Across the Cameroons: A Story of War and Adventure

They waited for several minutes. At last Urquhart could bear the suspense no longer. He lifted his hands to his mouth and let out a long-drawn shout.

His voice was echoed from the hills, which were now wrapped in clouds, but no voice came back in answer.

"I can't understand it," he exclaimed.

Braid admitted that the whole thing was something of a mystery, for which he could offer no sort of explanation.

And then, on a sudden, they saw a white-clad figure dashing over the rocks. It was a man who came down from the mountain-side, fleet and sure of foot. Upon his head he wore a turban. He was dressed in robes of flowing white, and in his hand he carried a rifle.

Harry directed his field-glasses upon this extraordinary figure. Beyond the fact that he was a tall man with a great black beard, he could see little or nothing, by reason of the prodigious pace at which the man was travelling. One thing, however, was perfectly certain: that this man-who apparently was the marksman who had so effectively scattered the Germans-was not one of the half-caste guides.

The running man came closer and closer, and the boys thought at first that he was about to approach to within speaking distance of themselves. But he turned off sharply to the left and disappeared in a belt of trees almost as suddenly as he had come.

They waited for some minutes, thinking that he would show up again; but that was the last they saw of him for some days, and it was not until then that they discovered who he was. He came and vanished like a thunderbolt that spreads destruction in its path. His rifle had spoken at dawn, and almost every shot had been the signal for the death of a human being. He came, and killed, and vanished. He was a three-day mystery of the wild hills of the German Cameroons.

Throughout that morning they knew not what to do. They were without guides; they had practically no provisions; and they had not the least idea where they were or in which direction they should go.

Soon after midday the two boys held a consultation, admitting Peter Klein to their counsels. But the ex-spy was no help to them; he was incapable of giving advice. They told him of the man they had seen that morning, the white figure on the mountain-side, but he only gaped and shook his head. It was as if the physical and moral strain he had undergone had actually made him mad.

Harry clung to hope as a drowning man lays hold upon a spar. He pointed out that they were helpless without their guides, and argued that it was wisest to remain where they were, in case either of the half-castes should repair to their meeting-place and find them gone.

That night they lit a fire in the forest, and seated around this they roasted some bananas-or rather plantains-they had found growing in the bush. After they had eaten these, Harry and Klein lay down to sleep, Jim Braid consenting to keep watch during the earlier hours of the night.

When the moon had risen, and a mighty stillness reigned in the forest, Jim Braid, who sat upon a boulder with his rifle upon his knees, heard on a sudden a short cough immediately behind him. He turned quickly in alarm.

Both Harry and Klein were sound asleep, and, seated on the ground immediately between them, calmly biting the end from a cheroot, was the figure of Fernando.

"You!" cried Braid, as soon as he could find his voice.

"Even myself," said the half-bred Spaniard. "Had I been a German, I could have killed all three of you."

"You were as silent as a snake," said the other.

The man chuckled.

"Before I was a trader," said he, "I was a hunter of big game."

It was then that Braid awakened Harry and told him the news. The boy was heartily glad to see the guide, whom he had certainly believed to be dead.

"And your brother?" he asked.

"My brother is safe," said the man. "You did wisely to remain here. You could never have got back to Calabar. The country swarms with German troops."

"Then what are we to do?" asked Harry.

"Go north," said Fernando. "Go north at every risk, to Maziriland. My brother has already struck out across the mountains. He and I know of a place where they will never find us. I have come here to take you there. Cortes awaits us. We must start at once. There is no time to lose."

CHAPTER XIII-The Black Dog

After they had explained to Fernando how it had come about that Peter Klein had joined their party, they set forward in a northerly direction, guided by the half-caste. They passed through the forest and crossed a wide valley. Thence they traversed a great ridge of hills, at the end of which they came to a mountain-top. This they began to ascend. There were many places so steep and stony that they were often obliged to go on all fours, and Klein, who was both weak and nervous, stood in constant danger of his life.

Finally they gained the summit. The top of the mountain was shaped like a bowl. It was evidently the crater of an extinct volcano. In one place an enormous rock had a cleft in it like a sword-cut, and through this Fernando led them. The cleft was so narrow that they were obliged to walk sideways, like crabs. After a time the passage opened, and they found themselves in a small arena in the centre of which a spring of water bubbled to the surface. After the heat of the forest the air was delightfully refreshing and cool.

When they had drunk their fill the guide took them to a place where a boulder as round as a football and about five times the size, lay upon the ground. This he rolled away, not without difficulty, and underneath it was a hole about three feet across, like one of those "blowholes" which can be seen in some of the caves of Cornwall or South Wales.

Fernando let himself down through the hole until he was hanging by his hands; then he dropped, and they heard him alight upon the ground about ten feet beneath. Braid followed next, and then Klein; Harry was the last to descend into the darkness.

Below, they found themselves in what was evidently a pocket in the side of the crater, a great rent caused by some volcanic disturbance in bygone times. The place was a kind of low and narrow gallery. The moonlight was admitted through several cracks in the walls.

At the farthermost end of the gallery a fire burnt, and at this a man was seated, whom they found to be Cortes, the younger of the two guides. When he saw them he rose to his feet without a word, walked deliberately to the wall, and thrust his head into one of the fissures.

The two boys watched him in amazement. The man-who, it will be remembered, was extremely slim and agile-wriggled like a snake. Gradually, it became manifest that he was squeezing himself through with the greatest difficulty. First his head, then his shoulders, then his body, and finally his legs and feet disappeared through the wall.

"Where is he going?" asked Harry, turning to Fernando.

"He has gone to replace the stone upon the hole through which we came. My brother is no fool. Life in the bush has taught us many things."

After a while the younger brother returned, squeezing himself again through the narrow opening. When he came to the firelight there were places upon his back and shoulders where his clothes had been torn, and where the rents were stained with blood. He did not seem to mind these wounds in the least, but laughed when Harry pointed them out.

"Here," said Fernando, "we are safe, and here we must stay for some days, until the Germans have left the district. They will never find us; no one could ever find us."

"We have food?" asked Harry.

Cortes pointed to a corner where lay the dead body of an antelope.

"I killed that this morning," said he. "Cooked, and in this cool climate, it will keep for days. Besides, my brother and I can hunt upon the mountain; but you and your two friends must remain here until the Germans have left the district. Then we can continue our march towards Maziriland."

In his heart Harry Urquhart felt more than gratitude towards these strange, gallant men. They were loyal, faithful, courageous, and full of infinite resource. They seemed to love adventure for its own sake, after the manner of the old Spanish explorers-the followers of Columbus-whose blood ran in their veins.

For three days the party remained in this singular hiding-place. Every morning the brothers went out to hunt. Harry and Braid did not mind the monotony of their temporary imprisonment, first, because they knew that this was their only place of safety, and, secondly, because they were glad enough of a few days' rest after all the exertions and privations they had undergone in the wilderness of the bush.

At midnight on the third night, something that was well-nigh miraculous occurred. All were asleep except Harry Urquhart, who was doing his turn on watch. He was walking to and fro along the gallery, and had reached a spot immediately underneath the hole which was covered by the stone, when suddenly a great shaft of moonlight shot down into the cave.

It was a moment before the boy realized what had happened-that the stone had been rolled away. Before he had time to give the alarm, to cry out, or bring his rifle to his shoulder, the stone was rolled back again, and all was dim and silent as before.

He ran to the fire and woke up his companions. All sprang to their feet. In a few breathless words Harry told them what had happened. Jim Braid seized a lighted brand from the fire, which was burning brightly, and carried this to the end of the gallery. Sure enough the stone was back in its place.

"Are you sure," he asked, "you were not dreaming?"

"I can swear to it," said Harry.

"What's that?" cried Braid, pointing to something white that lay upon the floor.

Harry Urquhart stooped, and to his amazement picked up a letter, written in German, which was addressed to:

"Peter Klein, Coward"

Here was a greater mystery than ever.

"This is apparently for you," said Harry, giving the letter to Klein. The whole thing was amazing.

Klein opened the envelope with shaking hands. Then he took it to the other end of the gallery, and, kneeling down, read it by the light of the fire.

Presently he returned and handed the letter to Fernando, who had a fair knowledge of the German language.

"Read that," said he. "How did it come here?" The man was as white as a ghost.

The writer had evidently been at some pains to disguise his handwriting. The letter was written in capital letters with a violet indelible pencil. The message, when translated, was as follows: -

"I have something of importance to say to you. Leave your hiding-place at once and alone."

"It is from von Hardenberg," said Klein. "He orders me to return to him-at once."

"Orders you! And you will go?"

"I have no option. I dare not refuse."

"Dare not!"

At that a groan escaped from the man's lips, and he threw out his hands with a gesture of despair.

"You do not understand," he cried. "In London that man was in my power, but in this wild country I am at his mercy; for there is one with him who is pitiless and terrible, who carries his crimes as a jester jangles his bells."

"Whom do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I mean the Arab sheikh. That man is a demon. There is nothing he would not do for money. There were times when I travelled with them when I thought that they meant to kill me. When I fell asleep at the camp-fire, I could see in my dreams the cruel, piercing eyes of the sheikh fixed upon me; they were like coals of living fire. Fool that I was to come here!" he broke out in despair. "Why did I not stay where I was safe?"

Fernando, turning to Harry, cut short the man's whining words.

"I must know the truth," said he. "How did that letter come here? Who wrote it?"

"It was written by my cousin," said Harry, "the man whom we follow; but whether he himself brought it here or the rascal who serves him, I am quite unable to say. At any rate," he added, with a smile, "your hiding-place has been discovered."

The half-caste returned to the fire, where he sat down, holding out his hands to warm them. He remained thus for some time, seemingly deep in thought; then he returned to Harry.

"Just now," said he, "I heard mention of a sheikh. Is the man's name by any chance Bayram; for he is a devil, in truth."

"That is the name of the man who is with von Hardenberg."

"I did not know," said the other, and remained silent for a long time.

"You did not know?" repeated Harry.

"When I agreed to come with you I did not know that the Black Dog of the Cameroons-as I and my brother call him-was to be our enemy. In all the hills and plains and forests of this huge, amazing continent, from the Sahara to Kilima-Njaro, from the Niger to the Nile, there is no man more greatly to be feared than the Black Dog of the Cameroons. He knows neither pity nor fear. There is hardly a valley in these mountains with which he is not acquainted. Small wonder he discovered our hiding-place! He is a foe who cannot be despised. Single-handed he could keep an army of natives at bay. Almost every cartridge in his bandolier, almost every bullet in the chamber of his rifle, means the life's blood of a human being. At one time he was the richest slave-trader in Africa. But I heard the English hunted him down, and that he was starving and penniless in London."

"It was he!" cried Harry, turning sharply to Braid. "He was the man we saw that morning on the mountain-side, who fired into the German bivouac at dawn."

"The sheikh was the man," said the guide. "You should have told me before."

"I blame myself," said Harry. "I know now that I can trust you and your brother with even more than life."

Fernando continued to speak in slow deliberate tones.

"If we are to come out of this alive," said he, "you will do well to take me into your counsels. Moreover, you must follow my advice. I and the Black Dog have an old score to pay. For myself, I am determined to be a debtor no longer." Then, without changing his voice, he turned calmly to Peter Klein. "You must go back to von Hardenberg," said he.

"No, no! not that!" Klein almost shrieked.

Fernando smiled grimly. He might have been one of his own hard-hearted ancestors, presiding at the Spanish Inquisition.

"I fear to go!" cried Klein, his terror stamped on every feature. "They will kill me! I know they will!"

Fernando laughed aloud.

"You will most certainly be killed," said he, "if you refuse to go. The Black Dog has marked you for his own."

At these words the spy fell down upon his knees at Harry Urquhart's feet.

"Keep me with you!" he pleaded. "Give me your protection! It is to the advantage of those men to kill me. They brought me here to do away with my life. They do not intend that I shall live to claim my share of the treasure, if they should ever find it."

Harry, somewhat roughly, told the man to get to his feet. Klein was an arrant coward. Harry felt little pity for the man; yet he could not find it in his heart to support Fernando's heartless verdict.

"You have little right to demand our sympathy," said he. "You are an enemy to my country and a spy; you are even a traitor to the rascals whom formerly you were pleased to serve. You have merited the most severe penalty which a state of war allows."

He was about to go on, when the man, losing all control of himself, seized him by both hands and begged him to be merciful.

"I renounce everything!" he cried. "I admit my guilt, and ask you to forgive me. I will give up all claim to a share in the treasure. I swear to be faithful to you, if you will only get me out of this alive."

"We do not think of the treasure," said Urquhart. "We are here to establish the innocence of an injured man and to checkmate von Hardenberg."

"It was he who stole the Sunstone," uttered Klein.

"I know that," said Harry. "That is why we have followed him. He may have the Black Dog of the Cameroons to aid him, but we have these two gallant fellows, who do not seem to know what it is to fear, to hesitate, or to give up hope."

He half turned, and with a motion of the hand indicated the two brothers, who were seated side by side.

Fernando slowly shook his head.

"As you will," said he. "You have yet to learn that the Cameroons is no place for clemency. I had a plan to trick the Black Dog. It was a cruel plan perhaps. I meant to sacrifice this cur like a kid tied to a stake to snare a tiger. However, let that pass. From to-night, I warn you fairly, we will be even in greater danger than before. We have an enemy to reckon with in the sheikh. At this very moment he waits on the hill-side for his victim." Fernando pointed to Peter Klein.

"He means to take my life!" cried Klein, who was now pacing to and fro, wringing his hands like one demented. "The moment they saw I was likely to be of no use to them, that I was a coward who could neither handle a rifle nor do a long day's march without fatigue, they schemed to do away with me. And what a place for a crime, these unknown, savage hills! In these parts a human life is of no more importance than that of a mosquito."

The man was overwrought, his nerves had been sadly shaken. He was on the verge of lunacy with panic and alarm.

And yet, what he said was obviously the truth. To von Hardenberg his presence was worse than useless, a mere encumbrance on the line of march. In all probability Fernando was right; the Black Dog waited on the hill-side to fall upon the poor, blind fool whom avarice had led so far from the land where he could spy and inform in safety.

The two guides had listened to this dialogue with evident interest and not a little amusement at the expense of Klein. It was Fernando who again broke in upon their talk.

"We will test the sheikh," said he. "We will soon find out his intentions."

At that he turned to his brother, and for some minutes the two spoke in Spanish. After a while it was Cortes who approached Klein and touched him on the arm.

"Get out of your clothes," said he. "I intend to wear them."

Peter Klein was glad enough of the chance of disguising his identity. Cortes put on the tattered white ducks, torn in a score of places by the thorn-trees in the bush, the pith helmet and the leather leggings, and then returned to the fire.

There, he loaded his revolver and the magazine of his Lee-Metford carbine. That done, without a word to his brother, he squeezed himself through the crack in the wall, and disappeared beyond it.

CHAPTER XIV-Buried Alive!

They waited for many minutes in absolute silence. Peter Klein was seated at the fire. There also was Fernando, who appeared to have fallen asleep in a sitting position. As for the two boys, they remained near the opening through which the man had passed, straining their ears to catch the slightest sound without.

Presently there came the sharp report of a shot. Then all was silent again.

Fernando immediately sprang to his feet and walked towards the boys. He must have been sleeping lightly, or else feigning slumber.

"My brother," said he, "is dead."

"Dead!"

Both Harry and Braid uttered the word in a single breath.

"That," said the man, "was the rifle of the sheikh."

"How do you know?" asked Harry.

"For a very simple reason," said the other. "There were two reports, therefore the shot was fired in this direction. If a man fires away from you, you hear but one report, which is like the crack of a whip. But if he fires toward you, you hear two reports, each one of which resembles the 'pop' of a cork. The shot was fired this way. The trigger was pressed by the Black Dog, whose bullet seldom misses its mark. Therefore, in all probability, my brother is gone."

"And you speak of it so calmly!" uttered Braid.

Fernando smiled. "With us who live on the Coast," said he, "death is an easy matter. Sooner or later we all die; some by murder, some by malaria, some by Black Jack, which is the most deadly fever in the world. Our graves are in the bush. What does it matter whether or not a bullet finds its mark?"

The two boys were astonished. They could not understand this strange man's views of life and death.

"And you have sacrificed your brother's life," asked Harry, "merely to prove that the Black Dog of the Cameroons intended to murder Klein?"

Fernando shook his head.

"I would have gone myself," he answered, "had that been possible. As it is, I can live, at least, for revenge."

The full significance of the thing burst upon Harry Urquhart.

"A wasted life!" he cried.

"Oh no!" said the man; "a life is never wasted-for the truth."

After that they were silent; they remained standing close together by the opening in the wall. Harry felt as if a heavy weight had been placed upon his heart.

Without, through the fissures in the wall, they could see the moonshine and the stars. A soft wind which moaned across the desolate and rugged heights was blowing upon the mountain.

Presently they were startled by the sound of a voice-a voice that spoke in a whisper.

"I am wounded," said the voice, "I am wounded almost to death. Fernando, my brother, hold out a hand to me, that I may speak to you before I die."

Harry was about to move to the opening, when the elder guide fiercely thrust him back.

"Do you suffer great pain?" asked Fernando, speaking tenderly, as he approached the fissure on tiptoe.

"Give me your hand," came the answer in a weak, breathless voice.

Instead of a hand, suddenly Fernando thrust his rifle through the opening and fired. The loud report echoed in the shallow vault. A strong smell of cordite was driven to their nostrils.

Without, there was a shriek. Harry rushed to the opening and looked through. He saw a white figure flying in the moonlight like a ghost. Fernando-the half-bred Spaniard-threw back his head and laughed the laugh of a fiend.

"What does all this mean?" cried Braid, turning fiercely upon the man.

"That was no more my brother," said the guide, "than the dog-fox is brother to the eagle. That man was the sheikh-the Black Dog himself."

"It was your brother's voice," said Harry.

"Indeed!" said the man. "I should know my brother's voice. I tell you once again my brother is dead. The Black Dog slew him; and then, recognizing the man he had killed, he guessed that I, too, was with you, and he came here to kill me, imitating my brother's voice, practising the cunning which has made him feared from the Niger to the Congo. And he has gone with a bullet in his chest."

"You did not kill him?" asked Braid.

"No. He fled, realizing that his trick had failed. But because he killed my brother, Cortes, whom I love, I swear now by the saints that I will avenge my brother's death, that I will send the Black Dog to the shades. Henceforward it is his rifle against mine, his treachery against my wits; it is the fox against the serpent."

All this time they had forgotten something of superlative importance. When events of startling magnitude occur in such quick succession it sometimes happens that the obvious is overlooked. And strange to relate, it was Peter Klein-who hitherto had seemed quite incapable of thinking for himself-who was the first to realize the exceeding gravity of their situation. On a sudden he rushed at Fernando like a maniac, and seized him by the arm.

"You say," he cried, "you are sure your brother is dead?"

The man bowed his head.

"Then, if he is dead, by Heaven, we are buried alive!"

CHAPTER XV-The Valley of the Shadow

The truth came upon them all in the nature of a shock. They could not think how it was that they had overlooked so simple a deduction, so obvious a fact.

Cortes, by reason of the extreme slimness of his form, was the only one of their number who could manage to squeeze himself through the narrow opening. The stone above the circular hole in the roof, or ceiling, could not be moved from the inside. The hiding-place that they had deemed so secure a refuge was nothing but a death-trap.

Peter Klein turned in anger upon the guide.

"So much for your wisdom," he cried, "so much for your oath!"

The man's eyes flashed. His hand went to the knife he carried in his belt. One half of him was a savage, and the other half a Spaniard.

"Do you think," said he, "that I thought my brother would be killed?"

"So far as I can see," said Klein, "it is all the same to you."