cooled down a little,
regretted having spoken as she did upon the subject. Her pride was offended;
but, after all, how could he know? Besides, he was an adventurer, and it was
natural that he should make terms. Doubtless also his anxiety to win fortune
had to do with the lady whose name was written in the prayer-book.

Perhaps this lady was only a maiden aunt, but a great desire seized Juanna to
know about her; and when such a wish enters the heart of woman it is probable
that she will find a means to satisfy it. Having no one else to ask, Juanna
sounded Otter, with whom she was on friendly terms, only to find that the
subject of Jane Beach did not interest the dwarf. He hazarded a remark,
however, that doubtless she was one of the Baas’s wives when he lived in
his big kraal over the water.

This disgusted Juanna somewhat, but the allusion to a “big kraal”
excited the curiosity, of which she had a certain share, and very adroitly she
questioned the dwarf concerning it. He rose to the fly without hesitation, and
told her that his master had been one of the greatest men in the world, and one
of the richest, but that he lost his possessions through the wicked arts of
foemen, and was come to this country to seek new ones.

Indeed Otter enlarged upon the theme, and, anxious to extol his beloved
chief’s worth in the eyes of the Shepherdess, it would not be too much to
say that he drew upon his own imagination. Leonard, he declared, had owned
country as wide as a horse could gallop across in a day; moreover, he had two
hundred tribesmen, heads of families, who fed upon oxen killed for
them—twenty oxen a week; and ten principal wives had called him husband.
Juanna asked for the titles of the wives, whereon the undefeated Otter gave
them all Kaffir names, not neglecting to describe their lineage, personal
charms, and the number and sex of their children. The tale took about two hours
to tell, and after hearing it Juanna conceived a great respect for Otter, but
she saw clearly that if she wished for reliable information she must obtain it
from Leonard himself.

It was not till the last day of their journey that Juanna found the opportunity
she sought. The voyage had been most prosperous, and they expected to reach the
ruined Settlement on the morrow, though whether or not they would find Mr. Rodd
there was a matter of anxious conjecture, especially to his daughter. Day after
day they rowed and sailed up the great river, camping at night upon its banks,
which would have been pleasant had it not been for the mosquitoes. But all this
while Leonard and Juanna saw little of each other, though they met often
enough. On this particular occasion, however, it chanced that they were
journeying in the same boat, alone, except for the rowers.

Possibly Juanna had contrived that it should be so, for as a general rule, in
pursuit of his policy of avoiding a disagreeable young person, Leonard
travelled with Otter in the first boat, while Juanna was accompanied by
Francisco and Soa in the second. To the priest, indeed, she made herself very
agreeable, perhaps to show Leonard how charming she could be when she chose.
She conversed with him by the hour together as though he were a woman friend,
and his melancholy eyes would lighten with pleasure at her talk. Indeed
Francisco had something of the feminine in his nature; his very gentleness was
womanly, and his slight stature, delicate hands and features heightened this
impression. In face he was not unlike Juanna herself, and as time went on the
resemblance seemed to grow. Had he been arrayed in a woman’s loose
attire, it would have been easy to mistake one for the other in the dusk,
although she was the taller of the two.

The accident of his profession caused Juanna to admit Francisco to an intimacy
which she would have withheld from any other man. She forgot, or did not
understand, that she was playing a dangerous game—that after all he was a
man, and that the heart of a man beat beneath his cassock. Nobody could be more
charming in her manner or more subtle in her mind than Juanna, yet day by day
she did not hesitate to display all her strength before the unfortunate young
priest, which, in addition to her beauty, made her somewhat irresistible, at
any rate on the Zambesi. Friendship and ignorance of the world were doubtless
at the bottom of this reprehensible conduct, but it is also possible that
unconscious pique had something to do with it. She was determined to show
Leonard that she was not always a disagreeable person whom it was well to
avoid, or at least that others did not think so. That all these airs and graces
might have a tragic effect upon Francisco never occurred to her till too late.

Well, for once the order of things was changed; Leonard and Juanna sat side by
side in the first boat. The evening was lovely, they glided slowly by the
reed-fringed bank, watching the long lights play upon the surface of the lonely
river, listening to the whistling wings of the countless wildfowl overhead, and
counting the herds of various game that roamed upon the plains beyond.

For a while neither of them spoke much. Occasionally Juanna would call her
companion’s attention to some water-flower or to a great fish darting
from the oars, and he would answer by a word or nod. His heart was wroth with
the girl, as Otter would have said; he wondered why she had come with
him—because she was tired of the priest perhaps. He wished her away, and
yet he would have been sorry enough had she gone.

For her part Juanna desired to make him speak, and did not know how to break
through his moody silence. Suddenly she leaned back in the boat and began to
sing in a rich contralto voice that moved him. He had never heard her sing
before, had never heard any good singing for many years indeed, and he was fond
of singing. The song she sang was a Portuguese love-song, very tender and
passionate, addressed by a bereaved lover to his dead mistress, and she put
much expression into it. Presently she ceased, and he noticed that her
beautiful eyes were full of tears. So she could feel!

“That is too sad,” she said with a little laugh, and then burst
into a Kaffir boat-song, of which the Settlement natives, joyous in the
prospect of once more seeing their home, took up the chorus gleefully.
Presently she wearied of the boat-chant. “I am tiring you,” she
said; “I dare say that you do not care for singing.”

“On the contrary, Miss Rodd, I am very fond of it. Your voice is good, if
you will allow me to say so, and it has been trained. I do not quite understand
how you can have had the opportunity to learn so many things—music, for
instance.”

“I suppose, Mr. Outram, you think that I should be a sort of savage by
rights; but as a matter of fact, although we have lived on the Zambesi, I have
had some chances. There is always a certain amount of trade on the river, by
means of which we often obtain books and other things, and are brought into
occasional contact with European merchants, travellers, and missionaries. Then
my father is a gently born and well-educated man, though circumstances have
caused him to spend his life in these wild places. He was a scholar in his day
and he has taught me a good deal, and I have picked up more by reading. Also,
for nearly three years I was at a good school in Durban and did my best to
improve myself there. I did not wish to grow up wild because I lived among wild
people.”

“Indeed, that explains the miracle. And do you like living among
savages?”

“I have liked it well enough hitherto, but this last adventure has
sickened me. Oh! it was dreadful. Had I not been very strong I could never have
endured it; a nervous woman would have been driven mad. Yes, I have liked it
well enough; I have always looked upon it as a preparation for life. I think
that the society of nature is the best education for the society of man, since
until you understand and are in sympathy with the one, you cannot really
understand the other. Now I should like to go to Europe and see the world and
its civilisations, for I know from what stuff they were evolved. But perhaps I
never shall; at any rate, I have to find my dear father first,” and she
sighed.

Leonard made no answer; he was thinking.

“And you, Mr. Outram, do you care for this life?”

“I!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Like yourself, Miss Rodd, I am
the victim of circumstances and must make the best of them. As I told you I am
a penniless adventurer seeking my fortune in the rough places of the earth. Of
course I might earn a livelihood in England, but that is of no use to me; I
must win wealth, and a great deal of it.”

“What is the good?” she said. “Is there any object in wearing
out one’s life by trying to grow rich?”

“That depends. I have an object, one which I have sworn to fulfil.”

She looked at him inquiringly.

“Miss Rodd, I will tell you. My brother, who died of fever some weeks
ago, and I were the last male survivors of a very ancient house. We were born
to great prospects, or at least he was; but owing to the conduct of our father,
everything was lost to us, and the old house, which had been ours for
centuries, went to the hammer. That was some seven years ago, when I was a man
of three-and-twenty. We swore that we would try to retrieve those
fortunes—not for ourselves so much, but for the sake of the
family—and came to Africa to do it. My brother is dead, but I inherit the
oath and continue the quest, however hopeless it may be. And now, perhaps, you
will understand why I signed a certain document.”

“Yes,” she said, “I understand now. It is a strange history.
But tell me, have you no relations left?”

“One, I believe, if she still lives—a maiden aunt, my
mother’s sister.”

“Is she Jane Beach?” she asked quickly. “Forgive me, but I
saw that name in the prayer-book.”

“No,” he said, “she is not Jane Beach.”

Juanna hesitated; then curiosity and perhaps other feelings overcame her, and
she asked straight out—

“Who is Jane Beach?”

Leonard looked at Juanna and remembered all that he had suffered at her hands.
It was impertinent of her to ask such a question, but since she chose to do so
she should have an answer. Doubtless she supposed that he was in love with
herself, doubtless her conduct was premeditated and aimed at the repression of
his hopes. He would show her that there were other women in the world, and that
one of them at any rate had not thought so poorly of him. It was foolish
conduct on his part, but then people suffering under unmerited snubs, neglect,
and mockery at the hands of a lady they admire are apt to lose their judgment
and do foolish things. So he answered:

“Jane Beach is the lady to whom I was engaged.”

“I guessed it,” she replied with a smile and a shiver. “I
guessed it when I saw that you always carried the prayer-book about with
you.”

“You forget, Miss Rodd, that the prayer-book contains an agreement which
might become valuable.”

Juanna took no heed of his sarcasm, she was too intent on other thoughts.

“And are you engaged to her now?”

“No, I suppose not. Her father broke off the match when we lost our
fortunes.”

“She must have been very sorry?”

“Yes, she was very sorry.”

“How interesting! You must not think me curious, Mr. Outram, but I have
never come across a love affair—that is a white love
affair—out of a novel. Of course she often writes to you?”

“I have never heard from her since I left England.”

“Indeed! Surely she might have written or sent a message?”

“I suppose that her father forbade it,” Leonard answered; but in
his heart he also thought that Jane might have written or sent a message, and
could well guess why none had come.

“Ah! her father. Tell me, was she very beautiful?”

“She was the loveliest woman that I ever saw—except one who is
sitting at my side,” he added to himself.

“And do you love her very much?”

“Yes, I loved her very much.”

If Juanna heard the change of tense she took no note of it; it was such a
little thing, only one letter. And yet what a vast gulf there is between
love and loved! It is measureless. Still, most people have
crossed it in their lives, some of them more than once. He told her the exact
truth, but after a woman’s fashion she added to the truth. He said that
he had loved Jane Beach, and she did not doubt that he still loved her more
than ever. How was she to know that the image of this faraway and hateful Jane
was fading from his mind, to be replaced by that of a certain present Juanna?
She took it all for granted, and filled in the details with a liberal hand and
in high colours.