Away in the elephant country it was the same, the dry river-bed where they had found the carcass of the elephant, was now the bed of rushing water. The elephant and antelope herds were wandering in clouds on the plains. A hundred thousand streams from Tanganyika to Yandjali were leaping to form rivers flowing for one destination, the Congo and the sea.
On the second day of their journey, an accident happened; one of the porters, released for a spell from bearing the litter, and loitering behind, was bitten by a snake.
He died despite all Adams’s attempts to save him, and, leaving his body to be buried by the leopards, they passed on.
But the soldiers, especially the corporal, took the matter strangely. These bloodthirsty wretches, inured to death and thinking nothing of it, seemed cast down, and at the camping place they drew aside, chattered together for a few minutes, and then the corporal came to Berselius and began a harangue, his eyes rolling toward Adams now and then as he proceeded.
Berselius listened, spoke a few words, and then turned to Adams.
“He says you have brought something with you that is unlucky, and that unless you throw it away, we shall all die.”
“I know what he means,” replied Adams; “I have brought a relic from that village by the Silent Pools. I shall not throw it away. You can tell him so.”
Berselius spoke to the man who still stood sullenly waiting, and who was opening his mouth to continue his complaints, when Adams seized him by the shoulders, turned him round, and with a kick, sent him back to his companions.
“You should not have done that,” said Berselius; “these people are very difficult to deal with.”
“Difficult!” said Adams. He stared at the soldiers who were grouped together, slapped the Mauser pistol at his side, and then pointed to the tent.