Bertram Mitford (continued 5)

“What do you say? Disappeared?” I gasped forth again. “How? When?”

I heard him as through a mist as he told me how the afternoon before she had gone for a walk alone with her dog. It was towards sundown. She had not returned, and a search had been instituted, with the result that her dog had been found dead not very far from the waterhole, but of her no trace remained. “My God, Glanton,” he ended up. “Buck up, man. Pull yourself together or you’ll go clean off your chump. Buck up, d’you hear!”

I daresay I had a look that way, for I noticed Tom staring at me as if he contemplated taking to his heels.

“I’m on my way down there now,” said Kendrew.

I nodded. I couldn’t speak just then somehow. I went into the house, slung on a heavy revolver, and crammed a handful of cartridges into my pocket. Then I remounted, Kendrew doing likewise, and so we took our way down that rocky bush path at a pace that was neither wise nor safe.

“Is that all they have to go upon?” I said presently, as soon as I had recovered my voice.

“That’s all—I gather from the old man’s note. I say, Glanton, what can be behind it all? It seems on all fours with my old uncle taking himself off. I’m beginning to think now there’s some infernal foul play going on among the niggers round us.”

I was thinking the same. At first a thought of Dolf Norbury had crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. Ukozi was behind this, somewhere. The proximity to the waterhole associated him in my mind with the outrage. His beastly performance with the snake!—was he training it to seize human beings, in the furtherance of some devilish form of native superstition? Oh, good Heavens no! That wouldn’t bear thinking about. But Aïda—my love—had disappeared—had disappeared even as Hensley had. He had never been found; the mystery of his disappearance had never been solved. And she! Had she been hideously and secretly done to death? Oh God! I shall go mad!

When we arrived, the Major and Falkner had just returned, and their horses were simply reeking. They had scoured the whole farm, but utterly without result. As for Mrs Sewin and Edith their grief was pitiable—would have been only it was nothing by the side of mine.

“How was the dog killed?” was my first question, ignoring all greeting. I had resolved to waste no time in grief. I had now pulled myself together, and was going to do all that man was capable of to find my loved one again.

“That’s the strange part of it,” said Falkner gruffly. “There’s no wound of any kind about the beast, and he hasn’t even been hit on the head, for his skull is quite smooth and unbroken. But, there he is—as dead as the traditional herring.”

“You didn’t move him, did you?”

“No. He’s there still.”

“Well let’s go there. I may light on a clue.”

“You’d better not come, uncle,” said Falkner. “You’re played out, for one thing, and there ought to be one man on the place with all this devilish mystery going about.”

“Played out be damned, sir,” retorted the Major fiercely. “I’d tire you any day. I’m going.”

The dead dog was lying right in the path, just beyond where we had found the lost coin on that memorable day. The first thing I looked for were traces of a struggle, but if there had been any they were now completely obliterated by hoof marks and footmarks made by Falkner and the Major when they first made the discovery.

“The dog died before sundown,” I said, after a momentary examination.

“How do you know that?” asked Falkner.

“Because the ground underneath him is perfectly dry. If he had been killed or died later it wouldn’t have been. It would have been damp with dew. Look—Ah!”

The last exclamation was evoked by a curious circumstance as I moved the body of the dead animal. A strange odour greeted my nostrils. It was as the odour of death, and yet not altogether, and—it was the same that poisoned the air on the occasion of my horse refusing to go forward on that night at Kendrew’s, and again here, almost on this very spot three nights ago when we had come away from witnessing Ukozi’s uncanny performance at the pool. Some dark villainy underlay this, and that the witch doctor was connected with it was borne in upon my mind without a doubt.

I examined the dead dog long and carefully, but could read no clue as to the manner of his death, unless he had been poisoned, but this I thought unlikely. One thing was certain. Never in life would he have allowed harm or violence to reach his mistress. Poor Arlo! At any other time I should have been moved to genuine grief for his loss; now that loss was not even felt.

Quickly, eagerly, I cast around for spoor, beyond the radius of the disturbed part of the ground. All in vain. No trace. No trampled grass or broken twig, or displaced leaf, absolutely nothing to afford a clue. The thing was incomprehensible. It was as if she had been caught up bodily into the air.

The ground here was a gentle declivity, moderately studded with bush. It was not rocky nor rugged, and was entirely devoid of holes or caves into which anyone might fall.

Suddenly every drop of blood within me was set tingling. I had found a trace. Where the ground was stony, just above the path I discovered an abrasion, as though a boot, with nail heads in the soles, had scraped it.

It was very faint, but still—there was no mistaking it. It was a genuine spoor. And it led on and on, utterly undiscernible to the Major or Falkner, hardly visible to Kendrew at times, but plain enough to me. And now hope beat high. We would find her. We had only to follow on this spoor which we had struck, and we would find her. Heaven knew how, but still! we would find her. She might have met with an accident and be sorely in need of help, but—still we would find her, and this—even this—after the blank, awful realisation of her loss, akin, as it was, to the disappearance of Hensley—contained relative comfort.

The others were watching me with mingled anxiety and curiosity as, bent low over the ground, I followed these faint indications. The latter were tolerably perceptible now to a practised eye, though to no other, and I kept upon them steadily. Then a ghastly fear smote me again upon the heart. The spoor was leading straight for the waterhole.

What did it mean? She would not have gone there—voluntarily. After the spectacle we had witnessed that night nothing on earth would have induced her to revisit the uncanny place alone, even by daylight. Yet the dreadful thought had already forced itself upon my mind, that there, if anywhere, would the mystery be solved.

In silence, eager, intensified, we pursued our way; for the others would not speak lest they should distract my mind from its concentration. Thus we came out upon the waterhole.

The spoor had led us straight to the high brow of cliff overhanging the pool—the spot upon which we had all stood that afternoon when we had first seen the mysterious monster which had disturbed the water. And—what was this?

All the soil here, where it was not solid rock, had been swept with branches. There was the pattern in the dust, even if stray leaves and twigs scattered about had not gone towards showing that, beyond a doubt. The object was manifest—to efface all traces of a struggle.

Heavens! my brain seemed to be turning to mud with the drear despair of each fresh discovery. The witch doctor’s promise to show the old man the mystery of the waterhole came back to my mind. I put together the words of sibongo to the snake I had heard him chanting. Ukozi had been preparing a way towards a sacrifice to his demon. He had accustomed the great python to seizing its victim as he brought it—and he had always brought it, so small, so insufficient, in the shape of the kid we had seen him give it, as to excite the appetite of the monster rather than to gratify it. He had been practising on Major Sewin’s curiosity, so that when the time should be ripe he would bring him to the edge of the pool, where all unsuspecting he would be seized by the monster and never be seen or heard of again. And now, and now—this unspeakably horrible and revolting fate, instead of overtaking the old man, had overtaken Aïda, my love, the sun and Paradise of my life, instead. She had been substituted for him, as the easier, possibly the more acceptable victim.

But, Ukozi! Whatever might happen to me I would capture and revenge myself upon him in a manner which should out-do the vengeance of the most vindictive and cruel of his own countrymen. I would spend days and nights gloating over his agony, and afterwards it should be talked about with fear and shuddering among the whole population of the border—ay, and beyond it I would do it; how I knew not, but, I would do it. All hell was seething in my brain just then—all hell, as I thought of my love, in her daintiness and grace; the very embodiment of a refinement and an elevating influence that was almost—no, entirely—divine, sacrificed horribly to the revolting superstitions of these savages, whom I had hitherto regarded as equalling in manly virtues those who could boast of centuries of so-called civilisation at their backs. And yet—revenge—could it bring back to me my love—my sweet lost love?

Chapter Twenty Seven.

The Dive of the Water Rat.

We stood there—we four—gazing into each other’s livid faces. Then the Major broke down. Sinking to the ground he covered his face with his hands and sobbed. I broke fiercely away. I could not stand for a moment doing nothing, so I set to work to go right round the pool and see if I could find any further trace. But the search was a vain one.

“The next thing is, what are we going to do?” said Falkner when we had rejoined them. “We don’t propose to spend the rest of the day staring at each other like stuck pigs, I take it?”

“We ought to drag the hole,” I said, “but we haven’t got the necessary appliances, nor even a draw net. Can any of you think of some expedient?”

“We might get a long pole, and splice a couple of meat-hooks to the end somehow,” said Falkner, “and probe about with that. Only, the cursed hole is about a mile too deep for the longest pole to get anywhere near the bottom in the middle.”

“Amakosi!”

We started at the interruption. So intent had we been that not one of us had been aware of the approach of a fifth—and he a native.

“Ha, Ivondwe!” I cried, recognising him. “What knowest thou of this, for I think thou couldst not have been far from this place at sundown yesterday?”

He answered in English.

“Do the Amakosi think the young missis has got into the water?”

“They do,” I said, still keeping to the vernacular. “Now, Water Rat, prove worthy of thy name. Dive down, explore yon water to its furthest depths for her we seek. Then shall thy reward be great.”

“That will I do, Iqalaqala,” he answered—greatly to my surprise I own, for I had been mocking him by reason of his name.

“And the snake?” I said. “The snake that dwells in the pool. Dost thou not fear it?”

I had been keenly watching his face, and the wonder that came into it looked genuine.

“Why as to that,” he answered, “and if there be a snake yet I fear it not. I will go.”

He stood looking down upon the water for a moment; he needed to lose no time in undressing, for save for his mútya he was unclad. Now he picked up two large stones and holding one in each hand, he poised himself at a point about ten feet above the surface. Then he dived.

Down he went—straight down—and the water closed over him. We stood staring at the widening circles, but could see nothing beneath the surface. Then it suddenly dawned upon us that he had been under water an abnormally long time.

“He’ll never come up again now,” declared Falkner. “No man living could stick under water all that time,” he went on after a wait that seemed like an hour to us. “The beast has either got hold of him, or he’s got stuck somehow and drowned. Oh good Lord!”

For a black head shot up on the further side of the hole, and a couple of strokes bringing it and its owner to the brink, he proceeded calmly to climb out, showing no sign of any undue strain upon his powers of endurance.

“Thou art indeed well named, Ivondwe,” I said. “We thought the snake had got thee.”

“Snake? I saw no snake,” he answered. “But I will go down again. There is still one part which I left unsearched.”

He sat for a moment, then picked up two stones as before. He walked round to an even higher point above the water, and this time dived obliquely.

“By Jove, he must have come to grief now,” said Falkner. “Why he’s been a much longer time down.”

As we waited and still Ivondwe did not reappear, the rest of us began to think that Falkner was right. It seemed incredible that any man could remain under so long unless artificially supplied with air. Then just as we had given him up Ivondwe rose to the surface as before.

This time he was panting somewhat, as well he might. “There is no one down there,” he began, as soon as he had recovered breath.

“No one?”

“No one. All round the bottom did I go—and there was no one. Au! it is fearsome down there in the gloom and the silence, and the great eels gliding about like snakes. But she whom you seek must be found elsewhere. Not under that water is she.”

Was he going on the native principle of telling you what you would most like to know? I wondered. Then Falkner began kicking off his boots.

“Here goes for a search on my own account,” he said. “Coming, Glanton? If there’s nothing to hurt him, there’s nothing to hurt us. We’ll try his dodge of holding a couple of stones. We’ll get down further that way.”

Ivondwe shook his head.

“You will not get down at all,” he said, in English.

“I’ll have a try at any rate. Come along, Glanton.”

I am at home in the water but not for any time under it. Half the time spent by Ivondwe down there would have been enough to drown me several times over. However I would make the attempt.

The result was even as I expected. With all the will in the world I had not the power, and so far from getting to the bottom, I was forced to return to the surface almost immediately. Falkner fared not much better.

“It must be an awful depth,” he said. “I couldn’t even touch bottom, and I’m no slouch in the diving line.”

“Where ought we to search, Ivondwe?” I said in the vernacular, “for so far there is no more trace than that left by a bird in the air? It will mean large reward to any who should help to find her—yes, many cattle.”

“Would that I might win such,” he answered. Then pointing with his stick, “Lo, the Amapolise.”

Our horses began to snort and neigh, as the police patrol rode up. I recognised my former acquaintance, Sergeant Simcox, but the inspector in command of the troop was along.

“I’ve just come from your house, Major Sewin,” he said after a few words of sympathy, “and I left a couple of men there, so you need be under no apprehension by reason of your ladies being alone. Now have you lighted upon any fresh clue?”

“Eh? What? Clue?” echoed the old man dazedly. “No.”

So I took up the parable, telling how I had found spoor leading to the waterhole and that here it had stopped. I pointed out where the ground had been smoothed over as though to erase the traces of a struggle.

“Now,” I concluded, “if you will come a little apart with me, I’ll tell you something that seems to bolster up my theory with a vengeance.”

He looked at me somewhat strangely, I thought. But he agreed, and I put him in possession of the facts about Ukozi in his relations with Major Sewin, and how Aïda had consulted me about them during my absence in Zululand, bringing the story down to that last startling scene here on this very spot three nights ago.

“Well you ought to know something about native superstitions, Mr Glanton,” he said. “Yet this seems a strange one, and utterly without motive to boot.”

“I know enough about native superstitions to know that I know nothing,” I answered. “I know this, that those exist which are not so much as suspected by white men, and produce actions which, as you say, seem utterly without motive.”

“If we could only lay claw on this witch doctor,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Yes indeed. But he’ll take uncommonly good care that we can’t.”

“Meanwhile I propose to arrest this boy on suspicion, for I find that he couldn’t have been very far from where Miss Sewin was last seen, at the time.”

“Ivondwe?”

“That’s his name. It may only be a coincidence mind—but you remember old Hensley’s disappearance?”

“Rather.”

“Well this Ivondwe was temporarily doing some cattle herding for Hensley at the time, filling another man’s place. It certainly is a coincidence that another mysterious disappearance should take place, and he right at hand again.”

“It certainly is,” I agreed. “But Ivondwe has been here for months, and I’ve known him for years. There isn’t a native I’ve a higher opinion of.”

“For all that I’m going to arrest him. It can do no harm and may do a great deal of good. But first I’ll ask him a few questions.”

Inspector Manvers was colonial born and could speak the native language fluently. I warned him of Ivondwe’s acquaintance with English in case he should say anything in an aside to me.

To every question, Ivondwe answered without hesitation. He had been looking after the cattle, yonder, over the rise, at the time, much too far off to have heard or seen anything. Had he been near, the dog would have kept him off. The dog was always unfriendly towards him.

“Where is Ukozi?” asked the inspector. The question was met by a deprecatory laugh.

“Where is the bird that flew over our heads a few hours ago?” asked Ivondwe. “I would remind the chief of the Amapolise that the one question is as easy to answer as the other. A great isanusi such as Ukozi does not send men before him crying aloud his movements.”

“That we shall see,” said the inspector. “Meanwhile Ivondwe, you are arrested and must go with us.”

“Have I not searched the depths of yonder pool?” was Ivondwe’s unconcerned remark. “Ask these.”

“Well, you are a prisoner, and if you make any attempt to escape you will be shot without challenge.” Then turning to me. “Now I think we had better continue our search down to the river bank. I need hardly tell you, Mr Glanton, how I sympathise with you, but we must not lose hope yet. People do strange and unaccountable things at times—generally the last people in the world who would be likely to do them. We shall find Miss Sewin yet.”

“Have you found Hensley yet?” I said bitterly.

He looked grave. The cases were too startlingly akin.

“The old gentleman had better be persuaded to go home,” he said, with a pitying glance at the Major, who was sitting in a state of utter collapse. Kendrew volunteered to effect this. He could join us afterwards, he said.

For the remaining hours of daylight we searched, leaving not a square yard of ground uninvestigated for a radius of miles. But—we found nothing—not even the remotest trace or clue.

I suppose, if I lived to be a thousand I should never forget the agony of that day. Mile after mile of our patient and exhaustive search, and still—nothing. The sickening blank as we returned, obliged to give it up for that day, only to renew our efforts with the first glimmer of returning light!

The moon rose, flooding down over the dim veldt. I recalled that last time when we two had wandered so happily over this very same ground. No presentiment had we then, no warning of mysterious danger hanging over us. How happy we had been—how secure in each other’s love—and now! Oh God! it was too much.

“Look here,” I burst forth roughly. “What’s the good of you people? Yes, what the devil’s the good of you? What do you draw your pay for anyway? If you had unearthed the secret of Hensley’s disappearance this one would never have come about. Your whole force isn’t worth a tinker’s twopenny damn and the sooner it’s disbanded and sent about its silly business the better.”

The police inspector was a thoroughly good fellow, and a gentleman. He didn’t take any offence at this, for he knew and respected the agony I was undergoing. We were riding a little ahead of the patrol, and therefore were alone together.

“Look here, Glanton,” he said. “Abuse us as much as ever you like and welcome if only it’ll relieve your feelings. I don’t resent it. You may be, in a measure, right as to Hensley. We all thought—and you thought yourself if you remember—that the old chap had got off the rails somehow, in an ordinarily natural if mysterious way. But now I’m certain there’s some devilish foul play going on, and the thing is to get to the bottom of it. Now let’s keep our heads, above all things, and get to the bottom of it. This is my idea. While we go on with our search to-morrow, you go and find Tyingoza and enlist his aid. He’s a very influential chief, and has a good reputation, moreover you’re on first-rate terms with him. I believe he could help us if anybody could. What do you think?”

“I have thought of that already,” I answered gloomily. “But an isanusi of Ukozi’s repute is more powerful than the most powerful chief—at any rate on this side of the river. Still it’s a stone not to be left unturned. I’ll ride up the first thing in the morning. No, I’ll go before. I’ll start to-night.”

But I was not destined to do so. On returning to the house I found that both the Major and his wife were in a state of complete prostration. They seemed to cling to the idea of my presence. It was of no use for me to point out to them that the police patrol was camped, so to say, right under their very windows, not to mention Falkner and Kendrew in the house itself. They would not hear of my leaving that night. Edith, too, begged me to fall in with their wishes. A refusal might be dangerous to her father, she put it. Utterly exasperated and amazed at the selfishness, as I deemed it, of the old people, I seemed to have run my head against a blank wall.

“Look here, Edith,” I said. “They are simply sacrificing Aïda by throwing obstacles in my way like this. What am I to do?”

“This,” she answered. “Fall in with their wishes, till they are asleep. They will sleep, if only through sheer exhaustion, and if they don’t I’ll take care that they do, through another agency. Then, carry out your own plan and God bless you in it.”

“God bless you, for the brave resourceful girl you are,” I rejoined. “Manvers and I have been knocking together a scheme, and nothing on God’s earth is going to interfere with it. Well, we’ll make believe—but, at midnight I’m off, no matter what happens.”

“That’s right, Glanton,” said Kendrew, who had entered with an opportuneness that under other and less interested circumstances I should have regarded as suspicious. “Edith and I will take care of the old birds, never fear.”

Utterly heartsick, and though unconsciously so, physically weary by reason of the awful strain of the last twelve hours, I only sought to be alone. I went into the room I always occupied and shut myself in. Sleep? Yes, I would welcome it, if only as a respite. I don’t know whether it came or not.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

What Jan Boom Told.

It seemed as though I had slept five minutes when I started wide awake, listening. There was a faint sound of scratching upon the window pane. Then it ceased, to be followed by a succession of gentle taps.

Noiselessly I got out of bed, and drawing my revolver from its holster, stood listening once more. There was no mistake about it. Somebody was trying to attract my attention.

Even then—in that tense moment, the drear anguish of yesterday surged like a wave through my mind; but, upon it a gleam of hope. What was this fresh mystery, for, of course, it was in some way connected with the suggestion of tragedy—with the mysterious disappearance of my love?

There were no curtains, only blinds. Softly, noiselessly, I slipped to the window and displaced one of these, just sufficiently to leave a crack to be able to see through. The moon was shining, bright and clear, and all in the front of the house was illuminated almost as though by daylight I made out a dark figure crouching under the window, and held the revolver clenched and ready as I put up the sash.

“Who?” I said, in the Zulu.

“Nkose! It is I—Jan Boom.”

“Yes. And what do you want?”

“Nkose! Try and slip out of the house, unseen I want to talk. But others may be waking too. Do it. It concerns her whom you seek.”

I knew the ways of a native in such a matter, wherefore without hesitation, I put up the window as noiselessly as I could, and was out in a moment. Bearing in mind the strange and mysterious times upon which we had fallen I didn’t leave the weapon behind me in the room either.

“You are alone?” I said.

“I am alone, Nkose. Come round behind the waggon shed—or, better still, into the openness of the bush itself. There can we hold our indaba.”

“Good. Now—lead on.”

As I walked behind the Xosa, I was all aglow with eagerness. What had he discovered—or, had he discovered anything? Could I trust him? I remembered my first dislike of him, and how it had faded. What could he know of this last outrage? What part had he borne in it, if any? And if none, how could he be of any assistance?

“Well, Jan Boom,” I said when we were safe from possible interruption. “You know of course that the man who is the one to enable me to recover the Inkosikazi unharmed, will find himself in possession of sufficient cattle to purchase two new wives, with something to spare?”

“I know it, Nkose, and you—you also know what I said to you when I wanted to remain and work for you,” he answered significantly.

I did remember it. His words came back to me, though I had long since dismissed them from my mind. The plot was thickening.

The Xosa took a long and careful look round, and if my patience was strained to bursting point I knew enough of these people to know that you never get anything out of them by hurrying them. Then he bent his head towards me and whispered:

“If you follow my directions exactly you will recover the Inkosikazi. If not you will never see her again.”

“Never see her again?” I echoed with some idea of gaining time in order to collect myself.

“Has Nyamaki ever been seen again?” said Jan Boom.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I know where she will be to-morrow night.”

To-morrow night! And I had been expecting instant action.

“Look here,” I said, seizing him by the shoulder with a grip that must have hurt. “Has she been injured in any way? Tell me. Has she?”

“Not yet,” he answered. “No—not yet. But—if you fail to find her, and take her from where she is, to-morrow night—she will die, and that not easily.”

This time he did wince under my grip. In my awful agony I seemed hardly to know what I was doing. The whole moonlit scene seemed to be whirling round with me. My love—in peril! in peril of some frightful and agonising form of death! Oh Heaven help me to keep my wits about me! Some such idea must have communicated itself to the Xosa’s mind, for he said:

“Nkose must keep cool. No man can do a difficult thing if his head is not cool.”

Even then I noticed that he was looking at me with wonder tinged with concern. In ordinary matters—and some out of the ordinary—I was among the coolest headed of mortals. Now I seemed quite thrown off my balance. Somehow it never occurred to me to doubt the truth of Jan Boom’s statement.

“Where is this place?” I asked.

“That you will learn to-morrow night, Nkose, for I myself will take you there—if you are cautious. If not—!”

“Look here, Jan Boom. You want to earn the cattle which I shall give as a reward?”

“Cattle are always good to have, Nkose!”

“Well what other motive have you in helping me in this matter? You have not been very long with me, and I cannot recall any special reason why you should serve me outside of ordinary things.”

“Be not too curious, Nkose!” he answered, with a slight smile. “But, whether you fail or succeed to-morrow night, my life will be sought, for it will be known how you came there.”

“Have no fear as to that, Jan Boom, for I will supply you with the means of defending your life six times over—and you, too, come of a warrior race.”

“That is so, Nkose. I am of the Ama Gcaleka. Now talk we of our plan. To-morrow you will return home, starting from here after the sun is at its highest. Up to the time of starting you will help in the search in whatever direction it is made. But if you show any sign or give reason to suspect you know it is all being made in vain, it will mean the failure of our plan, and then—”

“Not on my account shall it fail then,” I said. “Tell me, Jan Boom. Is Ukozi at the back of this?”

“His eyes and ears are everywhere,” was the reply, accompanied by a significant glance around. “When you ride homeward to-morrow, your horse will be very lame.”

“Very lame?” I echoed in astonishment.

“Very lame. You yourself will lame it. So shall Ukozi’s eyes be deceived. For a man who has just returned home does not ride forth immediately on a horse that is very lame.”

I saw his drift—and it was ingenious.

“You will give out that you are tired of a useless search, that you are exhausted and intend to sleep for three days, and you will pretend to have drunk too much of the strong waters. So shall Ukozi’s eyes be deceived.”

“But Jan Boom, you and Tom are the only people on the place,” I urged.

“U’ Tom? Hau! Ukozi’s eyes and ears are everywhere,” was the enigmatical answer.

“And if my horse is lame how shall I use him?”

“You would not use him in any case,” was his answer. “The sound of a horse’s hoof travels far at night, that of a man’s foot, not. We walk.”

“Walk? Why then the place must be quite near.”

“Quite near it is, Iqalaqala,” slipping into rather an unwarrantable familiarity in addressing me by my native name, but this didn’t exercise me you may be sure. “Quite near, but—nowhere near the snake pool. Quite the other way. You will take the nephew of Nyamaki with you.”

“Ah! And—what of Umsindo?”

“Ha! Umsindo? He is a good fighting bull—but then he is a blundering bull. Yet we will take him, for his strength will be useful. For, we will take Ukozi alive.”

“That will not be easy, Jan Boom. And then—just think, how much easier it will be to kill him.”

“Yet we will do it. We will take him alive. You were asking but now, Nkose, what other motive I had in helping you,” he answered, with a dash of significance.

“Ah!”

“So we will take Ukozi alive. Is that to be?”

“Most certainly, if possible. But will it be possible? He is sure to fight. He will have people with him of course.”

“Two, at the most. We had better take them alive too, if we can. It will make things worse for Ukozi. But to no one living save to the two we have named will you by word or hint give knowledge of what I have told you. To do so will mean certain failure.”

I promised.

“Tell me now about this place, Jan Boom, and how you learned of its existence,” I said, for now in my feverish impatience I would rather talk for the remainder of the night than go in to shut myself up with my thoughts throughout its hours of silence.

“I will do better, Nkose, I will show it you,” he answered. “Whau! if we succeed in what we are to do—and we must if the three of you only keep strictly to my directions—why then I may tell you; and with it a tale so strange that you, or other white people, will give it half belief or perhaps not any. Now I must go. There is still some of the night left, and it is important that none should know we have talked or even that I have been away from Isipanga. Return as silently as you came, and to-morrow, well before the sun goes down ride up to the house on a very lame horse.”

“And with the other two?”

“With the other two. Nkose!” With which parting salute he was gone.

I waited a little, listening. No sound disturbed the dead silence save here and there the ordinary voices of the night. Then I regained my room.

Sleep was of course out of the question, and now I set to work deliberately to marshal my thoughts and bring them to bear on the situation. I felt no misgiving as to the Xosa’s good faith—the fact that he had agreed to my being accompanied by two tried and trusted comrades seemed to prove that. Though had he stipulated that I should have gone alone, I should, while prepared for any emergency, unhesitatingly have accepted the conditions. Again, the reward was quite enough to tempt a man of his courage, especially as he came of a totally different race, added to which the corner of curtain which he had just lifted was sufficient to show that he bore a grudge against the witch doctor, not to say a very pretty feud. How and why this should be, passed my understanding, but I knew enough of natives and their ways to know that I didn’t know them, as, indeed, I believe no white man ever really does.

And the motive of this outrage? Clearly, it was due to some dark superstition, as I had suspected from the very first. She had not been injured up till now, would not be unless we failed to arrive in time. There was unspeakable comfort in this, for I felt confident the Xosa was sure of his facts. But what stages of horror and despair must she not have passed through since her mysterious capture? Well the villainous witch doctor should pay a heavy reckoning and those who had helped him; and, thinking of it, I, too, was all eagerness he should be taken alive; for a great many years of hard labour—perhaps with lashes thrown in—which should be his reward, would be a far worse thing to him than a mere swift and easy death.

Then followed a reaction. What if Jan Boom had miscalculated and we arrived too late after all? A cold perspiration poured down me at the thought. “She will die, and that not easily,” had been his words. That pointed to torture—oh good God! My innocent beautiful love! in the power of these fiends, and sacrificed to their hellish superstitions, and I helpless here! I seemed to be going mad.

No. That wouldn’t do. I was letting my imagination run away with me in the silence and the darkness, and above all I wanted cool-headedness and strength. I must make up my mind to believe the Xosa’s word and that all would yet be well. By this time the next night she would be with us again safe and sound.

Then I fell to wondering what sort of hiding-place could be found within a walk—an easy walk apparently—of my dwelling, and it baffled me. I could think of none. Moreover the surroundings had been scoured in search of the missing Hensley, and nothing of the kind had come to light. And then the first signs of dawn began to show, and I felt relieved, for now at any rate, one could be up and doing.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

What we Found.

I have seen a good many astonished natives in my time but never a more astonished one than my boy Tom that evening after supper, when staggering to my feet and lurching unsteadily I bade him in thick and indistinct accents to go into the store and fetch some new blankets for my two guests to sleep on. When on his return, I cursed him roundly, and threw an empty bottle at his head, taking good care however that it shouldn’t hit him, then subsided on to the floor to all outward appearances in the last stage of helpless intoxication, poor Tom must have thought the end of the world had come. This, of course, was part of the programme as drawn up between myself and Jan Boom.

In every other particular I had scrupulously observed it even to the severe laming of my unfortunate horse. Poor beast! but then what were the passing sufferings of a mere animal, when issues such as this were in the balance! I had got through the morning joining in the pretended search, and it was while thus engaged that I found an opportunity of imparting to the other two our plan of rescue.

“By the Lord!” exclaimed Kendrew, “I never heard such an extraordinary thing in my life.”

“The thing is, can we swallow it?” was Falkner’s remark. “These niggers are such infernal liars.”

“Well. I’m going to follow it up, even if I go alone,” I said.

“Who the devil said you were going alone, Glanton?” he answered gruffly. “Look here, we rather hate each other, but you can’t say that up there in Zululand, for instance, I ever backed down.”

“Certainly I can’t, Sewin,” I said. “What I can say is that in any sort of scrap there’s no man I’d rather have alongside than yourself. And as for hating each other, it’s only natural you should hate me I suppose, but I’ve never returned the compliment.”

“Well we’ll knock hell out of someone to-night anyhow,” he said. “Now let’s have all particulars of the scheme.”

I gave them, exactly as I had had them from Jan Boom.

“The thing is to keep it up,” I said. “That’ll be the stiffest part of all—to keep it up. We mustn’t go about looking as if we had found her already. Native eyes and ears are sharp, and native deductions are swiftly drawn.”

This was agreed upon, and we continued our mock search more strenuously than ever. We dared not even let fall so much as a hint to the old people. Pitiable as it was to witness their distress, yet it was better that this should continue a little longer rather than that our success should be imperilled, as certainly would have been the case had we let slip the slightest inkling that there was ground for hope.

“Has Ivondwe made any revelation?” I asked the police inspector, later on as we were about to start. “Not a word. Would you like to talk to him, Glanton? You might get something out of him.”

“Not to-day. To-morrow perhaps. Only keep him doubly guarded. He’ll certainly escape if he can.”

“He’ll be a bigger magician than Ukozi if he does. He’s handcuffed in a hut, with four of my men guarding him, two inside and two out. And the two out are just dead shots with rifle or pistol, although they do belong to the poor old police,” he added meaningly.

“All right. Now I’m off to try and work the native intelligence department.”

“And I hope to God you may succeed,” had been the fervent answer. “Good-bye.”

So here we were, only awaiting our guide in order to set forth. The other two had also simulated inebriation, but only to a slight extent. We had a business-like revolver apiece and plenty of cartridges, but no guns. Another significant item of our outfit comprised several strong, new reims. At last, after further waiting, which seemed an eternity, Jan Boom appeared.

There was mirth lurking in his face as he explained that he had come over at Tom’s instance. Tom should have come to see if anything more was wanted before he turned in for the night, but he was afraid. His master seemed bewitched, he declared. He and the other two white men were all drunk, but his master was the most drunk of all—yes, by far. His master drunk!

At any other time we would have roared over the absurdity of the situation, and Tom’s very justifiable amazement. Now Jan Boom was directed to tell him to turn in, and then come back. He came back, but took rather long about it. “Now Amakosi!” he said. “We will start, but no word must be spoken save in the faintest of whispers, and only then if it cannot be avoided.”

“What if Tom should take into his head to come here again?” I asked.

“He will not, Nkose, I have tied him up so that he can neither move nor speak.”

“Good,” I said.

The night seemed very dark as we set forth, for the moon had not yet risen, and the starlight was insufficient to render our march easy, as we followed the elastic stride of our silent guide. Our excitement was intense, as we threaded the thickness of some bushy kloof by narrow game paths known to our guide and lit upon in the darkness with the unerring instinct of the savage. Every now and then a rustle and patter, as something scurried away, and once some large animal, alarmed, started away with a sudden and tremendous crash which it seemed must have been heard for miles. Not one of us dared break the Xosa’s enjoinment to strict silence, and thus we proceeded. How long this lasted we could only guess, but it seemed that we were hours traversing the interminable tortuousness of bushy ravines, or scaling the side of a slope with such care as not to disturb a single stone. At last Jan Boom came to a halt, and stood, listening intently.

In the gloom we could make out nothing distinct. We were facing a dark mass of thick bush, with a rugged boulder here and there breaking through, as if it had fallen from a stunted krantz which crowned the slope not very much higher above. It took some straining of the eyes to grasp these details. When we looked again our guide had disappeared.

“What does it mean, Glanton?” whispered Falkner. “What if this is another trap and we are going to be the next to disappear? Well, we sha’n’t do it so quietly, that’s one thing.”

Then through the silence came Jan Boom’s voice, and—it seemed to come from right beneath our feet.

“Down here, Amakosi. Iqalaqala first.”

“Down here?” Yes—but where? Then I saw what was a hole or cavity, seeming to pierce the blackness of a dense wall of bush. Without a moment’s hesitation I obeyed, and finding Jan Boom’s outstretched hand I dropped into what was curiously like a sort of deep furrow. The others followed, and lo—something closed behind us. We were in pitch darkness, and a moist and earthy smell gave out a most uncomfortable suggestion of being buried alive.

“Now walk,” whispered the Xosa. “Let each keep hold of the one in front of him. But—before all—silence!”

In this way we advanced, Jan Boom leading, I keeping a hand on his shoulder, Kendrew doing ditto as to mine, while Falkner brought up the rear. The place was not a cave, for every now and again we could see a star or two glimmering high above. It seemed like a deep fissure or crevasse seaming the ground, but what on earth it was like above I had no idea.

We walked lightly and on our toes in order to ensure silent progress. A few minutes of this and the Xosa halted. The fissure had widened out, and now a puff of fresh air bore token that we were getting into the light of day, or rather of night, once more. Nor were we sorry, for our subterranean progress was suggestive of snakes and all kinds of horrors. I, for one, knew by a certain feel in the air that we were approaching water.

A little further and again we halted. A patch of stars overhead, and against it the black loom of what was probably a krantz or at any rate a high bluff. The murmur of running water, also sounding from overhead, at the same time smote upon our ears.

It was getting lighter. The moon was rising at last, and as we strained our gaze through the thick bushy screen behind which we had halted, this is what we saw.

We were looking down upon a circular pool whose surface reflected the twinkling of the stars. On three sides of it ran an amphitheatre of rock, varying from six to twenty feet in height. At the upper end where the water fell into it in a thin stream, the rock dipped to the form of a letter “V.” All this we could make out in the dim light of the stars, for as yet the face of the rock was in dark shadow. And yet, and yet—as I gazed I could descry a striking resemblance to our own waterhole except that this was more shut in.

“Remember,” whispered the Xosa, impressively. “There is to be no shooting. They are to be taken alive.”

We promised, wondering the while where “they” were. A tension of excitement, and eagerness for the coming struggle was upon all three of us. For me I rebelled against the agreement which should deter me from battering the life out of the black villains who had brought my darling to this horrible place. What terrors must she not have endured? What ghastly rites of devil worship were enacted here?

Foot by foot the light crept downwards, revealing the face of the rock as the moon rose higher and higher. Then a violent nudge from Falkner, at my side—but I had already seen.

The water was pouring down upon the head of what had once been a human being. Now it was a dreadful, glistening slimy thing, half worn away by the action of the running water. It was fixed in a crucified attitude, facing outwards, bound by the wrists to a thick pole which was stretched across horizontally from side to side of the pool, the feet resting upon a rock ledge beneath. It needed not the agonised stare upon that awful upturned face—or rather what once had been a face—to tell in what unspeakable torture this wretched being had died. To my mind and to Falkner’s came the recollection of our gruesome find that grey afternoon in the northern wilds of Zululand.

Two more bodies, one little better than a skeleton, were bound similarly on each side of the central one. As we gazed, spellbound with horror, we saw that which pointed to one of these being the body of a white man.

Now a dark figure appeared on the brink above the central victim, appeared so silently and suddenly as to lend further horror to this demon haunted spot. We watched it in curdling horror as it stooped, then reached down and cut the thongs which held first one wrist then the other. The body thus released toppled heavily into the pool with a dull splash that echoed among the overhanging rocks. Then it disappeared.

The figure, straightened up now, stood watching the troubled surface for a moment. Standing there full in the moonlight I thought to recognise the face. It was that of one of Tyingoza’s people whom I knew by sight, but could not fit with a name. Then he turned to clamber back, crooning as he did so, a strange weird song. It was not very intelligible, but was full of sibongo to the Water Spirit, who should now delight in a fresh victim, a rare victim, one by the side of which all former sacrifices were but poor. Then would the land have rain again—would drink all the rain it needed.

Now the blood seemed to rush to my brain as though to burst it. A red mist came before my eyes, and my heart seemed to hammer within me as though it would betray our place of concealment without fail. For I realised who this new victim—this rare victim—was to be, the victim who was to take the place of the ghastly shapeless horror which we had seen disappear beneath that awful surface. A warning touch from Jan Boom brought me back to recollection and sanity again.

Through our concealing screen we saw the man who had released the corpse drop down the rock. Another had joined him, and now the two crouched down in the shadow with an air of eager expectancy as though waiting for something or somebody. One held in his hand a coiled thong. Then we heard voices, one a full, sonorous, male tone talking in the Zulu; and another, rich, musical, feminine—and it I recognised with a tightening of the heart. Both were approaching, in such wise as would bring the speakers almost within touch of us.

And the two fiends, the one with the coiled thong, and the other, crouched—waiting.

Chapter Thirty.

The Latest Victim.

There she stood—Aïda, my love. I could see every line of the sweet pale face, turned full towards me in the moonlight, but it wore a half-dazed look as that of one who walks and talks in her sleep. But it bore no sign of fear.

“This is the third night, Inkosikazi, and it is time to restore you to your own people,” Ukozi was saying. “You will tell them that we have not harmed you, but that your presence was necessary for three nights, to render perfect our múti.”

She looked as if she but half understood him, and nodded her head. They were but a few paces from us, and where they had emerged from we could not make out. Their backs were toward the horrid remains, and also toward the two crouching figures.

“So now we are ready. Come.”

This was clearly a signal, for the two crouching figures sprang up and forward to seize her. The first went down like a felled bullock, under a judiciously planted whack from Jan Boom’s knobkerrie as we leapt from our concealment. Falkner had grappled with the witch doctor, but Ukozi was a muscular and powerful savage, and it taxed all his younger foeman’s athletic resources to hold him. He writhed and struggled, and the two were rolling over and over on the ground. Then Jan Boom seizing his chance, let out again with his formidable knobkerrie, bringing it down bang in the middle of Ukozi’s skull. He, too, flattened out. The third, held at the point of Kendrew’s pistol, had already surrendered.

“Better tie them up sharp before they come to,” said Falkner. “Here goes for Mr Witch Doctor anyhow.”

All this had happened in a moment. In it I had borne no active part, my first care and attention had been given to Aïda. It was remarkable that she showed but little surprise at the sight of me.

“Is that you, dear? And you have come to take me home? I am rather relieved, for I was beginning to get a little frightened I believe. But—what is it all about? These people have done me no harm.”

“No—thank the Lord and we four,” said Falkner grimly. “Not yet, but we were only in the nick of time. There—you evil beast. You can come to now, as soon as you like.”

This to the fellow whom Jan Boom had first stunned and whom he had just finished tying up in the most masterly manner. The Xosa had effected the same process with the third, under cover of Kendrew’s pistol.

“Don’t look round, Aïda,” I said. “There’s a sight it’ll be as well for you not to see. In fact I’ll take you away as soon as Jan Boom is ready to show us the way out.”

But Jan Boom was apparently not ready. He stood glaring down upon the prostrate and unconscious witch doctor with an expression of vindictive hatred upon his countenance that was positively devilish.

“Not killed,” he muttered in his own tongue. “No—no—not killed. That were too sweet and easy for him.”

“Ha-ha, Jan,” guffawed Falkner. “You were so keen on capturing the brute alive, and now you’ve killed him yourself.”

“He not dead,” answered the Xosa in English. “Zulu nigga’s skull damn hard. He come to directly.”

“Well it wasn’t much of a scrap anyway,” grumbled Falkner. “Are there any more of them?”

“Only two women up there at the huts,” said Aïda. “But I don’t understand. They’ve done me no harm.”

“No, exactly. You don’t understand, but we do,” answered Falkner grimly. “And, now, by the way, where are the said huts?”

“Up above there. You go by the way you saw me come in. Through that passage.”

Now we saw a narrow passage similar to the one we had entered by. It seemed to lead upward.

“Quite sure it’s all there are?” he said.

“Yes. There are only a couple of huts there, and I don’t think there’s any way out, that side. Oh—What is that?”

The words came out in a sort of shriek. As ill luck would have it she had turned and caught sight of the remains of the other two victims. She covered her face with her hands.

“Oh take me out of this horrible place. Now I begin to see,” and she shivered all over.

“Be brave now, darling,” I whispered. “We will go at once. I didn’t want you to see that, but—it’s only a way they have of burying their dead,” I added under a swift inspiration that a lie of that sort was highly expedient, and even then I don’t think she more than half believed me.

Jan Boom the while, together with Kendrew, had been acting in a thoroughly practical manner, by way of rendering the situation more secure. They had tied the three prisoners together by the leg, in addition to their other bonds, and this was as well, for the pair who had been stunned were showing signs of returning consciousness. Then we held a council of war. It was arranged that Jan Boom was to return with Aïda and myself to my place, thence he was to take one of the horses and ride straight on to Major Sewin’s and return with the police. The while Kendrew and Falkner would remain, and mount guard over the prisoners.

“Mind you sing out loud enough when you come back, Jan,” said Falkner meaningly. “Because we are going to blow the head off the very first nigger that happens to poke his nose in upon us through either of those holes, and that without warning too.”

The Xosa grinned broadly.

“No fear, I’ll sing out, sir,” he said in English. “But you look after Ukozi. Witch doctor damn smart nigga. Plaps he get away.”

“If he does he’s welcome to,” rejoined Falkner, poking the muzzle of his pistol against the shaven head of the principal prisoner, who having now recovered consciousness was staring stupidly about him. “Eh, my buck? But we won’t cheat the hangman in your case, no fear.”

I was unspeakably glad on Aïda’s account, to find ourselves through the horrid tunnel-like way by which we had entered, and out in the wholesome night air again. She seemed none the worse for her adventures, and was wonderfully plucky. She never could feel anything but safe with me, she declared.

The way was much easier now in the clear moonlight than when we had come, under the light of the stars, and as we walked she told me as well as she was able, what had befallen her on the afternoon of her solitary walk. When I chided her for undertaking a solitary walk she answered that she could not imagine harm overtaking her with so powerful a protector as Arlo.

“I don’t know why,” she went on, “but I felt a half unconscious inclination to go over that way we came together that evening before you went. Suddenly I discovered that Arlo was no longer with me. I called him but he didn’t come. This was strange, so I turned back, still calling him. Then I saw him lying as if he was dead, and bending over him were two natives. They started up at the sound of my voice, and I recognised Ivondwe and the witch doctor.”

“Ivondwe? Ah!” I interrupted, for a new light had now struck me. “Yes. Go on.”

“They called to me to come—and I advanced, dreadfully concerned about poor Arlo, and then I don’t know how it was, whether some instinct warned me, or whether it was a look I saw pass between them, but—I acted like an idiot. I turned and ran. You see, I lost my head completely.”

For answer I pressed the hand that rested on my arm closer to my side.

“Well, and what then?” I said.

“As soon as I began to run they came after me. As I say—I had lost my head completely, and hardly knew where I was going. Then, suddenly, I found myself on the brink of the waterhole; in fact I had nearly fallen into it. I turned, and the two were right upon me. ‘Why had I run away?’ they asked. ‘There was surely nothing to be afraid of. Surely I knew them both well enough. My dog was lying there dead and they had been trying to see what they could do for him.’

“I was unaccountably frightened, and dreadfully out of breath after the run. I felt half faint. Then just as I began to think I had behaved like a fool something was thrown over my head from behind, something that seemed saturated with some particularly overpowering and nauseous drug. Then I became unconscious, and only recovered when I found myself at the place we have just come from—or rather in a small kraal in a hollow just above it.”

“And you have been there all the time. Aïda, you are sure they have not injured you?”

“Oh yes. On the contrary they were quite deferential, the witch doctor especially. He told me my presence was necessary for a certain time on account of an important rain-making ceremony he was engaged in. After that I should be taken home again. Well I thought it advisable to make a virtue of necessity, and conciliate them. I even began to enter into the adventure of the thing, and supposed I was going to witness some quaint and rare native superstition. Another thing. The drug that at first overpowered me had left a strange effect—I believe it is a little upon me still. It was a sort of half drowsy apathetic feeling, as if it was too much trouble to think about anything. The women there took care of me, great care; they were Ukozi’s wives they said. Well, this evening he came to me and said the moon was right, and with my help, he had accomplished all he wanted, and it would soon rain abundantly. The time had come to take me home and he would guide me there. Do you know, he can talk English quite well?”

“No—by Jove I didn’t. He’s kept it remarkably dark hitherto. Yet he wasn’t talking English when you appeared.”

“No he wasn’t. I’ve got to understand them rather well by this time. Well, then you all burst out upon us and here I am.”

“Thank God for that!” I said fervently. “There’s another, too, of whom the same holds good, Jan Boom here.”

The Xosa, who was walking a little ahead of us, paused at the sound of his name and waited for us.

“Nkose,” he said, speaking in the vernacular. “Did you promise to tell me before three moons were dead, whether you were sorry you had kept me in your service or not?”

“That I did, Jan Boom, and you know the answer. Nor will you find me forgetful—impela!”

“Nkose!” he ejaculated and walked on.

“I have yet to get the whole mystery out of him,” I said in a low tone, “but for that I must wait his own time.”

There was another “time” for which I meant to wait. Not yet would I reveal to Aïda the horrible fate to which the repulsive superstition of the witch doctor had consigned her. That she would learn in due course. At present I wanted her to recover completely from the effects of her experience.

It was close upon dawn when we reached my place, and as I attended to the refreshment and comfort of my love, after her trying and perilous experience, it was as a foretaste of the future. Her people would be here as soon as they could possibly arrive, meanwhile she was under my care. And she needed sleep.

Tom, now cut loose from his night’s bonds, but none the worse, came up looking very sulky and foolish, and muttering vengeance against the Xosa, who for his part cared not a straw for such. A judicious present however soon altered that mood, and I believe he would have been quite willing to undergo the same treatment over again on the same terms, and bustled about making himself generally useful with renewed zest.

Ah, how fair arose that morning’s dawn. All that I held precious—my whole world as it were—lay peacefully sleeping within that hut, and while I kept guard outside, half fearing lest again that priceless gem should be stolen from its casket, an overwhelming rush of intense thankfulness surged deep through my heart. What had I done—what could I ever do—to deserve such a gift, now valued, if possible, a hundredfold by reason of the awful agony and blank of a temporary loss?

Far down in the river-bed lay waves of fleecy mist, and the rising sun gilded the heights with his early splendour. Birds piped and flashed among the dewy bush sprays, and the low of cattle and bark of a dog from a distant kraal floated upward. All was fair and bright and peaceful—and within—my love still slept on, serene, quiet, secure.

Chapter Thirty One.

The Brotherhood of the Dew.

Aïda looked none the worse for her adventures as she came forth into the clear freshness of the morning. The lethargic effect of the drug seemed to have left her entirely, and she was quite her old self, bright, sunny, fascinating as ever. But scarcely had we begun to talk than we saw three persons approaching on horseback.

“They haven’t lost much time coming for you,” I said, as I made out the rest of the family. “And I wanted you all to myself a little longer.”

“You mustn’t say that, dear,” she answered, with a return pressure from the hand I was holding. “They are perhaps just a little bit fond of me too.”

“Hallo, Glanton,” sung out the Major, breathless with excitement, as he rode up. “What the dickens is this cock and bull yarn your fellow has been spinning us. I can’t make head or tail of it and I didn’t stop to try. Anyhow, there’s my little girl again all safe and sound. She is safe and sound? Eh?”

“Absolutely, father,” answered Aïda, for herself. And then there was a good deal of bugging and kissing all round, and some crying; by the way, it seems that the women, dear creatures, can’t be brought to consider any ceremony complete unless they turn on the hose; for they turn it on when they’re happy, just as readily as when they’re not. For instance—there we were, all jolly together again—what the deuce was there to cry about? Yet cry they did.

I had breakfast set out in the open on the shady side of the store, with the broad view of the Zulu country lying beneath in the distance, and they declared it reminded them of that memorable time when the contre temps as to Tyingoza’s head-ring had befallen. And then when Aïda had given her adventures once more in detail, through sheer reaction we were all intensely happy after the dreadful suspense and gloom of the last three days. At length it was I who proposed we should make a move down, for it would be as well to be on hand when the others returned with the police and the prisoners.

“By Jove, Glanton, but you were right when you advised me to have nothing to do with that rascally witch doctor,” said the Major, as we rode along. “One consolation. I suppose he’s bound to be hung. Eh?”

“That depends on how we work the case,” I said. “And it’ll take a great deal of working.”

Hardly had we returned than the others arrived, bringing the three prisoners, and two more in the shape of the women of whom Aïda had told us. These however were kept entirely separate from Ukozi and his companions. No conversation between them was allowed.

Ukozi was sullen and impassive, but the younger prisoners glared around with a savage scowl which deepened as it rested on Falkner. He for response only grinned.

“All right my bucks,” he said. “There’s a rope and a long drop sticking out for you. By George, but this has been a ripping bit of fun for one night.”

“That’s all right,” I said rather shortly. “But you might remember that the reason for it hasn’t been fun by any means.”

“No, not for you, that’s understood,” he sneered, turning away, for he was still more than a little sore over my success.

“Glanton, I’ve something devilish rum to tell you.”

The speaker was Kendrew. “Come out of the crowd,” he went on. “Yes, it just is rum, and it gave me a turn, I can tell you. First of all, that nest of murderers we tumbled into, is bang on the edge of—if not within—my own place. Yes, it is my own place now—beyond a shadow of doubt. For we’ve unearthed something there.”

“You don’t mean—” I began, beginning to get an inkling.

He nodded.

“Yes, I do. The furthest of those two poor devils stuck up there against the rock—ugh!—was poor old Hensley—my old uncle.”

“Good lord!”

“Yes indeed. I was able to identify him by several things—ugh, but it wasn’t a nice job, you understand. But the mystery is not how he couldn’t be found at the time, but how the deuce such a neat little devil hole could exist on the place at all, unknown to any of us. Why, you can’t get in—or out of it—at all from the top, only through the hole we slipped in by. It’s like a false bottom to a box by Jove. Yes—it’s rum how such a place could exist.”

I thought so too. So now poor old Hensley’s disappearance stood explained; and the explanation was pitiable. He had been beguiled—or forcibly brought—to the hell pit of cruelty where these demons performed the dark rites of some secret superstition, and there horribly done to death by the water torture. When I thought of the one who had been destined to succeed him, and who by the mercy of Providence had been snatched from their fiendish hands just in the nick of time, a sort of “seeing red” feeling came over me, and had they been in my power, I could have massacred all four of the prisoners with my own hand.

“Let’s see if we can get anything out of them, Kendrew,” I said. “Manvers won’t mind.”

But Inspector Manvers did mind—at first. Then he agreed. They would be started off for the Police Camp that night; however, as they were here we could talk to them.

We might just as well have saved ourselves the trouble. Ivondwe, who had been kept apart from the others, smiled sweetly and wondered what all the bother was about. He could not imagine why he had been seized and tied up. However that would soon come right. Government was his father, but it had made a mistake. However he, as its child, could not complain even if his father had made a mistake. It would all come right.

The witch doctor simply refused to speak at all, but the young men jeered. One of these I seemed to recognise.

“Surely I have seen thee before?” I said. “Where?”

“Kwa ’Sipanga?”

“I remember. Atyisayo is thy name. ‘Hot water.’ And I warned thee not to get into any more hot water—as the whites say.”

He laughed at this—but evilly, and no further word could I get out of either of them.

But if they would reveal nothing there was another who would, and that was Jan Boom. Him I had refrained from questioning until we should be all quiet again.

The police, with the exception of three men, who had been detailed to remain on the spot and keep their eyes and ears open, started off that same evening with their prisoners. Later, Jan Boom came to the house and gave me to understand he had something to tell me. The family had just gone to bed, and Kendrew and I were sitting out on the stoep smoking a last pipe.

“Nkose, the time has now come,” he said, “to tell you what will sound strange to your ears. I would not tell it before, no, not till the Amapolise had gone. The Amapolise are too fond of asking many questions—foolish questions—asking them, too, as if they thought you were trying to throw sand in their eyes when all the time you are trying to help them. Now is that encouraging to one who would help them?”

I readily admitted that it was not.

“So now, Nkose, if you will come forth with me where we shall not be heard—yes, the nephew of Nyamaki may come, too—for my tale is not for all ears, you shall hear it.”

We needed no second invitation. As we followed him I could not but call to mind, in deep and thankful contrast, his revelation of two nights ago—made in the same way and on the same spot.

“You will have heard, Amakosi,” he began, “of the tribe called Amazolo, or the People of the Dew, which flourished in Natal before Tshaka’s impis drove the tribes of that land into the mountains or the sea.

“It was out of this tribe that the principal rainmakers came. So sure and successful were they in making rain that they were always in request. Even Tshaka, the Great, came to hear of them, and was never without some of them at his Great Place, Dukuza, but as to these, well—he was ever sending for a fresh supply. But he, that Elephant, and Dingane after him, protected the Amazolo, so that they became looked up to and respected among all peoples.

“Now Luluzela, the chief of that tribe, was jealous of the first rain-making doctor, Kukuleyo, for it had come to this—that Luluzela was chief of the Amazolo but Kukuleyo was chief of him. So Luluzela waited patiently and watched his chances, for he dare not strike the rain doctor openly because Dingane favoured him, and had anything happened to him would soon have demanded to know the reason why. One day accordingly, knowing some of the mysteries himself, he ordered Kukuleyo to bring rain. The cattle were dying for want of water, and the crops were parched. The people would soon be dying too. But Kukuleyo answered that the moment was not propitious; that anything he did then would anger the izituta instead of propitiating them, and that when the time was right a sacrifice must be offered; not of cattle but of something quite beyond the ordinary. The chief jeered at this, but said the rain doctors might offer any sacrifice they chose.”

“‘Any sacrifice they chose?’” echoed Kukuleyo with emphasis.

“Yes. Any sacrifice they chose,” repeated the chief, angry and sneering. But if rain did not come within a certain time why then Kukuleyo and all those who helped him should suffer the fate which had always been that of impostors.

“Soon after this, clouds began to gather in the heavens, and to spread and fly like vultures when they scent death afar. In a roaring thunder-rush they broke, and the land, all parched and cracked and gaping, ran off the water in floods. There was rejoicing, and yet not, for it had all come too quickly and violently, washing away and drowning the cattle which it should have restored to life, and covering the cornlands with thick layers of unfruitful sand. The people murmured against Kukuleyo and his rainmakers, the chief waxed fierce, and threatened. But his answer was firm and quiet. ‘Lo, I have brought you rain.’

“Still, good followed, for when the worst had passed the worst, and the water was run off, the land was green again, and all things grew and thrived and fattened. But—then followed consternation on other grounds. The chief’s son, Bacaza, had disappeared.

“He had disappeared, suddenly and in mystery. No trace was left. He might have gone into empty air. At first Luluzela was angry, then alarmed. He sent for Kukuleyo.

“But the rain doctor’s face was like rock. What had he to do with the disappearance of people? he said. He was a rainmaker. He was not trained in unfolding mysteries. The chief of the Amazolo had better send for an isanusi if he wanted this one unfolded.

“And then, Amakosi, a discovery was made. Bacaza, the son of the chief was found—what was left of him that is. He was spread out beneath the falling water above a lonely pool, and was so arranged that the constant flow of water falling upon the back of his head and neck, slowly wore him to death. But it took days of awful agony such as no words could tell.”

“How do you know that, Jan Boom?” I said, moved to an uneasiness of horror by the vivid way in which the Xosa was telling his story, for his eyes rolled and he passed his hand quickly over his face to wipe off the beads of perspiration. Clearly the recollection was a real and a terrible one to him.

“I know it, because I have been through it,” he answered. “For a whole night, and part of a day I have been through it. Hau! it is not a thing to look back to, Amakosi. But let me tell my tale. When Luluzela heard what had been done he sent for Kukuleyo, intending to put him and his rainmakers to a slow and lingering death by fire. But Kukuleyo was no fool. He appeared armed, and with a great force at his back, so that that plan could not be carried out. For some time they looked at each other like two bulls across a kraal fence, then Kukuleyo said:—

“‘Did not the chief of the Amazolo bid us offer any sacrifice we pleased, in order to obtain the desired rain?’

“‘Eh-hé, any sacrifice we pleased,’ echoed his followers, clamorously.

“‘Why then, have I not taken the chief at his word?’ went on Kukuleyo, defiantly. ‘Nothing less than his son would satisfy the izituta, and his son have we offered. And—has it not rained? Ah! Ah! “Any sacrifice we pleased,” was the word,’ he went on mockingly. ‘The word of the chief.’

“But Luluzela did not wait to hear more. With a roar of rage, he and those that were with him, hurled themselves upon the rainmakers. But these had come prepared, and had a goodly following too, all armed, many who were dissatisfied with Luluzela’s rule—where is there a chief without some dissatisfied adherents?—and who had benefited by the rain. Then there was a great fight, and in it the chief was slain, but Kukuleyo came out without a scratch. This led to other fighting, and the tribe was broken up, some wandering one way, some another. But ever since then the Amazolo have been in request. The scattered remnants thus drifted, but whenever a severe drought occurred some of them were sure to be found. With them they took the tradition of the sacrifice of Luluzela’s son.”

“But,” I said. “Do they sacrifice someone every time rain is wanted?”

“Not every time, Nkose. Still it is done, and that to a greater extent than you white people have any idea of. And it would have continued to be done if Ukozi had not conceived the idea of turning to white people for his victims. Hence the disappearance of Nyamaki. This time it was intended to seize Umsindo, but he is a great fighting bull, and would not only have injured others, but would most certainly have got injured himself; and it is essential that the victim who is put through ukuconsa as it is called, shall be entirely uninjured. So they chose the Inkosikazi instead.”

“But, Jan Boom,” put in Kendrew. “How on earth did they manage, in the case of my uncle, to spirit him away as they did—and leave no trace?”

“That I cannot tell you, Nkose. You must get that from Ukozi, if he will tell.”

“Here is another thing,” I said. “Even if Ukozi belongs to this tribe, Atyisayo and Ivondwe do not. They are of Tyingoza’s people.”

“That is true, Nkose. But the thing is no longer confined to the Amazolo. It has become a close and secret brotherhood, and all may belong. They are called Abangan ’ema zolweni, the Comrades—or Brotherhood—of the Dew. And—it is everywhere. You remember what we found in Majendwa’s country? Well that was a victim of ukuconsa and it surprised me, because I had not thought the custom had found its way into Zululand.”

“And what of the pool here, and the big serpent, and Ukozi feeding it with the kid?” I asked, for I had already told him about this.

“The snake embodies the Water Spirit,” he said. “It is customary to feed such with offerings.”

“Was there then a snake in the other pool which we found?” I asked, feeling a creepy, shuddering horror run through me at the thought of the indescribably ghastly fate which had hung over my darling and from which we had only just been in time to save her, thanks to the shrewd promptitude of this staunch fellow, whom I had begun by disliking and mistrusting.

“That I cannot say, Nkose. But I think not. The water torture goes on for days, and the victim is left just as he is until he falls off or room is made for a fresh one, as we saw them so make it there.”

“But you. How was it you were doomed to it, and how did you escape?” asked Kendrew.

“That is a long story, and it will I tell another time. I was living in Pondoland then, not far on the other side of the Umtavuna. Ukozi did that, but now I shall have revenge. Tell me, Amakosi, will not your people have him lashed before they hang him? If so I should like to see that.”

It was little wonder that this savage should give way to the intensity of his vindictive feeling. We white men both felt that mere hanging was too good for these fiends. But we were obliged to assure him that such was very unlikely.

“When we returned from the Zulu country,” he went on, “I began to put things together. I remembered what we had found up there, and what with Ukozi being in these parts and the sudden disappearance of Nyamaki, a little while before, I felt sure that the Brotherhood of the Dew was at work. I asked you to keep me with you, Nkose, because I saw my way now, by striking at it, to revenge myself upon Ukozi for the torture he had made me undergo. Whau! and it is torture! That of the fire cannot be worse. I knew that the Brotherhood would be strong, because among the people here there are so many names that have to do with water—from Tyingoza and his son downwards—”

I started. Yes, it was even as he said. There were many names of just that description. But Tyingoza! Could that open-mannered, straightforward chief for whom I had always entertained the highest regard, really be one of that black, devilish murder society!

“Moreover,” he went on, “I knew whence they would draw their next victim. I, too, have eyes and ears, Nkose, as well as yourself,” he said, with a whimsical laugh, “and I used them. The Abangan ’ema zolweni were strong in numbers, but otherwise weak. Their brethren were too young and—they talked—ah—ah—they talked. Hence I was able to follow Atyisayo to where I guided you. The rest was easy.”

“Well, Jan Boom,” I said seeing he had finished his story. “You will find you have done the very best day’s work for yourself as well as for others that you ever did in your life.”

“Nkose is my father,” he answered with a smile. “I am in his hands.”

Neither Kendrew nor I said much as we returned to the house. This hideous tale of a deep and secret superstition, with its murderous results, existent right in our midst, was too strange, too startling, and yet, every word of it bore infinite evidence of truth. Well, it proved what I have more than once stated, that no white man ever gets to the bottom of a native’s innermost ways, however much he may think he does.

Chapter Thirty Two.

The Last Penalty.

Inspector Manvers was a shrewd as well as a smart officer, and it was not long before he had obtained from the two frightened women who had been made prisoners, sufficient information to warrant him in making several additional arrests. These, which were effected cleverly and quietly, included no less a personage than Ivuzamanzi, the son of Tyingoza. This would have astonished me, I own, but for Jan Boom’s narrative; besides after the defection of Ivondwe I was prepared to be astonished at nothing.

An exhaustive search was made of the gruesome den of death, and in the result the identity of poor Hensley was established beyond a doubt, as his nephew had said. The police spared no pains. They dragged the bottom of the waterhole with grappling hooks, and brought up a quantity of human bones, and old tatters of rotted clothing. It was obvious that quite a number of persons had been done to death here.

“The Abangan ’ema zolweni were strong in numbers but otherwise weak. Their brethren were too young, and—they talked.” Such had been Jan Boom’s dictum, and now events combined to bear it out. Two of the younger prisoners, fearing for their lives, confessed. This example was followed by others, and soon ample evidence was available to draw the web tight round the witch doctor, Ivondwe, Ivuzamanzi and Atyisayo, as prime movers in the whole diabolical cult. And then, that there could be no further room for doubt, Ukozi himself confessed.

I own that I was somewhat astonished at this. But since his incarceration the witch doctor’s spirit seemed completely to fail him, which was strange; for a native, especially one of his age and standing, does not, as a rule, fear death. But fear, abject and unmistakable, had now taken hold of this one. He trembled and muttered, and at times it seemed as if his mind would give way. Then he declared his willingness to make a statement. Perhaps his life would be spared.

But he was given to understand he need entertain no hopes of that kind if he should be convicted at the trial. Even then he persisted. He wanted to throw off the load, he said, for it lay heavy on his heart.

His statement was consistent with that of all the others, moreover it tallied with all that Jan Boom had told me. The part of it that was peculiar was the manner in which they had been able to remove their victims so as to leave no trace. This had been done by means of muffled shoes. The drug administered had the effect of putting them into a kind of trance. They had all their faculties about them, save only that of volition, but afterwards they would remember nothing. Nyamaki had been easily removed because he lived alone. He, like Major Sewin, the witch doctor had gradually imbued with a taste for the occult. After that all was easy. It had at first been intended to entrap the Major, then his nephew, but for the reasons that Jan Boom had already given me, this plan was abandoned. Then it was decided to seize his eldest daughter. Such a sacrifice as that could not fail to move the Spirit of the Dew, and to bring abundant rain.

No, she had in no way been injured. To have injured her would have been to have rendered the whole rite invalid. As for Ivondwe, he had gone to the Major’s with the object of forwarding the plan when it was ripe. He was almost as great among the Brethren of the Dew as Ukozi himself. Ivuzamanzi? Yes, he, too, was among the foremost of them. Tyingoza belonged to the Brotherhood, but he had been enrolled unwillingly, and had never taken part in any of their deeper mysteries: nor indeed, did they come within his knowledge.

Thus ran Ukozi’s confession. When it was read out at the trial it created a profound sensation, as, indeed, did the whole case in the columns of the Colonial Press, which clamoured for a signal example to be made of the offenders. And the Court by which they were tried was of the same opinion.

When those who had turned Queen’s evidence had been sifted out—of course with the exception of Ukozi—there was still a round dozen for trial. The Court-house at Grey Town was crammed. Natives especially, had mustered in crowds, but so far from there being any turbulence, or tendency to rescue, these were, if anything, considerably awed by the very circumstances of the case itself. Most of them indeed had never heard of the Abangan ’ema zolweni, and a new and stimulating matter of discussion was thus supplied to them.

The confession of Ukozi, and of the others of course went far to simplify the trial. Still, the fairness and impartiality for which British jurisprudence is famous, was fully extended to the accused. I personally can bear witness to a good hour in the box, most of which was spent in cross-examination for the defence. The same held good of Kendrew and Falkner, the latter of whom by the way, drew down upon himself some very nasty remarks from the Bench, by reason of having stated in answer to a question as to whether he had not expressed a wish to see these men hanged—that he would cheerfully see every nigger in Natal hanged if he had his way, and they had their deserts. But he didn’t care. As he confided to me afterwards, what did it matter what an old fool in a gown said when he knew he couldn’t have his head punched for saying it.

Aïda, too, was called upon to go through the ordeal, and of course she did it well. In fact a murmur of appreciation ran through the native section of the audience when she emphatically agreed with the defending counsel’s suggestion, in cross-examination, that she had not been ill-treated in any way. There was, too, a great cloud of native witnesses. Jan Boom, in particular, had a long and trying time of it, but the Xosa was a man of parts, and a good bit of a lawyer himself in his way. There was no shaking his evidence on any one single point. Thus, as I have said, in spite of his confession, Ukozi and his fellow accused were given every chance.

The indictment, so far, was confined to the murder of Hensley. Had it broken down—which of course was inconceivable—the prisoners would have been re-indicted for the murder of the native victims, of two, at any rate, whose identity could have been easily established. Failing necessity, for the sake of their relatives, in view of possible danger involved to these, it was not deemed expedient to include them in the formal ground of indictment. The verdict of course, could only be “Guilty.” The four—viz. Ukozi, Ivuzamanzi, Ivondwe and Atyisayo—were brought in as principals—the others as accessories—some before, some after the fact.

Never shall I forget the scene in court, as they were asked whether they had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon them. It was just sundown, and an angry storm had been raging outside for fully an hour. Growling, cracking peals of thunder had interrupted the judge’s summing up, and now, during a lull, the glare of a wet sunset came in through the windows, and a few heavy drops of rain still fell like stones on the corrugated iron roof during the tense silence. They stood in the dock those twelve dark figures, some leaning eagerly forward over the rail, their eyeballs protruding in the climax of the moment’s excitement, others impassive and statuesque. Amid the public was a subdued, hush. The native public especially seemed turned to stone.

In answer to the appeal the bulk of the prisoners shook their heads. They had nothing to say, they declared, and then subsided into stolid silence. But when it came to the turn of Ivondwe, he harangued the Court at some length. The white man, he said, professed to be the protector and tolerator of all religions. Now this, for which they stood there, was part of the black man’s religion—or at any rate a section of it. Why then, was not that tolerated too? Ivuzamanzi, when it came to his turn, answered with heat, that he was the son of a chief—that he was a Zulu of the tribe of Umtetwa; that he cared nothing for a set of preaching whites and their stupid laws; that he only wished he had crossed the river long ago, and gone to konza to Cetywayo. There he would have been in a warrior land where the head-ring of his father and chief could not have been insulted with impunity by a swaggering igcwane like the one who sat yonder—pointing to Falkner—who, however, perhaps fortunately, didn’t understand what was being said until the interpreter had rendered it, and then it was too late to kick up a row. Then he might have joined one day in driving the whites into the sea, where sooner or later they would all be driven. He was the son of a chief and could die like one. He was not going to lie down and howl for mercy like a miserable cheat of an isanusi.

This with a savage glare at Ukozi.

The latter said not much. He had confessed. He had done what he could to put right what had been done. His life was in the hands of the Government.

The judge drew on the black cap, and proceeded to pass formal sentence.

The twelve prisoners before him, he said, after a long and painstaking trial extending over several days, had been convicted of the most heinous crime known to the law, that of murder, the penalty of which was death. They had only been indicted for, and found guilty of one murder, but there was ample evidence that many others had lain at their door. This murder then, was the outcome of one of the vilest, most benighted forms of superstition that had ever disgraced our common humanity, whether black or white. As for urging, as one of the prisoners had done, that such murder was part of the black man’s religion—or anybody’s religion—why he could only say that such a statement was a slander upon the honest, straightforward, native population of the Colony, of whose good and trustworthy qualities he personally had had many years of experience. It was a relic of the blackest and most benighted days of past heathenism, and it was clear that a bold attempt had been made on the part of the prisoner Ukozi, to revive and spread it in the midst of a peaceful and law-abiding native population living contentedly under the Queen’s rule and under the Queen’s laws. Once these terrible superstitions—and their outcome of foul and mysterious murder—took root, there was no seeing where they would end, therefore it was providential that this wicked and horrible conspiracy against the lives of their fellow subjects had been brought to light, and he would especially urge, and solemnly warn, his native hearers present in court to set their faces resolutely against anything of the kind in their midst. Not for one moment would it be tolerated, nor would any plea of custom, or such a travesty of the sacred name of religion, as had been brought forward by one of the prisoners, be even so much as considered in mitigation of the just doom meted out by the law to all who should be found guilty of such an offence.