"I be missionary boy, and savvy all them JuJu palaver humbug, sah. One leopard done throw off him skin and sit down by the tent. I know him for the man with the mark on him. 'How much you want for let me lib for your country and come back again,' the white man say, and they all talk plenty. Then the white man say: 'I leave them cloth and bead and gun in the bush, and when I lib for come back safe you get two time as much, but you see them other white men done get lost or sick too much in your country.' Rideau talk more plenty, and them leopard go away. I not know how. I see him one lil' minute, then there be no more leopard, sah. I lib for say nothing. Suppose Rideau guess I look him he shoot me, sah. The Lord he give me sense too much."
"Rideau is a capable rascal and this explains a good deal," said Maxwell, when he had handed the cripple over to the Krooboy cook. "The man with the scarred forehead is clearly an influence among the Leopards. Otherwise Rideau might never have overtaken us. His prudence in promising to double the toll demanded on his safe return strikes me as highly commendable; and one can only presume that, seeing us successful in spite of his efforts, he determined to cast his lot in with us for a time."
Dane's answer was fierce and emphatic; and Maxwell smiled.
"Over-confidence is a weakness of yours, Hilton. Now it is no doubt flattering to one's pride to disdain petty suspicions and precautions; but having done so, isn't it illogical to grow feverishly indignant when you are victimized?"
"You need not waste time in moralizing. It is much more necessary to discover why Rideau cleared out in a hurry, and what he is doing now."
"I don't know, but it will be high time to move when we do. Meanwhile, we can only wait. It will become apparent presently."
Dane left him, and went back to his task, stolidly determined that he would have a reckoning with M. Victor Rideau before he sailed from Africa. Hilton Dane, though by no means a fool, possessed neither his comrade's power of deduction nor his insight into the weakness of human nature; but he was, nevertheless, likely to prove an even more dangerous enemy when his natural generosity, being abused, had changed into vindictiveness. It is generally well to avoid the righteous indignation of the good-humored man when his patience is exhausted; and Dane's patience was not of the longest.
The time dragged slowly by until, when those the plague had spared were well on the way to recovery, chance supplied the partners with the final clue. A man swathed in ragged cotton and of comparatively light color halted one morning to beg a little food at their camp, and Maxwell grew eager when he found that Amadu could understand him. Headman Shaillu's villages had been stricken by the plague, he said, and that ruler, either to avoid contagion or to prevent the spread of disaffection among his people, had marched them out on a campaign against his northern neighbors. He had been badly beaten, and the tribesmen had summoned every petty chieftain who had suffered by his depredations to join them in retaliating. They would probably wait until the rains were over, the stranger said, though this was not certain; but once they started, they would spare nothing on their march; and as their priests had a special animus against white men, he considered they would certainly storm the camp.
It was dark when Dane and Maxwell held their final conference, and they sat moodily silent a while before either spoke. The sufferings and hardships undergone had left their mark on them; it is possible that Maxwell's British acquaintances might scarcely have recognized him, as he sat huddled, as it were, together under the smoky lamp. Even his ironical humor had deserted him along with every personal characteristic save the courage and certain racial instincts that were ineradicable. Dane was reminded of an ancient portrait in Culmeny as he watched him. The old moss-trooper had looked much the same—lean and dour and grim; and the observer could recognize the same baleful light in his wolfish eyes. It was not an unnatural reversion, for the customs of modern Africa are not greatly different from those of Britain in bygone days.
It was hotter than ever, and a darkness that could be felt hung over the tent.