"Zero the Slaver" (continued 3)

Just as Kenyon was about to move forward after carefully taking stock of the place, a young girl started out from a side street, and laid a gently detaining hand upon his arm.

“Father,” she said, “I have looked and longed for thee every night, and feared that thou wert ill. Come and see my boy, I beseech thee, good father, for he dies—he dies before my face, and here is none to help but thee.”

With a sign of brief assent, the detective turned and halted slowly along, despite the manifest impatience of the young and anxious mother.

Turning into a small house some little way along the street, she led him through a comfortably but roughly furnished parlour, into a bed-room at the rear, where lay a baby boy not more than eighteen months old, and whom his medical experience soon assured him was suffering from a slight attack of that most malignant disease, diphtheria.

Knowing, through Grenville, that the old hermit had acted in the capacity of physician and surgeon to both slavers and natives, Kenyon, before he left the cavern, had provided himself with several articles, including a small case of phials, likely to be of use in supporting his assumption of the character of a medical practitioner; and, briefly directing the young mother to keep the child quiet and supply him with cooling drinks, he carefully painted the tonsils with perchloride of iron, and left her instructions to continue this treatment.

As Kenyon, however, was moving away, the grateful mother again stopped him. “Father,” she said, “I call thee such by permission; canst thou do naught for yon poor woman whom these cruel, heartless Mormons have condemned to death by fire, because she will not change her faith and ‘marry’ one of their own creatures. Thou knowest my history, my father; how I was stolen away when but a girl, and wedded to a man I used to hate, and that my happiest hour was when he died in battle. Yet do I love my little son, and could I but give freedom to this woman I would fly the country with her, and take refuge with the brave men of my own race who have escaped hence, and who now hold Zero at defiance.”

“Where lies this woman, my daughter?” said the false hermit, after making a show of thinking carefully for some little time.

“Still in the same strong place, my father—the great hall of the common prison-house; and at noon, next day but one, she suffers at the stake. Save her, if thou canst, my father; and if it be indeed beyond thy power, then give her, in mercy, a draught of swift and deadly poison, if thou hast such, and earn a double blessing from her ere she dies.”

With a promise that he would endeavour on the following night to see the condemned one referred to, our adventurer at length got away from the importunate woman, and effected, undiscovered, his retreat to the well, and thence into the depths of the mountain, where he, of course, found the Zulu on guard, the pair being soon after this relieved by Umbulanzi and the young Scotsman, Ewan, of whom all had formed a high opinion, both as to shrewdness and bravery.

Arrived in the cave above, Kenyon communicated to his astonished and admiring friends his experiment and the result of it, and all then fell to eagerly discussing ways and means for the rescue of the poor condemned woman from her villainous judges and would-be executioners; and, ere the party lay down to sleep, it was decided that Kenyon should make an attempt to see her the following night in his character of a priest, and learn what suggestions the captive could herself make, with regard to a plan to save her life and give her back her liberty.

Chapter Fifteen.

“Hope.”

On the following night, therefore, as soon as darkness fell, Kenyon, disguised to represent the old hermit, again entered the slavers’ town, whilst Leigh, Grenville, Amaxosa, and a score of picked men lay in wait below the well, from which, in the event of hearing a given signal whistle, they were to sally out and assist our adventurous friend.

The detective went about his accustomed work with the greatest nonchalance; and, on reaching the building which had been pointed out to him the previous night, simply and plainly told the guard that he wished to have speech of the condemned woman. Without a word of reply, one of the men on duty signed to Kenyon to follow him, and well might our adventurer, under the loose folds of his cloak, clench his fingers over the butt of a friendly revolver when he found himself ushered directly into the well-known and hated presence of Zero the Slaver. For a moment the impulse was almost unconquerable in Kenyon to slip out his six-shooter and make an end of this inhuman monster without further palaver; but, recognising how much hung upon the result of his actions that night, he wisely restrained his passions.

The slaver was sitting in a handsomely got-up room carpeted with furs, and thick with weapons and with trophies of the chase, and opposite to him—fortunately, perhaps, for Kenyon—sat the native king already spoken of, and who immediately did our adventurer reverence, in his capacity of Muzi Zimba the Ancient.

As the guard detailed his errand. Zero rose with a sneering laugh. “Ay! let him go to her,” he said, “and look ’ee here, old man, if this captive escapes me as did the last ones, thine own life shall pay the forfeit. Now go, nay, by all the Gods, I will go too!” and, passing on in front of the supposed hermit, he provided Kenyon with another almost overpowering temptation to use his weapons.

Unbarring the door of another room, Zero let the hermit in and closed the portal behind them both, and Kenyon found himself face to face with an imperially beautiful woman, still quite young, but whose lovely face was worn with sorrow and anguish, and furrowed with her bitter tears. A tall, well-knit figure, a wealth of lustrous golden hair, and glorious deep blue eyes, formed a tout ensemble which might have won pity from a stone, but had no effect whatever upon this scoundrel who battened on human misery.

“Well, madam,” said the slaver, in cutting tones, “you have your own obstinacy to thank for your death, which takes place to-morrow. Here’s a priest for you, so be quick and say your patter, or whatever it is. You’d be surprised to see how fast your precious boy is picking up the tenets of our Holy Mormon Faith,” and the demon laughed a jeering, taunting laugh, which made Kenyon’s blood boil, and he could have kissed the feet of the defenceless woman before him for the gesture of ineffable contempt with which she turned her back on the wretched hound. “Pray, begone,” she said in a firm but musical voice; “your hated presence comes between me and my God.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed the sardonic ruffian; “one for you, Sir Priest, one for you, I reckon. Well, come along with you, I’ve no time to fool away here.” But Kenyon, mindful of the part he had to play, took not the slightest notice of the slaver, but kneeled reverently down by himself for a few brief moments, then rose and left the room obedient to an impatient signal from the fierce and wicked man, whom his fingers fairly itched to throttle then and there.

Had Zero looked behind him he would have been greatly astonished to see the captive woman bend simply down and gaze wildly at the floor beneath her feet; and then, in a mighty revulsion of feeling, give way to a perfect paroxysm of tears and sobs. What, you ask, gentle reader, was the cause of this sudden and subtle change from strength to weakness? What? Simply Stanforth Kenyon’s message written with the point of his finger on a dusty boarded floor, and that message was:

“Hope.”

Only four precious letters; yet this man had written them at the peril of his life. It must, it did, mean something, and all her woman’s wit was instantly on the alert to lay hold of the earliest clue to the whereabouts of these her secret friends.

Hope! Oh pity her, gentle reader, a lovely woman in the zenith of her beauty and the pride of motherhood, condemned to die a frightful death before another day had run its course, and die merely to satisfy the insensate malice of a ruffian Mormon hound.

Turning away from Zero, Kenyon would have left the building in silence; but the slaver laid upon his shoulder a firm, detaining hand. “Softly, my good old man! ‘Softly! softly! catch monkey,’ as these infernal niggers say. You live on the mountain, and I reckon you can see a long way. Now have you seen naught of this cursed Grenville and the pack of fools who follow him? Speak out, man, or I guess I’ll soon find means to open your wretched old jaws.”

Like a flash of light, an inspiration came to Kenyon; and, drawing himself up proudly, he shook off the slaver’s hand. “The men ye name are even now within my cave upon the hill,” he said. “Go seek them if ye dare, monster of evil, but beware the end thereof; beware, for Muzi Zimba warns thee!”

The effect was precisely what Kenyon had calculated upon. Flinging the old man from him with a fearful oath, the slaver sent his powerful voice echoing through the house and out along the streets, calling up guards and officers in every direction, whilst our adventurous friend soon after took his departure, entirely unnoticed during the tumult which followed the communication of the news which he had given, regarding the position of his friends.

Hanging about for a few moments, however, Kenyon learned all he wished to know, as he heard Zero, with a volley of oaths, exclaim: “Put off her execution? No, by all the Gods—no, tie the slut to the faggots at noon to-morrow, and let her roast, and mind you have her whelp of a son to watch her die, whilst I eat up these cursed fools who think to change my vengeance and to spoil my trade.”

This was all that Kenyon required to know, and an hour later he was deep in consultation with his friends in the hermit’s cave, amongst the northern hills.

It was agreed on all hands that Kenyon had acted for the best, as the plan he had formed, though simple in the extreme, had every promise of a grand success.

Briefly, the scheme stood thus:—Whilst Zero was moving up to the attack, as he evidently meant to do next morning, a party of their own was, by way of the secret passage and the well, to enter Equatoria, fall upon the few guards left there, carry off the captive woman, and generally do as much damage to the slavers’ town as they found it in their power to accomplish. It was calculated that the rifles of Leigh, Umbulanzi, and Ewan, supported by the Atagbondo marksmen, would be quite sufficient to check Zero in his ascent up the steep and difficult path to the cavern; and, even if he forced his way so far, he would have to reckon with about two hundred of the Atagbondo, and would find their warriors uncommonly hard nuts to crack; whilst Kenyon and Grenville, who were to assail the town, would take with them Amaxosa and his men, together with a hundred of the “People of the Stick,” quite sufficient, they thought, to do irreparable damage to the slavers’ home in the two hours which they promised themselves to spend in Equatoria.

And so, after looking carefully over their arms and their defences, the little band lay down to sleep that night with perfect confidence in their leaders, and in the issues of the morrow; only Leigh sat up the whole night cleaning his weapons, with murder in his heart, and a wealth of determined resolve upon his handsome face.

Chapter Sixteen.

Alive from the Dead.

Soon after dawn the whole party was astir, and the defenders of the cave were quickly at their several posts, whilst Kenyon and Grenville again carefully looked over their plan of attack.

Grenville was fortunately able to define the probable site of the execution, knowing from experience, that the miserable victims done to death by the infamous Mormon Inquisitors were either burned alive or crucified upon a small natural hill—a curious smooth-topped, skull-shaped mound, in fact, perhaps fifty feet in height, and which, fortunately, stood between the mouth of the old well and the slavers’ town, and was equi-distant from each, perhaps five or six yards. It was a shrewd count, therefore, that the little rescue-party would be able to get within easy rifle range before they were discovered by the enemy; and, as Zero would be certain to carry practically the whole of the fighting population with him, it was extremely probable that when our friends unmasked their party, a general stampede for safety on the part of the slavers would be the immediate result, when it was hoped that the poor captive woman would be quite forgotten, and, being left behind, would prove an easy acquisition, and when they once had her in safety, the hands of our friends would, of course, be perfectly free to act in the way that might seem best.

At eleven o’clock the leaders of the storming party exchanged a warm hand-grasp with Leigh and Umbulanzi, and left the cavern by way of the tunnel, through which we will now follow their fortunes.

The getting of such a relatively large number of men down through this singular mountain burrow and up beyond the mouth of the well on the other side of the range, took considerably longer than the detective had reckoned upon, and the hour was within a very few minutes of noon by the time that all were safely hidden in the straggling line of bush which masked their presence, and impinged upon the narrow stretch of veldt lying between their position and the curious knoll referred to, upon which, to their horror, our friends could now plainly see a great upright stake fixed, and around this post were placed bundles of heavy faggots, packed closely with a resinous, woody fibre, and even while they looked, the executioner appeared upon the hill, carrying in his hand a swinging brazier, filled with some burning substance.

Grenville quickly pointed out that the victim was to be faced towards the town, which was another circumstance in their favour, as the crest of the knoll would effectually screen their movements from the preoccupied herd of sightseers beyond.

All hearts beat fast as they saw the poor sufferer led up and bound to the martyr stake, whilst the mighty, spontaneous shout which went up to heaven, caused each man’s fingers to clinch anxiously upon his weapons, as it proved to them that the multitude beyond the knoll could be no inconsiderable one.

The instant that the executioner turned his back upon the well, and busied himself with the fastening of the poor woman to the stake, Grenville gave the word, and the whole party as one man shot noiselessly out of the bush, and commenced a jog-trot across the open space which separated them from the scene of the execution. When all were within a hundred yards, the wretched fellow upon the hill turned him round and saw them; then uttering a wild shout, and hurriedly bending down, he seized a lighted brand and endeavoured, with trembling hands, to thrust it in amongst the faggots.

Dropping quickly upon one knee, Grenville raised his rifle, but still somewhat weak and shaken by the sharp run, for once he missed his man. Kenyon, however, quickly following, “wiped his eye,” knocking the rascal head-over-heels off the hill.

A great roar of surprise and wonder burst from the mob beyond the knoll, changed to a shriek of terror and consternation as the fierce Zulus sent their wild battle-cry echoing across the rolling veldt, and charged right up the hill, instantly surrounding the poor creature at the stoke, and killing the Mormon satellites who were clambering up to the spot.

And now ensued a stubborn fight, for Zero had left behind him many more men than our friends had counted upon, and these, having mostly left their rifles behind them in the town, charged madly up the little hill, and furiously engaged the rescue-party hand-to-hand, and for quite five minutes the cause of all this tumult was utterly forgotten, whilst the fight swung fiercely to and fro, and the issue hung in doubt. Our friends certainly had the advantage of position, whilst the slavers, on the other hand, still stood in the proportion of at least two to one; but the fiery valour of the active Zulus, nobly backed by the almost insensate fury of the injured “People of the Stick,” would brook no living check, and presently, led by Amaxosa, they went right through the slaver crowd, cutting them down on every hand, and driving all that were left of the wretched men pell-mell into the town, which both bands entered simultaneously.

Kenyon then bethought him of the prisoner, and, taking Grenville back, both men turned to ascend the hill, and relieve the poor girl from her painful and dangerous position. Still as a statue she stood, with her head drooping forward upon her breast, and for one moment the thought that some stray shot had struck her crossed painfully the minds of both; but when they had arrived within twenty yards of her position the girl heard them, and quickly raised her head, her beautiful face all wet with tears, and eloquent with voiceless prayers to heaven. Staggering back, as if struck by a shot, Grenville, to Kenyon’s utter astonishment, dropped his gun, and threw up his hands in a frenzy of terror.

“God in heaven!” he screamed, “Dora, sister Dora! or am I mad, indeed.”

Well might poor Grenville think his brain had turned. After all Zero’s wicked boasts of crime, and all his cousin’s bitter sorrow for his long-dead wife, how could he believe that there before him, in the flesh, beautiful as when first he saw her in East Utah, stood Dora, Lady Drelincourt, dressed in deep black, with a pure white cross upon her breast, and fastened to a martyr’s stake, in the darkest part of darkest Equatorial Africa?

“Dick!” she cried, “dear Dick Grenville, tell me, does my darling husband live, or have I lost him, too. Tell me, tell me! I beseech you, for the love of God.”

Pulling himself together, as the music of those well-known accents reached his ears, Grenville at once ran to the poor girl’s side, and quickly unbound the chain which fixed her to the cruel stake, speaking meanwhile soothing words of hope and joy, and peace on earth, whilst Kenyon, hearing that her boy was in the town, went off, like an arrow from the bow, to make certain of the safety of his friend and patron’s little son.

In every direction, as the detective entered the town, he found blazing houses, and dead and dying men, but the Atagbondo had behaved splendidly, and set a lesson to their evil white-skinned foes, in this respect, that on woman or on child they laid no hand, but every man they found died by the spear or by “the stick.” One ghastly sight, however, did Kenyon see, for absolutely pinned to a burning house by a Zulu assegai, which had passed right through her heart, hung the dead mistress of Zero, the slaver-chief, and the beholder know that the hand that killed her was the hand of justice—justice on a woman more evil in her ways than many a wicked man who had that day fallen in fair fight.

Cornered, like rats, and yet more numerous than their fierce opponents, the slavers fought with all the Courage of despair, but naught availed them, and soon the only house in Equatoria which remained intact, was the great public hall, into which the storming party had collected the entire movable wealth of the slaver fraternity, and from the roof of which the Saint George’s ensign now floated lazily upon the labouring breeze. Seeing the good old flag, Grenville at once led his rescued “sister,” as it was always his habit to call her, back to the Mormon town, and the anxious young mother forgot the awful scenes of carnage and of blood, in the joy of embracing, once more, her loving little child.

Ordering the men to shoulder everything worth having, and to return to the upper cave before Zero and his band could arrive, Grenville and Kenyon prepared to leave Equatoria, accompanied by Lady Drelincourt and her son, and by the woman of whom mention has previously been made, together with her child, who was now in better health, whilst the whole of the Mormon-cum-slaver women and children had scampered away to the woods, which lay in the rear of the town.

Just now, however, the victorious little band received a very severe check, for ere they reached the skull-shaped hill, the report of firearms broke upon their ears, and Grenville suddenly exclaimed, “By Jove! what can have happened? There goes Alf’s repeater. What, in the name of fortune, is he doing here?”

Dashing up the hill, and leaving the women in shelter on the town side of it, they came upon a sad sight. Right below their position, Leigh and about a hundred men only, were sullenly falling back upon the knoll, fighting every inch of the ground like fiends, but being steadily driven in, by something like seven times their number of heavily-armed slavers.

As the retreating party got against the hill, the slavers uttered a shout of triumph, and charging in, drove the little band in every direction; but little they reckoned upon the thunderbolt which fell upon them from above. Down from the top of the knoll like a living, irresistible whirlwind, came the lion-hearted children of the Zulu, led by their fierce and active chief, and close upon their heels, in a compact serried mass, followed the ready “People of the Stick,” behind whom Leigh and his gallant little band re-formed and charged the slavers home.

By this time the rifles were almost silent, only Grenville’s piece occasionally speaking its mind, for he seemed to have eyes for every combat of a friend, and when the great Zulu had led his men clean through the heart of the slavers, and had charged madly back again along a ghastly lane of dead and dying men, the foe drew off a little, and sought to load his guns.

This would never do, and with a wild earth-shaking shout, Amaxosa again charged the craven crowd; with him came the staunch war-dogs of the Zulu, who loved the slaughter as they loved their daring chief, and scarce a rod behind came Barad “the Hailstorm,” his faithful people following into the very jaws of death the gallant “Chieftain of the Stick,” and ever side by side with the mighty Zulu, there fought Alf Leigh, scarcely less fierce than his sable friend, and even more determined; and before the “giant three” the foe fell in every direction, like corn beneath the sickle.

Suddenly, however, Leigh broke out of the line, and, with a wild cry of triumph, fiercely engaged Zero himself, hand to hand, and axe to axe. The slaver-chief was a powerful and an active man, but he was no match for the colossal Englishman, to whom fury, revenge, and long-nursed bitter hate, had given a tenfold strength, and in ten seconds Zero lay wounded and stunned upon the ground.

Then there arose a mighty uproar, the slavers charged madly in upon the foe, and bore them back a dozen rods, fighting the while like fiends, and thus succeeded in carrying their wounded chieftain off the field, then surging in around the little band which was now fighting in square, the desperate slavers made a tremendous effort to annihilate their plucky and determined foes. Clubs are poor weapons to keep the face of a square, and the formation was quickly broken, and, fighting like lions, our friends were driven backward to the hill, every one of them fairly drenched with blood, and almost all wounded, whilst their number now totalled something under a hundred men.

All about lay the slain, singly and in knots and heaps; dead men everywhere, and everywhere rivers of blood, and the horrid stench of slaughter.

After a few moments’ rest, the slavers charged in with a wild shout, resolved, at all cost, to wipe out the little band of heroes who held the skull-shaped hill; and when the surging struggling mass of men had been lost in a rain of blows, for full ten minutes, all chance of escape or triumph for our friends seemed gone: but fifty men were left to fight three hundred.

Grenville and Leigh, Amaxosa and Kenyon, were back to back, their blows rained straight and sure, and at every blow from each a man went down, still what could they do against such overwhelming odds as six to one.

Down went the gallant Umbulanzi, with a great spear wound in his back, and down upon his breathless corpse went his recreant foe, his head split to the very chin by a vengeful blow from Grenville’s ready axe.

All was in vain, yet even as our friends had given up all hope of escaping from the hideous crowd which surged in upon them like hungry wolves round a dying buffalo, a clear, cold voice rang out in stentorian tones across the startled veldt, arresting every hand and every arm.

“Cease,” it said; “cease and hold your hands, ye uncircumcised ones, both white and black, unless ye wish to die.” And there upon the knoll, to the utter horror of our friends, flaunted the dreaded banner of Mormonism, and round the mingled mass of combatants, and of dead and dying men, there extended on every hand a mighty triple ring of armed and hated followers of the False Prophet.

Ringed in by fully a thousand well-armed men, further resistance was worse than useless. Moreover, Grenville’s keen eye quickly noted the curious fact that, so far from displaying anything like enthusiasm over the advent of the Mormon host, the slavers seemed considerably more taken aback by the presence of the new arrivals than even his own party.

The tension of feeling between the three bands was all at once unintentionally relieved by poor Leigh suddenly noticing Dora on the crest of the knoll, where the poor girl had been an agonised spectator of the awful fight, and where her cries, notifying the dreaded Mormon approach, had been no more audible than the twitterings of a sparrow. Suddenly noticing her, I say, an expression of positive terror froze poor Leigh’s face, his hair rose up upon his head, and with a fearful shriek of “Dora, Dora, my long-dead, darling wife!” he threw up his hands and fell prone upon his face, with the life-blood welling from his mouth.

Kenyon threw himself upon his knees beside his friend, but in another instant Dora was holding her lover’s head upon her lap, lover and husband both in one, lost and found; and, after all these cruel years of weary waiting, must she find her darling but to lose his love for ever? No! for the good God was full of mercy to the faithful heart that had trusted Him to the very stake of martyrdom, and her husband soon came round again, but to relapse into a dangerous attack of brain fever, from which he escaped only by slow degrees, and it took many weary months and a world of anxious nursing night and day ere Alfred Leigh regained his normal strength.

Speaking again, the Mormon leader, a fine-looking old man, with a snow-white beard, commanded the combatants to lay down their arms and consider themselves the prisoners of the Holy Three, and this order the slavers instantly obeyed.

Stepping coolly forward, however, Grenville spoke up boldly—

“Who are you, and by what right do you command here, sir? Yonder floats the flag of England, under which we serve, and we demand that you respect its world-wide rights.”

“Richard Grenville, I know you,” was the cool reply, “and here I command everyone by the right of might, so lay down your arms, or my men shall sweep you off the face of the earth and save further trouble: ay, both you and yonder heap of carrion with you,” and the Mormon pointed to the slavers, who were huddled together a hundred yards distant from their late antagonists.

Clearly the game was up, and there was nothing for it but to comply with the Mormon’s commands, which all did with a very ill grace, when, commencing with the slavers, they were quickly bound; but, coming swiftly to Grenville the Mormon leader spoke.

“I know,” he said, “that ye are brave and upright, but bloody-minded men, yet is your word your bond, and if ye give it me now that ye will not essay escape, no cord or chain shall touch ye or this your giant friend,” and he pointed to the great Zulu, who was painted a ghastly red from head to foot.

Eagerly thanking the Mormon, all gladly gave the required parole, and, under this man’s direction, they then carried Leigh into a room in the public offices and left him there with his wife and child; after which, by permission, Kenyon first attended to the wounds of his own party, and afterwards to those of the slavers, though the old Mormon cynically remarked to him that it would be much more merciful to let the scoundrels die at once.

A curious meeting it was in Central Africa between the detective and his quarry, when this amateur doctor came to the point of exercising his healing art upon the fallen Zero.

“Well, Monckton Bassett, we meet again,” said Kenyon, coolly; “and now let me look at this head of yours, for I should be sorry for you to go off the ropes without Uncle Sam having a hand in the affair.”

For reply Zero hurled a fearful curse at the detective, and ordered him to begone, so Kenyon calmly left the scoundrel to himself.

Chapter Seventeen.

“Quod Dixi Dixi.”

As soon as opportunity offered, Grenville closely questioned the Chieftain of the Stick as to the manner in which his party, commanded by Leigh, had been expelled from the cavern, where all had thought them so securely entrenched, and now it was that our friends received another striking proof of Zero’s intense cunning, and of the absolutely perfect knowledge which the man possessed regarding the mountain fastnesses in the immediate neighbourhood of his quarters.

Foolishly enough, the little band had failed to notice the singular fact that the air in the cave was at all times fresh and crisp, instead of being extremely heavy and “muggy,” as is ordinarily the case in long, unventilated caverns; and it was only now that they realised the truth, which was that Muzi Zimba’s home was situated in the very heart of an immense volcano, which had been extinct for ages, but whose final convulsions had probably torn the range in two, and formed the kloof, or pass, of the Dark Spirit of Evil.

This fact, however, was perfectly well-known to their astute and unscrupulous foe, and, appreciating his knowledge at its right strategic value, and sending on by night a large party provided with an immense rope-ladder, Zero had occupied the adjacent heights above and in the rear of Leigh’s position, and had actually dropped three hundred men down through the very crater of the extinct volcano; and the first intimation which the defenders of the cave had received of the presence of this large force in their immediate rear, came to them in the objectionable form of a well-aimed volley poured into their very backs at point-blank range, just at the moment of the delivery, by Zero with his main army, of a furious attack upon their defences in the mouth of the cave.

To turn their attention to the force ambushed in their rear would, of course, have been to let the slaver-chief in upon them, when the cavern would have literally become a shambles, and every man of the party would have died a dog’s death, for the ambushed foe was securely entrenched between the position of our friends and the entrance of the mountain burrow leading to the old well.

Choosing the least of two evils, Leigh drew his men together, and then launched them like a thunderbolt down the hill and into the very heart of Zero’s force, which they drove before them like chaff before the wind. Then, getting right through the ranks of the slavers, our friends, to the utter bewilderment of the foe, ignored altogether the cover of the forest, and commenced to fall back steadily upon Equatoria, in order, of course, to effect a junction with Grenville and Kenyon, whom Zero, perhaps naturally, imagined to be lying dead in the cavern along with poor Ewan and upwards of a score of the Atagbondo, who had fallen victims to the first treacherous and fatal discharge of the ambushed foe.

In the running fight which had ensued, the loss on the side of our friends had not been worth speaking of, whilst Leigh, with his repeater charged with explosive bullets, had dropped an enemy on every hundred yards of ground from the mountain to the skull-shaped knoll. But when the slavers once sighted the mighty volumes of smoke ascending from their burning town, they naturally scented something extremely wrong, and Zero’s active mind instantly jumped to the likeliest solution of the mystery, and told him that Grenville and the great Zulu, both of whom he hated beyond expression, were revenging themselves upon his force at home, and stamping out his town.

This caused the slaver to throw the whole of his available force, at any cost, upon the desperate little band, and drive them in upon the town pell-mell, with fearful loss upon both sides, for the Atagbondo had contested every inch of ground, with a stubborn valour little short of incredible when it is borne in mind that to rifle, spear, and axe, they could only oppose their rough-hewn wooden clubs.

Of the Zanzibari carriers nothing had been seen since the very commencement of the fight, for they had been placed for safety in the hindmost cavern of all, as being worse than useless to the fighting brigade; but whether the cowards were still in hiding there, or whether the ambushed slavers had found and massacred the wretched men forthwith, was, of course, as yet unknown, though, as the slavers in the cavern had followed our friends out when they fled the spot, it was more than probable that the fellows were still where their masters had left them.

Seeing, however, that the Mormon leader was almost certain to have their old location searched for the baggage and belongings of the party, Grenville thought it much better to make a virtue of necessity, and to communicate the position of affairs to the old man without further delay, adding that, on the whole, he almost thought he would prefer to let even the Mormons divide the goods and chattels of his friends, rather than see them calmly appropriated by such a wretched craven crew.

Our friend accordingly asked an audience of the aged Prophet—for by this high-sounding, but somewhat empty, title the old man was designated by his own people—and informed him that in the old hermit’s cave upon the northern mountains there lay very much valuable baggage and ammunition, which, unless it was instantly looked after, would probably be opened and appropriated by the thievish bearers, and he added that it would be quite unnecessary to send an armed force to take possession, as the wretched cowards would run away at the first sight of an armed man.

The prophet briefly acknowledged the information, and then dismissed Grenville, first, however, promising that the little party should have the use of their own well-stocked medicine-chest immediately upon its arrival in Equatoria—a favour which Kenyon had most earnestly impressed upon our friend the absolute necessity of inducing the Mormon to grant, if by any means in his power he could prevail upon him to do so.

Just before nightfall the Zanzibaris made their unwilling appearance, bearing their master’s baggage, and being driven along, like sheep for the slaughter, by a couple of formidable-looking and heavily-armed Mormons, and the whole property of the little band was at once deposited in the public hall, with the exception of the much-desired medicine-chest, which was delivered, without loss of time, to the waiting Kenyon, who particularly required its contents for immediate use in poor Leigh’s case, the complications of which were already causing this amateur doctor much mental worry and very grave anxiety, as the patient after becoming conscious for a few moments, had again relapsed into a state of complete coma.

That night all slept an uneasy, troubled sleep, for the common hall was packed to suffocation with men, women, and children; and as almost all the late combatants were more or less wounded—many very severely so—the building was more like a hospital than anything else, and no one was particularly sorry when the great doors were opened in the morning, and an announcement was made by the officer on guard that all must leave the place to obtain food, and that the Holy Three would sit in judgment upon the prisoners at high noon that very day.

This judgment was a very impressive affair, and was held in the public hall. In two long lines sat the combatants of the previous day, facing one another on opposite sides of a square, and all closely guarded by the Mormon host. At the head of the room sat the Ancient Prophet, supported by two other very venerable-looking men—these three being the accredited representatives in Africa of the Mormon Holy Three—whilst at the lower end of the square, huddled together like frightened sheep, were the women and children of Equatoria, who knew not what to expect from the stern judges, whose iron code of laws was, they were well aware, as unchanging as the laws of the Medes and Persians.

Kenyon, who was, of course, by profession, a physiognomist, completely forgot all his own personal danger in the absorbing interest which he took in the varied and changing expressions of the anxious faces which surrounded him on every hand.

The fallen and discomfited slavers looked what they were—partly sullen, partly indifferent, and wholly despairing, for well they knew that no mercy could be expected at the hands of the tribunal into whose clutches they had fallen; Zero, utterly mad with rage, and sulky as a bear; whilst it almost made the beholder laugh to notice the striking faces of Amaxosa the Zulu, and Barad, the Chieftain of the Stick. The eyes of these men were positively like coals of fire, and were absolutely riveted on the hated countenance of the slaver-chief, who seemed almost uneasy under the burning intensity of their threatening gaze.

Grenville, chivalrous as ever, was busily endeavouring to infuse hope and comfort into the heart of poor Lady Drelincourt, who was the only person in the assembly allowed to sit in the presence of the judges.

When perfect silence had been obtained, the old Prophet rose to his feet and commenced a direct and startling indictment of Zero and his band of ruffians, who had, he said, robbed and pillaged the fraternity of the Elect in the most impudent and bare-faced manner, and had, moreover, murdered out of hand a number of messengers, who had been sent to them with positive instructions from head-quarters, to return at once to Salt Lake City, report themselves without delay to the Holy Mormon Trinity, and render a full account of their stewardship; and in consequence of Zero’s disregarding these definite and repeated commands, the Prophet had, he explained, been sent out with a very great array of the Saints by the Three Unsleeping Ones, who watched over the welfare of the one true faith, and whose written instructions he carried with him, to demolish the stronghold of these audacious rebels, and to execute fully retributive justice upon these men of sin, whose evil and wicked doings had come up, with very evil savour, into the nostrils of the Holy Ones who dwelt across the seas, whilst in Africa he had himself found that, owing to the outrageous conduct of these reprobates, the very name of Mormonism had become a by-word for all that was wholly and irredeemably bad.

The Prophet then brought forward a number of witnesses to prove unauthorised deeds of violence and of blood against Zero and his band, all being without exception classed in the one dreadful category, and the testimony of one of these not only proved the slaver-chief to have been guilty of countless murders in Africa, but deposed that, in the speaker’s own un-regenerate days, he had himself been an eye-witness of the shooting of Mr Harmsworth in New York—this diabolical and cold-blooded murder having, as Kenyon had opined, been committed by the hand of Zero, in revenge for what he considered to be a personal slight.

The aged Prophet then consulted briefly with the two elders who were his co-representatives in Africa of the Mormon Trinity, and, once again rising to his feet, briefly and clearly pronounced sentence of death.

The whole of the renegade band would die by the rifle at sundown that very night, and their carcases would be thrown to the wild beasts of prey, whilst Zero himself would be crucified at noon on the following day, and his body would be left to the vultures and the crows.

The sentence was evidently what all had foreseen; for, with the exception of a very few despairing shrieks from the women, there was neither voice nor sound.

The old Mormon concluded his harangue by saying that the women and children would be conveyed by his men to the nearest seaport town, and their passage paid to any civilised country they desired to reach, after which the Brotherhood of the Saints entirely washed their hands of them. For a brief instant one could have heard a pin drop, then from the poor creatures at the bottom of that living square there went up one mighty gasp of intense relief, followed by a babel of blessings upon their ancient judge, from which it was quite clear that the poor wretches, who were, most of them, more sinned against than sinning, had fully expected to find themselves and their little ones devoted to the same red grave as their wicked lords and masters.

As the old Prophet ceased speaking, Kenyon suddenly started to his feet, holding up his hand to attract the attention of the judges, and when silence again reigned supreme, and when every eye in that vast assemblage was curiously fixed upon him, quietly but clearly, he spoke out.

“Sir,” he said, “I know, and fully admit, your powers of judgment here, by the right of might; but you also are an American, as I am, and I, therefore, ask that, in courtesy to the Stars and Stripes, you will even yield to my prior claim upon the body of this scoundrel, Zero, and allow the executioner of the States, to end his sinful life.”

“Who art thou, and whence knowest thou me?” queried the astonished Mormon.

“I, sir,” was the cool reply, “am Stanforth Kenyon, of the New York Detective Force, and I have followed this fellow hither from the New World, just as you have done, and, having been the first to find him, I, therefore, think my claim the best, and my case, the Harmsworth murder, on American ground, being now indubitably proved by your own witness, this Zero can no longer now escape the law.”

“By repute, I know you well, Detective Kenyon,” came the answer, “but Uncle Sam, for once, goes empty-handed. The Elect, as you very well know, recognise no law outside themselves, and allow no interference with their affairs, on the part of the unbelieving and accursed Gentiles. Nay,” as Kenyon attempted to speak again, “I cannot hear you further. I sit here, with my colleagues, as the representatives of the heaven-taught Holy Three, and what I have said I have said.”

Then, after another short conference with his fellows, the old Mormon announced that the business of the meeting was now concluded, and that his decision with regard to the disposal of the remaining prisoners would be announced at noon next day.

All were at once returned to their prison in the common hall, with the exception of the wretched slavers, who, to the number of nearly three hundred, were immediately led out to execution, and were shot, like mad dogs, in accordance with the unchanging decree of the Mormon Holy Three, whilst Zero, heavily ironed, was forthwith consigned to the condemned cell in the public building, knowing that he must, in a few hours, suffer the extreme agonies of the awful death by torture, which he had himself often and often inflicted upon his helpless and unresisting fellow-creatures.

Chapter Eighteen.

“A Friend in Need.”

That very night, when our friends were conversing together in the house of their prison, a guard appeared with a small note, which he handed to Kenyon, and signified that he was to await his answer.

At once tearing open the cover, the wonder-stricken detective read the simple message:—

“Follow the bearer.

“Weston Abbott (‘Noughts and Crosses’).”

Springing to his feet in joyful haste, he quietly whispered to Grenville, “A friend at court! by Jove, old man! The note is from Uncle Sam’s own trusted correspondent in Salt Lake City. We’re in luck again,” and, indicating to the officer his willingness to comply with the instructions contained in the note, Kenyon quickly followed the man out of the hall.

To the astonishment of our friend, the fellow led him directly to the ancient Prophet’s room, where he found the old man very comfortably domiciled, and prepared to receive him most kindly, though still in a strictly business-like manner.

“Well, Mr Kenyon,” he said, “so in this out-of-the-way part of the world we meet at last, and I assure you that it gives me pleasure to know you personally. I am the man who wrote this note, and am also your regular and constant correspondent in Salt Lake City.

“Now, I want you just to tell me the whole history of this affair, and why I find you here at the ends of the earth, when I thought you in New York. Tell me all; for, I assure you, we are at our wits’ end to know how to deal with these English people, whom, particularly the woman and child, I rather shrink from slaying.”

Kenyon then gave him a full, true, and particular account of the whole expedition, adding that the presence of Lady Drelincourt in Equatoria was still an enigma to him, as he believed her dead in England, slain by Zero’s hand; but that the poor woman was still so weak and hysterical that they had not liked to question her, especially whilst her recovered husband hung between life and death. The detective also touched warily upon the destruction of East Utah by Grenville and his friends some years before, palliating their conduct there, by pointing out how very necessary it had seemed to them to rescue Miss Winfield and her father from their captors. To Kenyon’s surprise, however, the old Mormon frankly told him that Grenville had in this case, also, only anticipated the intentions of the Holy Three in Utah itself, where they had absolutely enrolled an army of the Saints to eat up the whole of this rebellious African community as soon as they could find out the precise whereabouts of East Utah—a task which had, however, proved too difficult for them; and Zero’s idea had been to found a colony of his own, supported by the abominable traffic in slaves, and, by drawing into it (under the name of Mormonism) all the cut-throats and scoundrels he could lay hands on, to make the community much too strong for even the Saints to overcome him or prevail against him, and eventually no doubt, by exercising the power of the enormous wealth which he had wrung from suffering flesh and blood, to usurp the supreme authority in Salt Lake City itself.

Far into the night this curious pair sat talking of matters vitally interesting to both, and though the old Prophet would not absolutely commit himself to any promise regarding Kenyon’s friends, he willingly undertook to do his best for them, adding that, so far as he was concerned, he rather liked them all, and should be glad to do the detective a good turn by setting them all free, but that there were many matters of policy to be considered by himself and his colleagues ere they could see their way to any definite decision upon this head.

In the morning, when Grenville and Kenyon were released from the room which they had been allotted, next to that occupied by the still unconscious Leigh and his anxious wife and child, they were surprised to notice the unusual quiet which overhung the place, but soon found that one of the old Mormon’s earliest measures of policy had consisted in starting off to the southward the whole of the female population of Equatoria at dawn, accompanied by their children, and convoyed by five hundred of his own well-armed band.

Immediately breakfast was over, every soul remaining in the town was summoned to another grand assembly, at which it was formally announced, to the astonishment and annoyance of everyone, that Zero had succeeded in filing through his fetters, and had decamped in the night, together with the Zulu Amaxosa and the Chieftain of the Stick, and, therefore, said the stern judges, when these men were recaptured, all three would be crucified without mercy, and Zero, for this additional offence, would be nailed head-downwards to the awful cross.

The prophet then proceeded to say that, after due and careful consideration of the whole peculiar circumstances of the case, the Holy Three had decided to give life and unconditional freedom to all the rest of the prisoners, both white and black, and to present them in addition with large and handsome rewards for the way in which they had acted, as there could be no doubt that the fearful slaughter inflicted by the English party upon the rebel crew, had alone saved the Mormon community from having to fight several severe battles, from losing very many lives of valued men, and perhaps, owing to their lack of knowledge of the district, failing, after all, to accomplish their desired object. For the gentle English lady, and for the injured “People of the Stick,” the Holy Three had nothing but sympathy, and had, therefore, decided to apportion the immense spoil taken from Zero—amounting to nearly a million of money—into three equal parts: one for the Mormon community, one for the Atagbondo—to enable them to rebuild their kraals, to buy new wives and weapons, and stock their enclosures with oxen and with goats—and the third share for the English-Zulu party, who had behaved so well and fought so grandly, and amongst whom was classed Detective Kenyon of Uncle Sam’s police.

It was a bold course to take, and the old Mormon had unquestionably done a wise thing when he weeded out, and started on the home journey in charge of the women and children of Equatoria, all the possible malcontents of his own band. Still, the Mormons had already seen such a lot of bloodshed that they probably thought the course adopted by their leaders to be the wisest; at all events, they raised no voice against it.

The aged Prophet had, as he afterwards confided to Kenyon, positively no other course open to him under his instructions: either he must declare the party guilty, and cut them off, one and all, absolutely without exception; or he must liberate them unconditionally, congratulate them upon the success of their actions, and give them large rewards for the valuable services they had rendered to the community in destroying the slavers; and this latter course the old gentleman had, fortunately, seen his way to take.

The old fellow would, however, listen to no word of pleading or of explanation for either Amaxosa or Barad, and frankly said that he dared not leave the country until Zero was known to be actually dead, as otherwise he would himself get into very serious trouble at head-quarters, and experience an unpleasantly warm time of it on his return; and he accepted with grateful alacrity Kenyon’s offer to assist with his own party in the search for the missing man—an offer which Grenville gladly concurred in, saying that none of them could know a moment’s perfect rest until this slippery villain was finally disposed of.

To our friends, the unexplained absence of Amaxosa and of the Chieftain of the Stick was, of course, a complete enigma. Only of this one thing were they sure: that, though both might have either followed or have preceded the slaver-chief—probably the former—they certainly had not escaped along with him, but would, on the contrary, never rest until the rascal’s life-blood had washed their spears and clubs.

Chapter Nineteen.

A Forced March.

After arranging with the old Mormon to start out with Grenville and a scouting party of Zulus at dawn of day, Kenyon turned into the room jointly occupied by himself and Grenville; but, both being overwrought by the events of the day, entirely failed to find the sleep they sought, and finally rose and strolled outside for a moonlight smoke, carefully taking with them their restored and treasured rifles. Both felt relatively happy, for the fear of death—and, however brave a man may be, a violent death is still a fearsome thing—the fear of death, I say, no longer weighed upon them; and the fact that Leigh had that night taken a favourable turn, which placed him out of danger, had also lifted a load of sorrow from the heart of each; and as they strolled quietly along, the pair talked pleasantly of home and friends, and of an early start for England.

Just as the twain reached the limits of their stroll, and were about to turn back and have another try to sleep, Grenville’s keen eye detected a movement in the long grass at his right hand. Throwing forward his rifle, he was about to fire, when a shrill, peculiar whistle broke upon the night air, and, dropping the butt of his rifle upon the ground, he stood expectant, whilst Amaxosa coolly stalked forth from his lair, and, advancing to where they stood, gravely saluted them.

“Greeting, Inkoosis, greeting,” said the great Zulu; “it does my heart good to see ye free again, and gun in hand. And now, my brothers, lead me, I pray ye, to the ancient man of this people of many women and three kings, for I have news to tell him—news which will not wait; and ye must be my mouth to him, O chiefs!”

“My brother,” answered Grenville, laying a hand kindly on the shoulder of his stalwart friend, “knowest thou that, because of thy departure, he has sentenced thee to death; ay, thee, and Barad the Hailstorm with thee.”

“Nay, my father,” replied the Zulu, “I knew it not, nor do I care whether I live or die; yet do I think the ancient one will gladly hear my words.”

Quickly returning to the public hall, Kenyon sent in word to the old Prophet that the Zulu chief had returned of his own accord, and had news of much importance for his private ear.

A few minutes elapsed, and then all were ushered into the united presence of the Holy Three, where, utterly disregarding the frowning looks cast upon him, the great Zulu thus commenced his stirring tale:—

“Hear my words, O ye ancient ones, and let the message of the child of the Zulu sink down into your ears; for his words are heavy words to hear, yet come they from a straight and friendly tongue.”

Then addressing himself to Grenville, “Yesternight, my father,” he began, speaking rapidly and forcibly in Zulu—“yesternight I had it in my mind that Zero, the Black One, would escape and break his bonds, and in the same mind was also the Chieftain of the Stick; he knew no speech of mine, nor knew I aught of his, my father, yet eye looked into eye, and each knew well the secret thought of each.

“We soon slipped past the sleepy guards and out into the night, but naught had we in our hands, my father, and so we left behind the ruined kraals, and hid us in the bushes by the well.

“Long did we wait, but yet we had no doubt, and, so when half the night was gone, there came to us the ghost of him, the ancient one, who dwells in yon lonely grave upon the northern hills—alas! my father, that I let him pass me by, but empty hands are evil things wherewith to face a well-armed spook, and in his grasp he swung a mighty axe, dripping with human blood.

“And so we waited, and when the Father of the Spooks had left us half-an-hour, then my thought changed, and I knew it was no spook that passed us by, but the black one, Zero himself, escaped in Muzi Zimba’s dress, and so I beckoned to Barad, my father, and down the well we went to follow on his trail; but when we reached the narrow mountain pass, we found it all blocked up with mighty rocks rolled from above, so that we could not move them. Then climbed we forth again, and, skirting round the mountain, we filled our ready hands with arms from the dead who lie out yonder; and so sped we onwards through the night running our utmost speed, but naught did we see, my father, until at dawn we struck the Black One’s footsteps crossing the western veldt, and these we followed till the sun grew hot at noon, and so we tracked him to the thorn-girt kraal of a mighty host of low black fellows; those men, they were, my father, whose king was here when first we hither came.

“Lying hid, O chief, we watched, as well we might, and when the sun went down, the host set out, led forward by the Black One, and the track they took, my father, was the track of the women and the children who have gone towards the sea.

“And then, my father, did I leave the Chieftain of the Stick to mark the trail, and follow on their rear, whilst I returned at speed to tell thee all.

“And now, O chiefs, think wisely and think quickly what ye do. There is no time to waste—your army, split in twain by thrice a thousand men, must travel like the wind if ye would happen on the spot, ere Zero eats your friends and stamps them flat.”

Briefly and succinctly, Grenville gave the Mormons the substance of the Zulu’s thrilling news, adding that, from his own knowledge, he could tell them that this king was a very great warrior and the most notorious slave-dealer in all the country side, with a fighting band of quite three thousand men, who were experts in the use of both bow and spear.

Replying, the old Prophet said that he and his colleagues freely pardoned the Zulu and his sable friend, and also thanked them for their zeal, and would now ask further what course Grenville, who knew the country so well, would advise them all to follow. Knowing, however, that Amaxosa must have fully thought out his plan of action, Grenville informed him that the ancient ones had pardoned his escape, and that of Barad, and would wish to hear his plan for eating up the foe.

The great Zulu had quietly sat him down, and taken snuff to his heart’s content, but now he rose to his feet, and drawing himself up to his full height, addressed himself to Grenville.

“O my father,” said he, “think ye these people here can fight, think ye that they can travel on a long, weary road? For thus shall the matter go:—Seest thou, my father, that yonder comes the dawn. At dawn, next day but one, will the evil Black One, backed by all his wicked host, fall on the white men as they sleep close by the burning mountain; and it shall be, my father, that while the Black One sets a snare for the white men, we ourselves will set a snare for him. Thus, when he rises to fire upon our friends, will we fire on him and his, and take him by surprise. Then will our friends upon the mountain wake and shoot their shots. So shall the Black One find himself between two heavy fires. But think upon the weary way, my father, for much I doubt that few will win it, and therein lies my fear; for, spread out wide upon the veldt and weakened, Zero will eat us up, and stamp us flat for ever. Well, even so, my father, we can but try, and if we die ’twill be a brave man’s death, facing a savage foe.”

Grenville detailed the whole scheme to the Mormons, urging its adoption without a moment’s delay, in view of the tremendous journey—quite a hundred English miles—which must be accomplished at high pressure if they would save the first detachment, and, indeed, themselves; for, if Zero once disposed of half their army, with the enormous force at his back, he would very soon render an account of the remainder.

Our friend recommended that the entire band should start at once, and push on at top speed until the sun was too hot to allow of further progress; then, after resting in the heat of the day—the moon being, fortunately, at the full—they must go for their lives throughout the summer night, until the advent of the sun again drove them from the road, resuming their journey with the cool of evening, and so go ever forward, and hope to be in time. Clearly, there was nothing else for it, and the Mormons rapidly assented to the plan, and all filed out of the room, leaving the Zulu where he sat, for exhausted nature had asserted her rights, and the man was fast asleep.

The Mormon force could not leave the place under an hour, and from long experience of the ways of these active children of the veldt, Grenville well knew that that precious hour would give back to the great Zulu all his magnificent powers, and enable him to lead the party until noon, faster than most of them would care to go.

The sun was already high in the heavens by the time that Grenville and Kenyon had succeeded in getting the Mormons under weigh, and their own breakfast being then ready, Grenville waked Amaxosa, and all three partook of a hearty meal, feeling quite sure that they would soon overtake the main body.

Leigh, with his wife and child, all the wounded, and a guard, which consisted of the few remaining “People of the Stick,” were left behind in Equatoria, there being no other course open to our friends, as it was obviously impossible to carry the sick and wounded with them on a forced march, and probably into the very teeth of a desperate and extremely doubtful battle.

Grenville, however, took two carrier pigeons with him, telling Dora that if the fight was going against their party he would send her word by one of these, when she must depart at once from Equatoria with her party, cross the chasm by means of the traversing cage, must cut the rope behind her, and by causing her men to again turn the course of the mountain stream into the northern marsh, lay bare the rocky pathway down the kloof.

When her party reached the veldt it would at once strike out due east and travel night and day until some of the wandering Arab slavers were met with, when Grenville considered it likely that the promise of large rewards would induce these men to afford her safe escort to some seaport town. The plan did not, of course, promise particularly well; but, on the other hand, it was infinitely better than sitting still and waiting for Zero to return and torture everyone to death, and Grenville well knew that the gallant “warriors of the Stick” would fight for “their sister,” if need arose, as long as they had a leg left to stand on.

And so the trio bade farewell to the tearful Dora, begging her to be of good comfort, as if they could but arrive in time there would be little fear of the result; and so they passed away and left her once again, alone in this hated Mormon town—yet not alone, for she had now her husband and her child, and these two needed all her loving care.

Chapter Twenty.

The Hand of God.

As our friends had anticipated, they found little difficulty in overtaking the Mormon crowd, and, at once going to the front, they set the rescue-party a very different pace to that hitherto travelled by them, and keeping them at the work, despite their murmurs and protests, had knocked off fully twenty miles by noon, and at four o’clock insisted upon a fresh start being made, keeping the pace easier, however, until evening came on.

The three aged Mormons were carried by the Zanzibaris in hammocks, so that these formed no obstacle whatever to their forced marching.

Soon the moon came up in all her radiant loveliness, casting a weird and silvery glamour over the wide expanse of veldt on every side, and on the distant horizon there ever hung the blazing, star-like cone of the distant mountain-peak, for which the leaders steered. And so forward through the livelong night they pressed, faint yet pursuing, and when at dawn of day all crept into cover, and threw their wearied bodies on the ground, Amaxosa, who had been acting as whipper-in, brought up to the front the glad news that only twenty men had so far fallen by the way.

The mountain was distant now but twenty miles, and all felt relatively happy, for it was a shrewd count that three thousand naked savages, even though led by Zero, would not make very much of a figure when they found themselves between two bands, each of five hundred desperate whites, armed for the most part, with quick-firing rifles.

Grenville, Kenyon, and Amaxosa had watched and slept by turns, the last watch before night being the Zulu’s, and when his friends woke up they found the chief excessively uneasy in his mind regarding the weather, which looked to him like storm.

However, the party set out as soon as the moon began to rise, and had arrived within a mile of the mountain, and had despatched the great Zulu on ahead to scout, before the storm broke upon them.

The heavens by this time were transformed into an enormous mass of dense, black, lowering clouds, which had sunk until they almost shrouded the waning moon herself, which as yet, however, sailed along in a narrow glorious belt of glittering azure, looking far more lovely from contrast with the frowning bank of clouds which hung above her, and which stretched away in every direction ominous in their sullen death-like quietude.

The Zulu had not left the main body above five minutes when the inky-looking vault right over head was suddenly rent in twain as if some giant hand had ripped the veil of clouds, and heaven and earth seemed fairly to meet for one brief instant in a dazzling, blazing glare of lurid light, which flooded veldt and mountain, rock and river, for miles around the spot, and was instantly succeeded by an unremitting roll of thunder, which seemed to shake all nature to her utmost depths, and threaten earth with chaos worse confounded.

Hardly had the mighty echoes died away than the report of firearms could be heard, in scattered shots, away under the mountain side. The reason was evident: the Mormons had been on the alert, and the terrific blaze of lightning had, no doubt, revealed to their watchful sentinels, the ambush of the hidden savage foe. Sure enough, next minute there came the steady rolling echoes as the Winchesters opened fire in ringing volleys, upon the mass of men before them.

Speeding across the veldt, Grenville and his band endeavoured to take up a flank position where they would run no danger from the bullets of their friends, and, aided by another blazing flash, were almost within range of Zero’s troops, which were represented by a dark moving mass upon the veldt, when suddenly and without an instant’s warning, a most awful thing happened.

The moon was waning fast and the light was growing dim, when the countryside for miles and miles was all at once illuminated with a brightness vivid as the glory of the noonday sun himself. This was no passing flash of lightning; but there, right above the blazing peak itself, hung a mighty zone of dazzling, blinding fire; for one brief instant thus it stayed, then, with a mighty roar, which rent the earth and quaked the giant rocks, and dwarfed out of recognition the thunders of the sky, the volcano all at once blew up, driving its shattered fragments to the winds of heaven.

Almost at Grenville’s feet the earth yawned wildly, and where one moment before had been lovely veldt and sparkling river, there appeared only a mighty chasm, from whose abysmal depths rose fearsome sounds and pungent scalding vapours.

For an instant, all was inky blackness and the quietude of death; then, the storm-clouds driven wildly in every direction by the might of the explosion, the moon shone out once more, and revealed an awful sight.

The mountain-peak was gone—gone, for ever, its fragments scattered wide across the veldt, whilst between the foot of the mountain and the position of our friends lay a gulf two hundred feet across, unbroken, save by a tiny island of rock—measuring, perhaps, twenty square yards—which still stood in its very centre. All round the rock—and, perhaps, a hundred feet from its upper edge—there washed a sea of boiling, bubbling water, lashed to frenzy, and heated red-hot, by the streams of burning lava which, all the time poured themselves into the chasm. In every direction this yawning abyss spread itself out, far as the eye could see, and the effect of its presence was to practically divide the land in two.

Of the Mormons who had held the mountain, and of their savage native foes, not a vestige could be seen. The earth had simply opened her mouth upon them, and down alive into the pit had gone thousands of men, women, and children, both white and black, young and old, friend and foe, consigned, in one dread prayerless instant, to an eternal stygian grave.

But stop! The moonlight grows, the light increases as the clouds clear off. And what moves on yonder pinnacle of rock? Two human forms, they seem—they are. And now, ’fore God, see how they fight—fight wildly, furiously, for life! Life! Life on such an awful place as this! Better, far better, certain sudden death!

One moment Grenville watched, then springing to his feet, he sent a wild cry of encouragement across the chasm; and in proud and instant answer, pealing across the vast abyss, and waking every sleeping echo in the mighty rocks, came the defiant Zulu war-song, and in one moment more, every child of the Undi within that band was on his feet, ranging up and down the chasm’s edge, shouting the war-cry of his famous chief, and seeking means to aid him.

Little help did the Lion of the Zulu require from mortal hands; unarmed he was, but, dashing upon his single foe, he dexterously avoided a swinging blow from the ready axe, and seized him by the throat. Down went the pair, and over and over they rolled, fighting the while like cats, whilst our friends watched, with parted lips and straining, eager gaze, expecting each instant that both combatants would shoot into the abyss of fire beneath. All at once the struggle ceased, for the Zulu had dashed his opponent’s head upon the rocks and stunned him. Springing to his feet he sent a cry of victory pealing across the chasm; there was an upward whirl of the foeman’s shining axe, and next instant, with a mighty effort, he cast a bleeding human head across the space between.

The ghastly trophy fell at Grenville’s feet, and the head was the head of Zero, the slaver-fiend. Then lifting in his powerful arms the headless trunk, the Zulu cast it into the wild abyss beneath his feet, and thus revenged himself for all the wrongs suffered by his proud spirit, and all the tears and blood of countless slaves, both black and white, shed by this curse of Equatorial Africa.

The victory was complete, and their object was accomplished, yet all forgot it in the awful gloom of the moment, cast heavily upon them by the recollection that they stood upon the graves of thousands, who but a few moments ago had walked the world in health and life—thousands brought to a swift and awful end in one brief instant of time; and each man felt that the hand which slew them was the hand of God.

Clearly, however, something must be done to relieve Amaxosa; for he shouted to them that the rock was fast becoming red-hot, and would shortly scorch his feet beyond endurance.

Fortunately the party had brought Leigh’s rocket apparatus with them, and soon succeeded in firing a line across the rock, and hauling upon this, the Zulu quickly received a one-inch rope, which he fastened to the rock by driving Zero’s axe firmly into a crevice, and attaching the rope to its haft, and then, the line being drawn taut, hung fearlessly by his hands over the literally boiling flood, and coolly commenced to work his way across. When about twenty feet from the edge, where his friends stood ready to welcome him, a shriek of horror went up as the axe gave way, the line slipped, and his giant form was heard to strike with a sickening blow against the face of the cliff.

The anxious watchers held their breath, expecting to hear the final splash as his senseless body plunged into the awful seething horror far below; but Amaxosa had fortunately kept his head, and in spite of the wrench received, and of the fearful blow, he hung on like a leech, and was soon drawn into safety and tended anxiously by friendly hands, and none too soon, for but one pace away from the abyss his senses left him, and he fell prone upon the earth, but was soon brought back again to life and health.

Silently the dawn of another lovely day came gliding over the earth, but our friends saw it not, for all slept a troubled and unhappy sleep until wakened by the fiery sun himself, when they hasted to put some miles between themselves and the site of the abysmal grave below the mountain; Grenville first despatching a pigeon to Equatoria, carrying glad tidings, as follows: “Victory! all well—Zero dead.—

“Dick.”

Slowly the party took their journey back, for all were more or less knocked up with the heavy outward march, and it was the evening of the fifth day when, carrying the head of Zero, they reached Equatoria. No amount of persuasion would induce the old Mormon to part with this ghastly trophy, which he declared he would carry back to Salt Lake City to the Holy Three, in order that no doubt might arise as to the successful accomplishment of his mission.

Chapter Twenty One.

Lost and Found.

The victorious band marched triumphantly into Equatoria as the shades of night were falling; but their joy, alas! was quickly changed to wailing.

Nowhere was there a soul to be seen in or about the town. Leigh was missing, with his wife and child, the Atagbondo guards, and the whole of Zero’s plunder divisible amongst the three bands—all, everything was gone.

On carefully searching the public building, however, the whole of the “People of the Stick” were found tightly bound in the condemned cell, which was fastened from outside. The poor creatures were almost dead with thirst and starvation, having been locked up for over four days. They soon, however, revived under friendly treatment, and then, calling up the interpreter, our anxious friends listened to their moving tale.

As a matter of fact, however, these men had very little to tell beyond saying that the very night the main body had left Equatoria they had been visited by an ancient man, the biggest Forest Fetish in those parts, and called by him to a “great dance” in the common hall, which was well lighted by priests holding torches in their hands.

He had delivered a long harangue to the “People of the Stick” regarding the gifts they were to send him from their own country, and after this the unfortunate audience heard no more, their senses gradually leaving them under the subtle influence of the smoke from the torches, which made the air heavy with a curious pungent odour. But though the men could neither move nor exercise the faculties of sight or hearing, each realised that he was being fettered and carried away, whilst he gradually yielded to an overpowering desire to sleep. Naught knew they of the Fetish beyond the fact that his habitation was somewhere in the dense and tangled forest of the east, into whose dark avenues no mortal man dare venture, for they were the home of ghosts and spirits, and the haunts of snakes, and wolves, and many evil things.

It was, of course, too late to make any move that night; so, after roundly cursing the ill-luck which had brought this latest misfortune upon them, the tired wayfarers ate their supper, set a watch, and then lay down to snatch a few hours’ rest before the dawn.

The earliest gleam of daylight saw Grenville afoot, and with Kenyon, the Zulus, and a couple of hundred Mormons, he commenced to quarter the forest in every direction. Fearful work this was, for the place was simply a tangled and practically impenetrable jungle, upon which even the axes of the party made little impression. For three whole days did the little band prosecute their arduous search, returning to Equatoria each night utterly worn out with their fruitless and cruel labour.

On the third night, when Grenville, thinking sadly upon the unknown fate of his much-loved cousin, supposed his friend Kenyon to be asleep, to his utter astonishment that worthy suddenly shot up to his feet.

“Gods!” he yelled, fairly trembling with excitement. “Gods! I have it. Dick, what cursed fools we’ve been—how could those priests have taken bound and stupefied people through these thickets, beyond which our axes cannot carry us. Ten to one in sovereigns, I take you straight to their lair at dawn, old man;” and so he did, never making a single mistake, and a mighty queer place they found it, up amongst the tree-tops.

Entering confidently a great hollow tree which stood about a mile from the town, and on the outskirts of the impenetrable bush, Kenyon triumphantly pointed to a strong rough ladder run up the inside of the giant trunk, and mounting this for near a hundred feet, all found themselves in a fair way to enter the abode of the famous Forest Fetish who dominated the timid natives in those parts, and was had—as is always the case—in even more repute amongst them, on account of his abominable extortions and deeds of violence, than was Muzi Zimba, the Ancient Fetish of the Hills, in consideration of his uniform kindness of soul.

High up upon the interlaced branches of the trees were fastened rough boards, thickly covered with grass matting, and on these, from tree to tree, our adventurers followed for upwards of two miles, a perfectly safe and absolutely silent road, of a uniform width of perhaps five feet, until they penetrated into the sacred presence of the arch-humbug himself. A mighty uproar there was, and a great seizing and brandishing of sacrificial knives and swords, as the first of our friends entered the roomy tree-top, boarded throughout, in which the priests had their semi-aerial domicile. But when these rascals, perhaps thirty or forty in number, saw the whole rescue-party file in, and the grim row of frowning muzzles opening in line with their wretched carcases, the entire band simply flopped down upon their knees, and howled for mercy, the “big man fetish” himself making more noise than anyone.

By great good fortune, poor Leigh, with his wife and child, had been preserved for the occasion of a great fetish dance at next new moon, and were soon found and released, and, as restitution was quickly made of all the plunder stolen from Equatoria, our friends contented themselves with giving the rascals what Kenyon called “a jolly good hiding all round,” and then drove them out of the forest altogether, and set fire to their abominable nest, the dry matting making a fine blaze amongst the tree-tops, out of which it scared the monkeys, parrots, and other legitimate denizens in very large numbers. The simple “People of the Stick” were astonished at the discovery made by their white associates; for the poor fetish-ridden creatures of these parts had been almost harried out of their lives by the priests, who were supposed to dwell invisibly under a tree, in whose upper branches, however, was located their real abode. Under this tree, which could be reached only by a bridle-path from the rear of the belt of forest, the miserable negro would devoutly deposit his offering, and when returning upon his way to Equatoria, and passing near the hollow tree, two miles off, he would probably find the gift which, not unfrequently, comprised his little all, thrown contemptuously in his path, whilst hidden voices admonished the terror-stricken wretch to hurry off, and bring a better offering, unless he wished to have his heart torn out of his body. This, of course, was “very big fetish” to such a superstitious people, and they would do almost anything to propitiate the awful Spirit of the Air. Not content with these thievish tricks, however, the priests slew very many men, stole the women, and generally played the “hanky-panky spiritualist” game to their hearts’ content.

Before liberating the “big man fetish” himself, Kenyon closely questioned him, through the interpreter, regarding the drug which he had used for the purpose of stupefying the “People of the Stick,” and found that the feat was accomplished by steeping torches of fibrous bark in a compound made from bruised herbs, and which closely resembled chloroform in its effect, and of which, he added, he had often made quantities for Zero.

Asked if he knew how Zero used the drug, this man at once fully explained the whole “death,” stupefaction, and abduction of Lady Drelincourt and her child—a miserable aboriginal savage thus calmly elucidating a mystery which had proved altogether too much for the wisest doctors and keenest detectives in far-away and enlightened England.

Upon Kenyon, however, expressing the most utter disbelief of his statement, the “Fetish” boldly offered to exhibit the result of the experiment in his own proper person, provided the white men would give him some powder and a gun before they went away; and Kenyon having undertaken to make him happy with a flint-lock and six feet of superior English tower-marked “gas-pipe,” the man forthwith proceeded to demonstrate the truth of his curious tale.

First obtaining a small gourd of the drug referred to, he then took from a pouch at his side a beautiful little tame white monkey. Next picking a sharp thorn, he coated the point well with the nameless compound, and, giving the instrument to the monkey, pointed to himself. The little animal cunningly concealed the thorn within its palm, and then offered to shake hands with its master, and this ceremony having been performed, the old man held up his hand and exhibited a small red mark in the palm. He then explained that the properties of the drug were distinctly anaesthetic, and that he could not feel the puncture, which was painlessly made; but he would nevertheless shortly go to sleep for three or four days, and then wake up again, being quite recovered, and none the worse for the experiment.

The drug had no perceptible effect upon the man for several hours, but towards evening he began palpably to get very drowsy, and no power on earth could keep him awake. The suspicious Kenyon, however, was not to be “done,” and punched and kicked the old man unmercifully—an operation in which he was most ably seconded by Amaxosa, who beat the “cunning man of the witch-finders black and blue” with the handle of his spear, pausing only now and then to take a pinch of snuff. “Ow! my father,” he said at last, throwing down the spear in disgust—“Ow, my father, who can beat the life into a dead dog like this? What is gone is gone for ever, and the breath will never come again, so we had best throw this low fellow to the jackals; he is far too cunning to live with men.”

Kenyon, however, kept his man safely and watched him keenly; he found that during the continuance of the trance there was no perceptible pulse, nor was there any movement of the heart or respiratory organs; it was, in point of fact, an astonishing case of absolutely suspended animation. Everyone who examined the man insisted that he was an undoubted corpse, and ridiculed the very idea of his returning to life; and, to all appearance, he certainly was stone dead, and even Kenyon began to fear that the old fellow, in his eagerness to vindicate his reputation as a witch-doctor, had overdone the thing and settled himself once for all.

On the fifth night, however, the “fetish man” awoke, sat up, coolly asked for his powder and gun, and got both and a double allowance in exchange for his wonderful secret, which he imparted to the delighted Kenyon.

Lady Drelincourt confirmed all that the man had said. She perfectly remembered the pretty pet monkey, which had been brought round by Zero, who was himself disguised as an organ-grinder, and both she and her child had shaken hands with the little creature, and all the rest, of course, was simple to a man of Zero’s capabilities, to whom the work of a resurrectionist was an unconsidered trifle, and whose devilish cunning had rightly calculated that the old family doctor would say anything, or sign anything, to protect his friend from the grisly horrors attendant upon a post-mortem examination.

Of her removal by sea poor Dora knew nothing, and her first recollections were upon a steamer bound for Madagascar, some days out from France; and whenever she began to come out of her trance, Madame Zero would promptly renew the dose, and effectually prevent the poor girl from getting loose or making mischief, whilst she was given out on board as being a delicate lady with an extremely feeble mind.

Zero’s original intention had been to hold her for ransom, and apply to Leigh for an enormous sum of money; but his “wife” stopped this, feeling sure that it would bring upon the community the vengeance of the outraged English law.

As soon, however, as the slaver knew of Leigh’s arrival in his vicinity, he determined upon the devilish plan of forcing Dora to marry one of his own men, and then promised himself the hellish satisfaction of presenting her to her own husband as the wife of another man, and that man, a Mormon.

Having once disposed of the “fetish palaver,” Kenyon became more eager than anyone to turn his face homewards, and two days afterwards the whole party accordingly left Equatoria, and after destroying the Bridge of Rope, firing the public building, and razing to the ground the last stronghold of Zero the slaver, his conquerors steered a straight course for the south-western seaboard.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Farewell.

Months later the whole band reached safely a small Portuguese haven on the south-west coast, in which there lay at anchor the Mormon’s own steam-vessel, the Brigham Young, and all going on board of her, the old Prophet, who had now become excellent friends with Grenville and his party, ordered steam to be got up, and, running comfortably down the coast, soon landed our friends at Cape Town to wait for the English mail-boat, whilst he himself, after revictualling his ship, set sail for home with the remnant of his victorious army of the “Elect.”

Bitter was the final parting between Grenville and Amaxosa, though the great Zulu to some extent concealed his true feelings under the mask of his accustomed stoicism.

“The light has gone out of my sun, my father,” he said; “the storm-clouds are very heavy, and my heart is split in twain. What can the chieftain of the Undi say more? Yet, my father, if aught of evil comes upon thee, then, out of the trackless deserts of the unknown land beyond, call thou aloud for Amaxosa, thy true and only son, and thy faithful war-dog will answer, ‘Here am I, my father!’ and will straightway follow on along the narrow, bloodstained path, even through the darksome shadows of the dead, and into the glorious land of the great hereafter.

“Fare ye well, Inkoosis, wise and mighty chiefs!

“Adieu, my little sister, who from the shadows of the cruel past hast come to bless us!

“And to thee, my father—to thee, with whom the spirit of thy son is bound in the bundle of life here and hereafter, to thee the Lion of the Zulu gives his greeting last and best. Greeting to thee, bravest of the brave!

“Greeting and farewell!”

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