A dreadful silence fell upon the group. Mbutu stood as though paralysed. The major and Dr. O'Brien looked mutely into each other's eyes.
"Toots!" ejaculated the doctor at length, giving himself an impatient shake. "Recovered consciousness and walked off, of course he did. That's what it is, to be sure. Must have been a slight wound, you see."
"What can we do, Doctor?" said the major. "We can't search for him in the dark; we might be cut down by the Arabs anywhere. The moon rises late; he will hardly find his way."
"Get back to camp and blow a blast on your bugles and send up rockets; he will hear one or see t'other, and come into camp. Never fear, that young fellow's safe enough. He didn't come dancing here from the ends of the earth to be sent to kingdom-come by Arabs."
Dr. O'Brien's cheerfulness, though it was more than half assumed, somewhat reassured the major. The party returned rapidly to camp, and there bugles were blown and rockets skied as had been suggested. But though the blare and the illumination were continued far into the night, the major watched for Tom in vain, shuddering as he heard the melancholy howl of jackals far and near, and longing for the dawn.
CHAPTER VIII: In the Toils
With the Raiders--The Hakim--Mustapha--A Trap--In a Slave Camp--Man's Inhumanity--De Castro Again--De Castro Eloquent
A few minutes after Mbutu had left his master to go on his painful quest for help, four big Manyema warriors came bounding through the forest. They carried spears, the iron heads of which were as yet clear of blood. When they caught sight of the six prostrate bodies in the narrow glade they halted, and with one consent bent down to rifle the dead. They had stripped two of the Arabs of what small articles of value they possessed, when the negro who had stooped over Tom's body uttered a sharp exclamation, at which his companions left their gruesome occupation and came hastily to his side. As he was tearing a button from Tom's coat, the eyes of the apparent corpse had opened for an instant, and the body had moved uneasily. The four men stooped, peering at it, talking excitedly, and waxing hotter and hotter in argument. Three of them were for spearing the body at once, declaring that, from the nature of the wound, death was inevitable, and that they might as well hasten matters and share the spoil. But the man who had come first upon the scene obstinately opposed this course. It was the body of an Englishman, he said; there was still life in him; and it would tend very much to their advantage to keep him alive and carry him to the Arab chief, who would no doubt reward them handsomely for so valuable a prize. As a final argument, he reminded his friends that they had been among the first to bolt from the field, and as they were aware of the punishment that awaited them, it was well to propitiate the chief and save their skins. This argument had its effect, and without wasting more time on the fallen Arabs, they prepared to carry Tom away.
The leader tore a strip from the burnous of one of the Arabs, and deftly wound it about Tom's head, to prevent further loss of blood from the deep gash at the base of his skull. The rest as quickly fashioned a litter out of two spears and another burnous; and before Mbutu had walked halfway to the British camp, his master was being borne by the four Manyema swiftly in the opposite direction.
He was still unconscious when the men placed him on the litter. The terrific blow inflicted on him by the Arab, followed by his heavy fall, had been very near causing concussion of the brain, and the loss of blood he had suffered would of itself have deprived him of consciousness. Indeed, but for the opportune arrival of his captors, and the interested thoughtfulness of the man who had bandaged his head, there can be no doubt that Tom Burnaby would in a short time have done with mortality and become a prey to jackals and vultures.