CHAPTER VI
A sky like flame, and an atmosphere of sulphur. No breath of air, nota single ruffle in the great, drooping leaves of the African trees anddense, prickly shrubs. All around the dank, nauseous odour of poisonflowers, the ceaseless dripping of poisonous moisture. From the face ofthe man who stood erect, unvanquished as yet in the struggle for life,the fierce sweat poured like rain--his older companion had sunk to theground and the spasms of an ugly death were twitching at his whiteninglips.
"I'm done, Trent," he gasped faintly. "Fight your way on alone. You'vea chance yet. The way's getting a bit easier--I fancy we're on the righttrack and we've given those black devils the slip! Nurse your strength!You've a chance! Let me be. It's no use carrying a dead man." Gaunt andwild, with the cold fear of death before him also, the younger man brokeout into a fit of cursing.
"May they rot in the blackest corner of hell, Oom Sam and thosemiserable vermin!" he shouted. "A path all the way, the fever seasonover, the swamps dry! Oh! when I think of Sam's smooth jargon I wouldgive my chance of life, such as it is, to have him here for one moment.To think that beast must live and we die!"
"Prop me up against this tree, Trent--and listen," Monty whispered."Don't fritter away the little strength you have left."
Trent did as he was told. He had no particular affection for his partnerand the prospect of his death scarcely troubled him. Yet for twentymiles and more, through fetid swamps and poisoned jungles, he hadcarried him over his shoulder, fighting fiercely for the lives of bothof them, while there remained any chance whatever of escape. Now he knewthat it was in vain, he regretted only his wasted efforts--he had nosentimental regrets in leaving him. It was his own life he wanted--hisown life he meant to fight for.
"I wouldn't swear at Oom Sam too hard," Monty continued. "Remember forthe last two days he was doing all he could to get us out of theplace. It was those fetish fellows who worked the mischief andhe--certainly--warned us all he could. He took us safely to Bekwando andhe worked the oracle with the King!"
"Yes, and afterwards sneaked off with Francis," Trent broke in bitterly,"and took every bearer with him--after we'd paid them for the returnjourney too. Sent us out here to be trapped and butchered like rats. Ifwe'd only had a guide we should have been at Buckomari by now."
"He was right about the gold," Monty faltered. "It's there for thepicking up. If only we could have got back we were rich for life. If youescape--you need never do another stroke of work as long as you live."
Trent stood upright, wiped the dank sweat from his forehead and gazedaround him fiercely, and upwards at that lurid little patch of blue sky.
"If I escape!" he muttered. "I'll get out of this if I die walking. I'msorry you're done, Monty," he continued slowly. "Say the word and I'llhave one more spell at carrying you! You're not a heavy weight and I'mrested now!"
But Monty, in whose veins was the chill of death and who sought only forrest, shook his head.
"It shakes me too much," he said, "and it's only a waste of strength.You get on, Trent, and don't you bother about me. You've done your dutyby your partner and a bit more. You might leave me the small revolver incase those howling savages come up--and Trent!"
"Yes--"
"The picture--just for a moment. I'd like to have one look at her!"
Trent drew it out from his pocket--awkwardly--and with a little shameat the care which had prompted him to wrap it so tenderly in the oilskinsheet. Monty shaded his face with his hands, and the picture stole upto his lips. Trent stood a little apart and hated himself for thislast piece of inhumanity. He pretended to be listening for the stealthyapproach of their enemies. In reality he was struggling with the feelingwhich prompted him to leave this picture with the dying man.
"I suppose you'd best have it," he said sullenly at last.
But Monty shook his head feebly and held out the picture.
Trent took it with an odd sense of shame which puzzled him. He was notoften subject to anything of the sort.
"It belongs to you, Trent. I lost it on the square, and it's the onlysocial law I've never broken--to pay my gambling debts. There's one wordmore!"
"Yes."
"It's about that clause in our agreement. I never thought it was quitefair, you know, Trent!"
"Which clause?"
"The clause which--at my death--makes you sole owner of the wholeconcession. You see--the odds were scarcely even, were they? It wasn'tlikely anything would happen to you!"
"I planned the thing," Trent said, "and I saw it through! You didnothing but find a bit of brass. It was only square that the odds shouldbe in my favour. Besides, you agreed. You signed the thing."
"But I wasn't quite well at the time," Monty faltered. "I didn't quiteunderstand. No, Trent, it's not quite fair. I did a bit of the work atleast, and I'm paying for it with my life!"
"What's it matter to you now?" Trent said, with unintentional brutality."You can't take it with you."
Monty raised himself a little. His eyes, lit with feverish fire, werefastened upon the other man.
"There's my little girl!" he said hoarsely. "I'd like to leave hersomething. If the thing turns out big, Trent, you can spare a smallshare. There's a letter here! It's to my lawyers. They'll tell you allabout her."
Trent held out his hands for the letter.
"All right," he said, with sullen ungraciousness. "I'll promisesomething. I won't say how much! We'll see."
"Trent, you'll keep your word," Monty begged. "I'd like her to know thatI thought of her."
"Oh, very well," Trent declared, thrusting the letter into his pocket."It's a bit outside our agreement, you know, but I'll see to it anyhow.Anything else?"
Monty fell back speechless. There was a sudden change in his face.Trent, who had seen men die before, let go his hand and turned awaywithout any visible emotion. Then he drew himself straight, and set histeeth hard together.
"I'm going to get out of this," he said to himself slowly and withfierce emphasis. "I'm not for dying and I won't die!"
He stumbled on a few steps, a little black snake crept out of its bedof mud, and looked at him with yellow eyes protruding from its upraisedhead. He kicked it savagely away--a crumpled, shapeless mass. It was apiece of brutality typical of the man. Ahead he fancied that the air wasclearer--the fetid mists less choking--in the deep night-silence a fewhours back he had fancied that he had heard the faint thunder of thesea. If this were indeed so, it would be but a short distance now to theend of his journey. With dull, glazed eyes and clenched hands, he reeledon. A sort of stupor had laid hold of him, but through it all his brainwas working, and he kept steadily to a fixed course. Was it the sea inhis ears, he wondered, that long, monotonous rolling of sound, and therewere lights before his eyes--the lights of Buckomari, or the lights ofdeath!
They found him an hour or two later unconscious, but alive, on theoutskirts of the village.
Three days later two men were seated face to face in a long woodenhouse, the largest and most important in Buckomari village.
Smoking a corn-cob pipe and showing in his face but few marks of theterrible days through which he had passed was Scarlett Trent--oppositeto him was Hiram Da Souza, the capitalist of the region. The Jew--of DaSouza's nationality it was impossible to have any doubt--was coarse andlarge of his type, he wore soiled linen clothes and was smoking a blackcigar. On the little finger of each hand, thickly encrusted with dirt,was a diamond ring, on his thick, protruding lips a complacent smile.The concession, already soiled and dog-eared, was spread out beforethem.
It was Da Souza who did most of the talking. Trent indeed had theappearance of a man only indirectly interested in the proceedings.
"You see, my dear sir," Da Souza was saying, "this little concessionof yours is, after all, a very risky business. These niggers haveabsolutely no sense honour. Do I not know it--alas--to my cost?"
Trent listened in contemptuous silence. Da Souza had made a fortunetrading fiery rum on the Congo and had probably done more to
debauch theniggers he spoke of so bitterly than any man in Africa.
"The Bekwando people have a bad name--very bad name. As for any sense ofcommercial honour--my dear Trent, one might as well expect diamonds tospring up like mushrooms under our feet."
"The document," Trent said, "is signed by the King and witnessed byCaptain Francis, who is Agent-General out here, or something of thesort, for the English Government. It was no gift and don't you thinkit, but a piece of hard bartering. Forty bearers carried our presents toBekwando and it took us three months to get through. There is enough init to make us both millionaires.
"Then why," Da Souza asked, looking up with twinkling eyes, "do you wantto sell me a share in it?"
"Because I haven't a darned cent to bless myself with," Trent answeredcurtly. "I've got to have ready money. I've never had my fist on fivethousand pounds before--no, nor five thousand pence, but, as I'm aliving man, let me have my start and I'll hold my own with you all."
Da Souza threw himself back in his chair with uplifted hands.
"But my dear friend," he cried, "my dear young friend, you were notthinking--do not say that you were thinking of asking such a sum as fivethousand pounds for this little piece of paper!"
The amazement, half sorrowful, half reproachful, on the man's face wasperfectly done. But Trent only snorted.
"That piece of paper, as you call it, cost us the hard savings of years,it cost us weeks and months in the bush and amongst the swamps--it costa man's life, not to mention the niggers we lost. Come, I'm not here toplay skittles. Are you on for a deal or not? If you're doubtful about itI've another market. Say the word and we'll drink and part, but ifyou want to do business, here are my terms. Five thousand for a sixthshare!"
"Sixth share," the Jew screamed, "sixth share?"
Trent nodded.
"The thing's worth a million at least," he said. "A sixth share is agreat fortune. Don't waste any time turning up the whites of your eyesat me. I've named my terms and I shan't budge from them. You can layyour bottom dollar on that."
Da Souza took up the document and glanced it through once more.
"The concession," he remarked, "is granted to Scarlett Trent and to oneMonty jointly. Who is this Monty, and what has he to say to it?"
Trent set his teeth hard, and he never blenched.
"He was my partner, but he died in the swamps, poor chap. We hadhorrible weather coming back. It pretty near finished me."
Trent did not mention the fact that for four days and nights they werehiding in holes and up trees from the natives whom the King of Bekwandohad sent after them, that their bearers had fled away, and that they hadbeen compelled to leave the track and make their way through an unknownpart of the bush.
"But your partner's share," the Jew asked. "What of that?"
"It belongs to me," Trent answered shortly. "We fixed it so before westarted. We neither of us took much stock in our relations. If I haddied, Monty would have taken the lot. It was a fair deal. You'll find itthere!"
The Jew nodded.
"And your partner?" he said. "You saw him die! There is no doubt aboutthat?"
Trent nodded.
"He is as dead," he said, "as Julius Caesar."
"If I offered you--" Da Souza began.
"If you offered me four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds,"Trent interrupted roughly, "I would tell you to go to glory."
Da Souza sighed. It was a hard man to deal with--this.
"Very well," he said, "if I give way, if I agree to your terms, you willbe willing to make over this sixth share to me, both on your own accountand on account of your late partner?"
"You're right, mate," Trent assented. "Plank down the brass, and it's adeal."
"I will give you four thousand pounds for a quarter share," Da Souzasaid.
Trent knocked the ashes from his pipe and stood up.
"Here, don't waste any more of my time," he said. "Stand out of the way,I'm off."
Da Souza kept his hands upon the concession.
"My dear friend," he said, "you are so violent. You are so abrupt. Nowlisten. I will give you five thousand for a quarter share. It is half myfortune."
"Give me the concession," Trent said. "I'm off."
"For a fifth," Da Souza cried.
Trent moved to the door without speech. Da Souza groaned.
"You will ruin me," he said, "I know it. Come then, five thousand for asixth share. It is throwing money away."
"If you think so, you'd better not part," Trent said, still lingering inthe doorway. "Just as you say. I don't care."
For a full minute Da Souza hesitated. He had an immense belief in therichness of the country set out in the concession; he knew probably moreabout it than Trent himself. But five thousand pounds was a great dealof money and there was always the chance that the Government might notback the concession holders in case of trouble. He hesitated so longthat Trent was actually disappearing before he had made up his mind.
"Come back, Mr. Trent," he called out. "I have decided. I accept. I joinwith you."
Trent slowly returned. His manner showed no exultation.
"You have the money here?" he asked.
Da Souza laid down a heap of notes and gold upon the table. Trentcounted them carefully and thrust them into his pocket. Then he took upa pen and wrote his name at the foot of the assignment which the Jew hadprepared.
"Have a drink?" he asked.
Da Souza shook his head.
"The less we drink in this country," he said, "the better. I guess outhere, spirits come next to poison. I'll smoke with you, if you have acigar handy."
Trent drew a handful of cigars from his pocket. "They're beastly," hesaid, "but it's a beastly country. I'll be glad to turn my back on it."
"There is a good deal," Da Souza said, "which we must now talk about."
"To-morrow," Trent said curtly. "No more now! I haven't got over mymiserable journey yet. I'm going to try and get some sleep."
He swung out into the heavy darkness. The air was thick with unwholesomeodours rising from the lake-like swamp beyond the drooping circle oftrees. He walked a little way towards the sea, and sat down upon a log.A faint land-breeze was blowing, a melancholy soughing came fromthe edge of the forest only a few hundred yards back, sullen,black, impenetrable. He turned his face inland unwillingly, with asuperstitious little thrill of fear. Was it a coyote calling, or had heindeed heard the moan of a dying man, somewhere back amongst that dark,gloomy jungle? He scoffed at himself! Was he becoming as a girl, weakand timid? Yet a moment later he closed his eyes, and pressed his handstightly over his hot eyeballs. He was a man of little imaginative force,yet the white face of a dying man seemed suddenly to have floated up outof the darkness, to have come to him like a will-o'-the-wisp from theswamp, and the hollow, lifeless eyes seemed ever to be seeking his,mournful and eloquent with dull reproach. Trent rose to his feet withan oath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was trembling, and hecursed himself heartily.
"Another fool's hour like this," he muttered, "and the fever willhave me. Come out of the shadows, you white-faced, skulking reptile,you--bah! what a blithering fool I am! There is no one there! How couldthere be any one?"
He listened intently. From afar off came the faint moaning of the windin the forest and the night sounds of restless animals. Nearer there wasno one--nothing stirred. He laughed out loud and moved away to spend hislast night in his little wooden home. On the threshold he paused, andfaced once more that black, mysterious line of forest.
"Well, I've done with you now," he cried, a note of coarse exultation inhis tone. "I've gambled for my life and I've won. To-morrow I'll beginto spend the stakes."