A Millionaire of Yesterday

  CHAPTER XXVI

  It was Trent himself who kept watch through that last long hour ofmoonlit darkness till the wan morning broke. With its faint, greystreaks came the savages of Bekwando, crawling up in a semicirclethrough the long, rough grass, then suddenly, at a signal, boundingupright with spears poised in their hands--an ugly sight in the dim dawnfor men chilled with the moist, damp air and only half-awake. But Trenthad not been caught napping. His stealthy call to arms had aroused themin time at least to crawl behind some shelter and grip their rifles. Thewar-cry of the savages was met with a death-like quiet--there were nosigns of confusion nor terror. A Kru boy, who called out with fright,was felled to the ground by Trent with a blow which would have staggeredan ox. With their rifles in hand, and every man stretched flat uponthe ground, Trent's little party lay waiting. Barely a hundred yardsseparated them, yet there was no sign of life from the camp. The longline of savages advanced a few steps more, their spears poised abovetheir heads, their half-naked forms showing more distinctly as theypeered forward through the grey gloom, savage and ferocious. The whitemen were surely sleeping still. They were as near now as they could get.There was a signal and then a wild chorus of yells. They threw aside alldisguise and darted forward, the still morning air hideous with theircry of battle. Then, with an awful suddenness, their cry became the cryof death, for out from the bushes belched a yellow line of fire as therifles of Trent and his men rang out their welcome. A dozen at least ofthe men of Bekwando looked never again upon the faces of their wives,the rest hesitated. Trent, in whom was the love of fighting, made thenhis first mistake. He called for a sally, and rushed out, revolver inhand, upon the broken line. Half the blacks ran away like rabbits; theremainder, greatly outnumbering Trent and his party, stood firm. In amoment it was hand-to-hand fighting, and Trent was cursing already thebravado which had brought him out to the open.

  For a while it was a doubtful combat. Then, with a shout of triumph,the chief, a swarthy, thick-set man of herculean strength, recognisedFrancis and sprang upon him. The blow which he aimed would most surelyhave killed him, but that Trent, with the butt-end of a rifle, brokeits force a little. Then, turning round, he blew out the man's brains asFrancis sank backwards. A dismal yell from his followers was the chief'srequiem; then they turned and fled, followed by a storm of bullets asTrent's men found time to reload. More than one leaped into the air andfell forward upon their faces. The fight was over, and, when they cameto look round, Francis was the only man who had suffered.

  Morning had dawned even whilst they had been fighting. Little wreathsof mist were curling upwards, and the sun shone down with a cloudless,golden light, every moment more clear as the vapours melted away.Francis was lying upon his face groaning heavily; the Kru boys, to whomhe was well known, were gathered in a little circle around him. Trentbrushed them on one side and made a brief examination. Then he hadhim carried carefully into one of the tents while he went for hismedicine-chest.

  Preparations for a start were made, but Trent was thoughtful. For thesecond time within a few hours this man, in whose power it was to ruinhim, lay at his mercy. That he had saved his life went for nothing. Inthe heat of battle there had been no time for thought or calculation.Trent had simply obeyed the generous instinct of a brave man whoseblood was warm with the joy of fighting. Now it was different. Trent wasseldom sentimental, but from the first he had had an uneasy presentimentconcerning this man who lay now within his power and so near to death.A mutual antipathy seemed to have been born between them from the firstmoment when they had met in the village of Bekwando. As though it wereyesterday, he remembered that leave-taking and Francis's threateningwords. Trent had always felt that the man was his enemy--certainly thepower to do him incalculable harm, if not to altogether ruin him, washis now. And he would not hesitate about it. Trent knew that, althoughbroadly speaking he was innocent of any desire to harm or desert Monty,no power on earth would ever convince Francis of that. Appearances were,and always must be, overwhelmingly against him. Without interferencefrom any one he had already formulated plans for quietly putting Montyin his rightful position, and making over to him his share in theBekwando Syndicate. But to arrange this without catastrophe would needskill and tact; interference from any outside source would be fatal,and Francis meant to interfere--nothing would stop him. Trent walkedbackwards and forwards with knitted brows, glancing every now and thenat the unconscious man. Francis would certainly interfere if he wereallowed to recover!