The Ivory Child

by H. Rider Haggard

At us came the whole mob of them—we were but six now—roaring “Jana! Jana!” and led by a grey-beard who, to judge from the number of silver chains upon his breast and his other trappings, seemed to be a great man among them. When they were about fifty yards away and I was preparing for the worst, a shot rang out from above and behind me. At the same instant Greybeard threw his arms wide and letting fall the spear he held, pitched from his horse, evidently stone dead. I glanced back and saw Hans, the corn-cob pipe still in his mouth and the little rifle, “Intombi,” still at his shoulder. He had fired from the back of the camel, I think for the first time that day, and whether by chance or through good marksmanship, I do not know, had killed this man.

His sudden and unexpected end seemed to fill the Black Kendah with grief and dismay. Halting in their charge they gathered round him, while a fierce-looking middle-aged man, also adorned with much barbaric finery, dismounted to examine him.

“That is Simba the King,” said Marût, “and the slain one is his uncle, Goru, the great general who brought him up from a babe.”

“Then I wish I had another cartridge left for the nephew,” I began and stopped, for Hans was speaking to me.

“Good-bye, Baas,” he said, “I must go, for I cannot load ‘Intombi’ on the back of this beast. If you meet your reverend father the Predikant before I do, tell him to make a nice place ready for me among the fires.”

Then before I could get out an answer, Hans dragged his camel round; as I have said, it was quite uninjured. Urging it to a shambling gallop with blows of the rifle stock, he departed at a great rate, not towards the home of the Child but up the hill into a brake of giant grass mingled with thorn trees that grew quite close at hand. Here with startling suddenness both he and the camel vanished away.

If the Black Kendah saw him go, of which I am doubtful, for they all seemed to be lost in consultation round their king and the dead general, Goru, they made no attempt to follow him. Another possibility is that they thought he was trying to lead them into some snare or ambush.

I do not know what they thought because I never heard them mention Hans or the matter of his disappearance, if indeed they ever realized that there was such a person. Curiously enough in the case of men who had just shown themselves so brave, this last accident of the decease of Goru coming on the top of all their other casualties, seemed to take the courage out of them. It was as though they had come to the conclusion that we with our guns were something more than mortal.

For several minutes they debated in evident hesitation. At last from out of their array rode a single man, in whom I recognized one of the envoys who had met us in the morning, carrying in his hand a white flag as he had done before. Thereon I laid down my rifle in token that I would not fire at him, which indeed I could not do having nothing to fire. Seeing this he came to within a few yards and halting, addressed Marût.

“O second Prophet of the Child,” he said, “these are the words of Simba the King: Your god has been too strong for us to-day, though in a day to come it may be otherwise. I thought I had you in a pit; that you were the bucks and I the hunter. But, though with loss, you have escaped out of the pit,” and the speaker glanced towards our retreating force which was now but a cloud of dust in the far distance, “while I the hunter have been gored by your horns,” and again he glanced at the dead that were scattered about the plain. “The noblest of the buck, the white bull of the herd,” and he looked at me, who in any other circumstances would have felt complimented, “and you, O Prophet Marût, and one or two others, besides those that I have slain, are however still in the pit and your horn is a magic horn,” here he pointed to my rifle, “which pierces from afar and kills dead all by whom it is touched.”