John Mackay turned to the serjeant of the Scouts. “What is this?” he asked. Then, as the man shook his head, a sudden thought struck the Scotchman, and he clambered on to the veranda of the largest house, a dilapidated place of some size, pulled aside the matting at the door and went in, revolver in hand. Half a minute later he came out again, a little pale. “As I thought,” he said. “Head-hunters.”
The natives looked at one another with wide-open eyes, whilst Mr Gobbitt’s jaw dropped suddenly. “What … what do you mean?” he quavered. “Head-hunters? What are they?”
“People who hunt heads—your head and mine, for instance.” The Scotchman’s temper was up. “There’re a dozen heads hanging up inside, if you want to see, including a white man’s. We must get out of this, quick.”
However, it was already too late. As he spoke a score of practically naked savages, armed with spears and primitive bolos, appeared on the edge of the clearing. “Up here, all of you.” Mackay grasped the situation instantly, but, even whilst the carriers and Scouts were scrambling on to the platform of the shack, the enemy secured two heads.
Mr Gobbitt was one of the last up; in fact, had not three carriers assisted him, he would have been in a bad case, for the little ladder had given way, and climbing was impossible for him.
Meanwhile, the Scouts had begun to blaze away, hitting no one, but none the less preventing any rush; then Mackay himself took one of the carbines, and dropped a head-hunter stone-dead—a lesson which was not lost, for the rest promptly withdrew to cover.
“They will wait till evening now,” the serjeant remarked, “then they will attack. They will not try and burn the place because of those,” pointing towards the ghastly trophies hanging from the roof.
Mackay nodded, and went on with his task of making loopholes in the walls, although, as he told himself, six carbines and a revolver would not go very far as means of defence.
Mr Gobbitt was lying back against some of the hastily-thrown-down packs, panting. He had lost his helmet, and both his coat and trousers were torn. “It’s disgraceful,” he said, “absolutely disgraceful! I shall report it to the Consul or to the Foreign Office. Why, I actually saw them kill two of the men in my presence.”
He spoke to nobody in particular, but Mackay overheard him and smiled grimly, thinking of the killing which was yet to come; but, in spite of that, when the merchant had recovered sufficiently to ask questions, he spoke hopefully, though he added: “You see now why no one has made use of this hemp land, and why they offered it to you cheaply.”