CHAPTER XXVII
A fortnight afterwards Trent rode into Attra, pale, gaunt, andhollow-eyed. The whole history of those days would never be known byanother man! Upon Trent they had left their mark for ever. Every hour ofhis time in this country he reckoned of great value--yet he had devotedfourteen days to saving the life of John Francis. Such days too--andsuch nights! They had carried him sometimes in a dead stupor, sometimesa raving madman, along a wild bush-track across rivers and swampsinto the town of Garba, where years ago a Congo trader, who had made afortune, had built a little white-washed hospital! He was safe now, butsurely never a man before had walked so near the "Valley of the Shadowof Death." A single moment's vigilance relaxed, a blanket displaced,a dose of brandy forgotten, and Trent might have walked this life amulti-millionaire, a peer, a little god amongst his fellows, freed forever from all anxiety. But Francis was tended as never a man was tendedbefore. Trent himself had done his share of the carrying, ever keepinghis eyes fixed upon the death-lit face of their burden, every ready tofight off the progress of the fever and ague, as the twitching lips orshivering limbs gave warning of a change. For fourteen days he had notslept; until they had reached Garba his clothes had never been changedsince they had started upon their perilous journey. As he rode intoAttra he reeled a little in his saddle, and he walked into the office ofthe Agent more like a ghost than a man.
Two men, Cathcart and his assistant, who was only a boy, were loungingin low chairs. As he entered they looked up, exchanging quick, startledglances. Then Cathcart gave vent to a little exclamation.
"Great Heavens, Trent, what have you been doing?" Trent sank into achair. "Get me some wine," he said. "I am all right but over-tired."
Cathcart poured champagne into a tumbler. Trent emptied it at a gulpand asked for biscuits. The man's recuperative powers were wonderful.Already the deathly whiteness was passing from his cheeks.
"Where is Da Souza?" he asked.
"Gone back to England," Cathcart answered, looking out of the opencasement shaded from the sun by the sloping roof. "His steamer startedyesterday."
Trent was puzzled. He scarcely understood this move.
"Did he give any reason?"
Cathcart smoked for a moment in silence. After all though a disclosurewould be unpleasant, it was inevitable and as well now as any time. "Ithink," Cathcart said, "that he has gone to try and sell his shares inthe Bekwando concessions."
"Gone--to--sell--his--shares!" Trent repeated slowly. "You mean to saythat he has gone straight from here to put a hundred thousand Bekwandoshares upon the market?"
Cathcart nodded.
He said so!
"And why? Did he tell you that?"
"He has come to the conclusion," Cathcart said, "that the scheme isimpracticable altogether and the concessions worthless. He is going toget what he can for his shares while he has the chance."
Trent drained his tumbler and lit a cigar. "So much for Da Souza," hesaid. "And now I should like to know, Mr. Stanley Cathcart, what thedevil you and your assistant are doing shacking here in the cool of theday when you are the servants of the Bekwando Company and there's workto be done of the utmost importance? The whole place seems to be asleep.Where's your labour? There's not a soul at work. We planned exactlywhen to start the road. What the mischief do you mean by wasting afortnight?"
Cathcart coughed and was obviously ill-at-ease, but he answered withsome show of dignity.
"I have come to the conclusion, Mr. Trent, that the making of the roadis impracticable and useless. There is insufficient labour and poortools, no satisfactory method of draining the swampy country, andfurther, I don't think any one would work with the constant fear of anattack from those savages."
"So that's your opinion, is it?" Trent said grimly.
"That is my opinion," Cathcart answered. "I have embodied it in a reportwhich I despatched to the secretary of the Company by Mr. Da Souza."
Trent rose and opened the door which swung into the little room.
"Out you go!" he said fiercely.
Cathcart looked at him in blank astonishment.
"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "These are my quarters!"
"They're nothing of the sort," Trent answered. "They are theheadquarters in this country of the Bekwando Company, with which youhave nothing to do! Out you go!"
"Don't talk rubbish!" Cathcart said angrily. "I'm the authorised andproperly appointed surveyor here!"
"You're a liar!" Trent answered, "you've no connection at all with theCompany! you're dismissed, sir, for incompetence and cowardice, andif you're not off the premises in three minutes it'll be the worse foryou!"
"You--you--haven't the power to do this," Cathcart stuttered.
Trent laughed.
"We'll see about that," he said. "I never had much faith in you, sir,and I guess you only got the job by a rig. But out you go now, sharp. Ifthere's anything owing you, you can claim it in London.
"There are all my clothes--" Cathcart began.
Trent laid his hands upon his shoulders and threw him softly outside.
"I'll send your clothes to the hotel," he said. "Take my advice, youngman, and keep out of my sight till you can find a steamer to take youwhere they'll pay you for doing nothing. You're the sort of man whoirritates me and it's a nasty climate for getting angry in!"
Cathcart picked himself up. "Well, I should like to know who's going tomake your road," he said spitefully.
"I'll make it myself," Trent roared. "Don't you think a little thinglike some stupid laws of science will stand in my way, or the way ofa man who knows his own mind. I tell you I'll level that road from thetree there which we marked as the starting-point to the very centre ofBekwando."
He slammed the door and re-entered the room. The boy was there, sittingupon the office stool hard at work with a pair of compasses.
"What the devil are you doing there?" Trent asked. "Out you go with yourmaster!"
The boy looked up. He had a fair, smooth face, but lips like Trent'sown.
"I'm just thinking about that first bend by Kurru corner, sir," he said,"I'm not sure about the level."
Trent's face relaxed. He held out his hand.
"My boy," he said, "I'll make your fortune as sure as my name isScarlett Trent!"
"We'll make that road anyway," the boy answered, with a smile.
* * * * *
After a rest Trent climbed the hill to the Basle Mission House. Therewas no sign of Monty on the potato patch, and the woman who opened thedoor started when she saw him.
"How is he?" Trent asked quickly.
The woman looked at him in wonder.
"Why, he's gone, sir--gone with the Jewish gentleman who said that youhad sent him."
"Where to?" Trent asked quickly.
"Why, to England in the Ophir!" the woman answered.
Then Trent began to feel that, after all, the struggle of his life wasonly beginning.