Well, the march had been effected, and here they were at last on the site of Oakley’s ravaged camp. A ghastly spectacle met their gaze. Many of the bearers had been massacred, and the ground was literally strewn with bones, either clean-picked by the ravenous carnivora of the surrounding wilderness, or with mangled tatters of flesh and sinew still depending. Skulls, too; in many cases with the features yet remaining, but all showing the same hideous distortion of the terror and agony which had accompanied their deaths. The remains of the ill-fated German botanist were identified and reverently buried, but everything in the shape of loot which the camp had contained had been borne away by the rapacious marauders.
But to the delight of Oakley, to the delight of all of them, his conjectures had proved correct. Following on the broad track left by the retreating raiders they came upon the lost specimens. The cases had been broken open, and, containing nothing but dried plants, had been thrown away and left. Some had suffered, but the bulk were entirely uninjured, and in his exultation the tragical fate which had overwhelmed his companion and followers was quite overlooked by this ardent scientist. The loot, too, of the camp was nothing. His precious specimens were recovered—that was everything. The doctor and Haviland, moved by vivid fellow feeling, rejoiced with him, and that exceedingly. Yet, could they have foreseen what was before them, their exultation might have been considerably dashed. Their adventures had been many, their lives had been largely made up of perilous and startling surprises; but the greatest of these was yet to come, and that, perchance, at no very distant date.
Chapter Nineteen.
Danger Signals.
The odd man joining a party of two is by no means necessarily an acquisition, or invariably bound to preserve and promote the harmony already existing. In this case, however, the best happened. No more harmonious trio could be imagined than this one, as, having recovered the lost treasure, the expedition resumed its way. For Oakley proved to be the best of good fellows, and though several years older than Haviland, and with a great deal wider experience, he never for a moment forgot that he was with them now solely in the capacity of a guest. If his advice was asked he gave it, if not, he never by any chance volunteered it. Ahern and Haviland were, of course, tried comrades; and two years of sharing the same hardships, the same dangers, and the same aims, had bound them together as no period of acquaintance within the limits of conventional civilisation could ever have done.
The camp had been set for the day, whose full heat had already begun to strike in through the shading trees. The tired bearers were lying around, for the moon was again bright, and the marches were effected during the comparatively cool hours of the night. Some were cooking their root and grain diet, for game was exceedingly scarce, and they seldom tasted meat—as to which, by the way, they expected soon to strike a river, and all hands looked forward eagerly to a possible and plenteous feed of sea-cow flesh. Haviland and Oakley were seated together, consulting maps, the doctor the while was busy at the other end of the camp with a porter who had somewhat badly hurt his foot.
“By the way, Haviland,” said Oakley, suddenly, “do you believe in the existence of that curious tribe of the Spider? I’ve known at least two men who believe in it firmly. One claims to have actually come into contact with it. If there is such a thing, we can’t be far from its reputed country.”
“H’m!” answered Haviland, musingly. “The more experience you gain of the interior, the more disinclined you are to say straight out that you disbelieve in anything. Now, that Spider tribe, if it exists at all—and, mind you, I don’t say it doesn’t—would be a good deal further to the west than we are now. I don’t think we have much to fear from it. But there’s a far nastier crowd than that, and within tolerable striking distance, too. It’s a Zulu-speaking tribe, not so very numerous, but occupying difficult country, and the very deuce of a fighting mob. Some say it’s of direct Zulu origin, others that it originated in a split among the Wangoni down on the lakes. But I don’t want to rub against it if I can help it. Ho, Kumbelwa!” he called.