CHAPTER XXV
On the summit of a little knoll, with a pipe between his teeth andhis back against a palm-tree, Trent was lounging away an hour of thebreathless night. Usually a sound sleeper, the wakefulness, which hadpursued him from the instant his head had touched his travelling pillowan hour or so back, was not only an uncommon occurrence, but one whichseemed proof against any effort on his part to overcome it. So he hadrisen and stolen away from the little camp where his companions laywrapped in heavy slumber. They had closed their eyes in a denseand tropical darkness--so thick indeed that they had lit a fire,notwithstanding the stifling heat, to remove that vague feeling ofoppression which chaos so complete seemed to bring with it. Its embersburnt now with a faint and sickly glare in the full flood of yellowmoonlight which had fallen upon the country. From this point of vantageTrent could trace backwards their day's march for many miles, the whiteposts left by the surveyor even were visible, and in the background rosethe mountains of Bekwando. It had been a hard week's work for Trent. Hehad found chaos, discontent, despair. The English agent of the BekwandoLand Company was on the point of cancelling his contract, the surveyorswere spending valuable money without making any real attempt to startupon their undoubtedly difficult task. Everywhere the feeling seemed tobe that the prosecution of his schemes was an impossibility. The roadwas altogether in the clouds. Trent was flatly told that the labourthey required was absolutely unprocurable. Fortunately Trent knew thecountry, and he was a man of resource. From the moment when he hadappeared upon the spot, things had begun to right themselves. He hadfound Oom Sam established as a sort of task-master and contractor, andhad promptly dismissed him, with the result that the supply of Kru boyswas instantly doubled. He had found other sources of labour andstarted them at once on clearing work, scornfully indifferent to theoften-expressed doubts of the English surveyor as to possibility ofmaking the road at all. He had chosen overseers with that swift andintuitive insight into character which in his case amounted almost togenius. With a half-sheet of notepaper and a pencil, he had mapped out aroad which had made one, at least, of the two surveyors thoughtful, andhad largely increased his respect for the English capitalist. Now he wason his way back from a tour almost to Bekwando itself by the route ofthe proposed road. Already the work of preparation had begun. Hundredsof natives left in their track were sawing down palm-trees, cutting awaythe bush, digging and making ready everywhere for that straight, widethoroughfare which was to lead from Bekwando village to the sea-coast.Cables as to his progress had already been sent back to London. Apartfrom any other result, Trent knew that he had saved the Syndicate afortune by his journey here.
The light of the moon grew stronger--the country lay stretched outbefore him like a map. With folded arms and a freshly-lit pipe Trentleaned with his back against the tree and fixed eyes. At first he sawnothing but that road, broad and white, stretching to the horizon andthronged with oxen-drawn wagons. Then the fancy suddenly left him anda girl's face seemed to be laughing into his--a face which was everchanging, gay and brilliant one moment, calm and seductively beautifulthe next. He smoked his pipe furiously, perplexed and uneasy. One momentthe face was Ernestine's, the next it was Monty's little girl laughingup at him from the worn and yellow tin-type. The promise of the one--hadit been fulfilled in the woman? At least he knew that here was the onegreat weakness of his life. The curious flood of sentiment, whichhad led him to gamble for the child's picture, had merged with equalsuddenness into passion at the coming of her later presentment. Highabove all his plans for the accumulation of power and wealth, he setbefore him now a desire which had become the moving impulse of hislife--a desire primitive but overmastering--the desire of a strong manfor the woman he loves. In London he had scarcely dared admit so mucheven to himself. Here, in this vast solitude, he was more master ofhimself--dreams which seemed to him the most beautiful and the mostdaring which he had ever conceived, filled his brain and stirred hissenses till the blood in his veins seemed flowing to a new and wonderfulmusic. Those were wonderful moments for him.
His pipe was nearly out, and a cooler breeze was stealing over theplain. After all, perhaps an hour or so's sleep would be possible now.He stretched himself and yawned, cast one more glance across the moonlitplain, and then stood suddenly still, stiffened into an attitude ofbreathless interest. Yonder, between two lines of shrubs, were movingbodies--men, footsore and weary, crawling along with slow, painfulmovements; one at least of them was a European, and even at thatdistance Trent could tell that they were in grievous straits. He feltfor his revolver, and, finding that it was in his belt, descended thehill quickly towards them.
With every step which he took he could distinguish them more plainly.There were five Kru boys, a native of a tribe which he did notrecognise, and a European who walked with reeling footsteps, and who, itwas easy to see, was on the point of exhaustion. Soon they saw him, anda feeble shout greeted his approach. Trent was within hailing distancebefore he recognised the European. Then, with a little exclamation ofsurprise, he saw that it was Captain Francis.
They met face to face in a moment, but Francis never recognised him. Hiseyes were bloodshot, a coarse beard disguised his face, and his clotheshung about him in rags. Evidently he was in a terrible plight. When hespoke his voice sounded shrill and cracked.
"We are starving men," he said; "can you help us?"
"Of course we can," Trent answered quickly. "This way. We've plenty ofstores."
The little party stumbled eagerly after him. In a few moments they wereat the camp. Trent roused his companions, packages were hastily undoneand a meal prepared. Scarcely a word was said or a question asked. Oneor two of the Kru boys seemed on the verge of insanity--Francis himselfwas hysterical and faint. Trent boiled a kettle and made some beef-teahimself. The first mouthful Francis was unable to swallow. His throathad swollen and his eyes were hideously bloodshot. Trent, who had seenmen before in dire straits, fed him from a spoon and forced brandybetween his lips. Certainly, at the time, he never stopped to considerthat he was helping back to life the man who in all the world was mostlikely to do him ill.
"Better?" he asked presently.
"Much. What luck to find you. What are you after--gold?"
Trent shook his head.
"Not at present. We're planning out the new road from Attra toBekwando."
Francis looked up with surprise.
"Never heard of it," he said; "but there's trouble ahead for you. Theyare dancing the war-dance at Bekwando, and the King has been shut up forthree days with the priest and never opened his mouth. We were on ourway from the interior, and relied upon them for food and drink. They'vealways been friendly, but this time we barely escaped with our lives."
Trent's face grew serious. This was bad news for him, and he wasthankful that they had not carried out their first plan and commencedtheir prospecting at Bekwando village.
"We have a charter," he said, "and, if necessary, we must fight. I'mglad to be prepared though."
"A charter!" Francis pulled himself together and looked curiously at theman who was still bending over him.
"Great Heavens!" he exclaimed, "why, you are Scarlett Trent, the manwhom I met with poor Villiers in Bekwando years ago."
Trent nodded.
"We waited for you," he said, "to witness our concession. I thought thatyou would remember."
"I thought," Francis said slowly, "that there was something familiarabout you.... I remember it all now. You were gambling with poor oldMonty for his daughter's picture against a bottle of brandy."
Trent winced a little.
"You have an excellent memory," he said drily.
Francis raised himself a little, and a fiercer note crept into his tone.
"It is coming back to me," he said. "I remember more about you now,Scarlett Trent. You are the man who left his partner to die in a jungle,that you might rob him of his share in the concession. Oh yes, you seemy memory is coming back! I have an account against you, my man."
"It'
s a lie!" said Trent passionately. "When I left him, I honestlybelieved him to be a dead man."
"How many people will believe that?" Francis scoffed. "I shall takeMonty with me to England. I have finished with this country forawhile--and then--and then--"
He was exhausted, and sank back speechless. Trent sat and watched him,smoking in thoughtful silence. They two were a little apart from theothers, and Francis was fainting. A hand upon his throat--a drop fromthat phial in the medicine-chest--and his faint would carry him intoeternity. And still Trent sat and smoked.