The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo by Charles Gibson (e book reader pc TXT) 📖

had little or no experience of white men. I

therefore refuse to believe that our breakfast has been stolen by a

lion. Shall I tell you who I believe is the culprit?"

 

"Who?" asked Max.

 

"Gyp," said Crouch; "Cæsar’s dog. Cæsar himself could hardly have got

here by now. Yesterday afternoon I reconnoitred some way up the river,

and saw no signs of a canoe. But the dog could have found its way

through the jungle. It seems improbable, no doubt; but I can think of

no better explanation."

 

Indeed, this was the only solution of the matter, and they resolved to

be upon their guard.

 

The following day they determined to explore the rapids. They were

already acquainted with the river-valley between Hippo Pool and Makanda,

but as yet they knew nothing of the country which lay between their camp

and the mangrove swamp on the Kasai. M’Wané, from the cocoanut-tree,

had caught sight of the Long Ravine, which ended in the waterfall of

which the natives had told them, the dull roar of which was frequently

audible at Hippo Pool when the wind was in the right direction. They

did not expect Edward back for some days, and each was of the

disposition that chafes under the restraint of inaction.

 

Accordingly, soon after daybreak they launched the canoe, and taking

with them three days’ supplies and a quantity of ammunition, they shot

down-stream to the north. The descent of the river was easy enough.

Throughout the journey Crouch kept his eye on the current. Since this

grew stronger and stronger as they progressed, he did not desire to go

too far, knowing full well that the return journey would be by no means

easy to accomplish.

 

At a place where the river was exceedingly narrow, and the jungle on

either bank even more dense and tangled than usual, they heard, on a

sudden, the crashing of undergrowth in the forest, as if some great

beast were flying for its life. A moment later a leopard sprang clear

from the river bank. For a second the beast was poised in mid-air, its

legs extended at full length, its ears lying back, its superb coat

dazzling in the sunlight. Then it came down into the water with a

splash.

 

For a few strokes it swam straight for the canoe. Max carried his rifle

to the shoulder and fired. The beast was hit, for it shivered from head

to tail, and then turned round and swam back to the bank whence it had

come. As it crawled forth, dripping, with its head hanging low between

its fore-legs, the great snout of a crocodile uprose from out of the

water, and the huge jaws snapped together.

 

Crouch, who was steering, ran the canoe into the bank, and a moment

later both he and Max, their rifles in their hands, had set out into the

semi-darkness of the jungle.

 

They had no difficulty in following the leopard’s spoor. The beast was

badly wounded and very sick. Every hundred yards or so it lay down to

rest, and when it heard them approaching, rose and went on with a growl.

 

Presently it led them into a marsh--which Edward Harden afterwards

called Leopard Marsh--where they sank knee-deep in the mud. There were

no trees here. In the middle of the marsh, lying in a few inches of

water, was the wounded leopard, wholly unable to rise.

 

"He’s yours," said Crouch. "I’ll stand by in case you miss."

 

Max lifted his rifle, took careful aim, and fired. On the instant, with

a savage screech, the leopard rose with a jerk. For a moment it stood

upon its hind-legs, rampant, its fore-feet fighting in the air. Then it

came down, as a stone drops, and lay quite still.

 

Max felt the flush of triumph that every hunter knows. His blood

tingled in his veins. He was about to rush forward, to gloat upon his

prize, when from somewhere near in the forest a shot rang out, and a

bullet splashed into the moist ground at Max’s feet.

 

THE FIRE-GODS - CHAPTER X--THE BACK-WATER

 

Crouch’s voice was lifted in a shout. "Run for your life!" he cried.

 

Together they went floundering through the mire. They had to run the

gauntlet for a distance of little more than a hundred paces; but, by

reason of the nature of the ground, their progress was necessarily slow,

and before they had gained the cover afforded by the jungle, several

bullets had whistled past them, and Crouch was limping badly.

 

"Are you hurt?" asked Max.

 

"Hit in the leg," said the little captain, as if it were a trifle.

"There ’re no bones broken, but I’m bleeding like a pig."

 

"Let me look at it," said Max. "The artery may be cut."

 

They were now well screened by trees. It was impossible that any one

could come upon them unawares. Max took his knife from his pocket,

ripped open the seam of the captain’s trousers, and examined the wound.

The artery was untouched, but there was an ugly wound in the thigh,

which had evidently been made by an enormously heavy bullet.

 

"Cæsar’s elephant-gun," said Crouch. "By Christopher, I’ll make him pay

for this!"

 

"Are you sure of that?" said Max.

 

"Yes," said Crouch. "I caught sight of something white moving among the

trees. I knew at once that Cæsar was there with his Arabs."

 

Meanwhile, with quick fingers, Max was folding his handkerchief

lengthwise for a bandage.

 

"Wait a bit," said Crouch. "I’ll soon stop that flow of blood. I’ve a

special remedy of my own." Whereupon he produced his tobacco-pouch; and

before Max could stop it, he had taken a large plug of his vile, black

tobacco, dipped it into a puddle of water, and thumbed the lot into the

open wound, as a man charges a pipe.

 

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Max, with memories of his hospital days.

"You’ll get septic poisoning! You can’t do that!"

 

Crouch looked up. There was a twinkle in his only eye.

 

"So much for science," said he. "When you get back to London, you can

tell the doctors they’re wrong. If it amuses ’em to play with

antiseptics--and they’re fond of the smell of carbolic--they’re welcome

to do what they like. As for me, I’ve used this remedy for twenty

years, and I’m not inclined to try another."

 

Max looked worried. He was convinced that Crouch would die of

blood-poisoning, and was beginning to wonder how, in that benighted,

tropical forest, he was going to amputate the captain’s leg.

 

"Don’t you fret," said Crouch, tying the bandage himself. "Maybe, one

brand of tobacco’s not so good as another. It’s my belief that if they

cut off your head, you could stick it on again with Bull’s Eye Shag." By

then he had got to his feet. "Come on," said he; "this man won’t let us

get away if he can help it. Follow me."

 

So saying, he plunged into the jungle, and though he was now limping

like a lame dog, it was all Max could do to keep up with him.

 

Time and again he dived through what had looked like impenetrable

thickets. He seemed to know by instinct where to go. He avoided

quagmires. He sprang over fallen trees. He wormed his way through

creepers, the branches of which were thick as ropes.

 

Frequently he stopped to listen, and sometimes placed his ear to the

ground.

 

"They’re after us!" he cried once. He pulled out his compass and looked

at it. "We must get back to the canoe," he said. "The river’s to the

east."

 

Soon after they struck what to all intents and purposes was a path. It

was, in fact, the "run" of some wild animals, and doubtless led to the

place where they were in the habit of drinking. It was no more than two

feet across; and about four feet from the ground the undergrowth from

either side met in a kind of roof; so that they found themselves in a

tunnel, along which, if they stooped sufficiently, they were able to

make good headway.

 

Suddenly Crouch, who was still leading, stopped dead, and held his rifle

at the ready. Max stopped, too, and listened.

 

Something was moving in the jungle. They heard distinctly a quick,

panting sound, coming nearer and nearer.

 

"There!" cried Crouch. "Shoot!"

 

He pointed down the tunnel, in the direction they had come. Max turned,

and beheld the head of a great beast thrust through the leaves of some

creeping plant that bound the trunks of two trees together in a kind of

lattice-work.

 

It is unfortunate that the mind cannot retain a complete recollection of

scenes that have momentarily impressed us. Most of us, when asked to

describe in every detail even the most familiar objects, fall very short

of the mark. How much more so must this be the case when we look upon

something for no longer than a second, and then it is no more.

 

Max will never forget that moment. He remembers the main features of

the scene, but there were a thousand and one details, which impressed

him at the time, that he is no longer able to remember.

 

The semi-darkness of the jungle; the moist ground whereon he stood,

where multi-coloured orchids showed like little evil faces in the

twilight; the tangled undergrowth; and in places, like peep-holes

through which the daylight streamed, the shadows of the tall trees

towering high above. The scene, in its luxury and darkness, stood for

all that is savage, for all that is Africa--the country where the white

man ventures at his peril. And if anything were needed to complete this

strong suggestion of the wild, it was the great head and white, gleaming

fangs of the unknown beast which, half invisible, seemed as if it were

the unholy spirit of the place. On the spur of the moment, Max lifted

his rifle and fired.

 

"Well done!" cried Crouch, who brushed past his elbow.

 

A moment later they found themselves kneeling on either side of the

prostrate and lifeless figure of Gyp.

 

"There lies our thief," said Crouch; "and the thief’s master ’s not so

far away."

 

Max felt profoundly sorry in his heart that he had killed so magnificent

a creature. If the dog had hunted them, she had been told to do so by

her master. The only crime which could be laid to the account of the

Great Dane was obedience to Cæsar.

 

They remained by the body of the dog no longer than a few seconds, and

after that they pushed on upon their way, still following the course of

the tunnel, or "run." At length, when least they expected it, they

found themselves at the water’s edge, at the place where the rapids were

inordinately swift.

 

The water foamed and swirled upon its way, lashing the banks, forming

little whirlpools in mid-stream, and bounding in waves over the trunks

of trees which had fallen into the river.

 

"Sit down," said Crouch. "There’s no hurry. We may as well talk

matters out."

 

Max looked at his companion. Now that they were in the sunlight, he was

able to see Crouch’s face. He was alarmed to notice that the little

captain looked haggard and drawn. His lips were pressed together, as

though he were in pain, and his only serviceable eye was puckered and

screwed up. Seeing Max’s anxiety, he did his best to smile.

 

"The Bull’s Eye ’s beginning to work," said he.

 

"How do you mean?" asked Max.

 

"After a bit it begins to smart. It smarts for about three days, and

then the blamed thing’s healed. Sit down, my boy. This man Cæsar

annoys me. I want to think it out."

 

They seated themselves at the river bank, and Crouch kept an ear towards

the jungle, in order to be warned if any one should approach.

 

"What about the canoe?" asked Max.

 

"It’s up-stream," said the other, with a nod of the head. "If we work

our way along the bank, we can’t miss it. To tell you the truth, I want

a rest; I feel queer. And, besides, I want to think."

 

Max asked him what was on his mind.

 

"Cæsar," said he. "I should like to know how the man managed to get

here." Then