Across the Cameroons: A Story of War and Adventure

"Before the sun rises," said Fernando, "two courses lie open to us: we must either fight our way through the enemy or commend our souls to Heaven."

"I was going to propose," said Harry, "that we gather together in a body and endeavour to charge through the enemy."

"And after that?" asked Braid.

"After that we may either find some place more suitable for defence, or else die in our tracks."

"We can die fighting," said the younger guide.

"Well, then," said Harry, "every minute counts. If we can get through we may be able to cover some miles before dawn is upon us. We must hold together, however. There will be no time to go back to look for one who is lost."

They now prepared themselves to make this last and desperate bid for freedom. They played for the highest stakes, for liberty and life. They could not advance, however, without acquainting Peter Klein of their intention, and when the man was told of what they proposed to do he set to shaking in his limbs.

Harry was in no mood to humour him. He had long since lost all patience with their uninvited guest.

"You have two minutes," said he, "in which to choose. Either you come with us, or stay here, or else you can go over to the enemy. It does not matter very much to us which you decide to do."

The man picked up his rifle. He tried to speak, and stuttered. He was incoherent from fear, though it was his own countrymen who opposed them. German and German-trained native troops were in the valley in about equal numbers.

"What am I to do?" he asked.

"Remain at my side," said Harry. "Do not fire until I tell you to. We are going to creep as near to the enemy as we can, and then charge through together."

Klein said nothing, but they heard the bolt of his rifle shake in his hand.

Then all five began to crawl down the hill, picking their way carefully over the stones, advancing as stealthily as possible.

The enemy's fire had somewhat abated. Perhaps they also-true to the traditions of the Prussian army-contemplated an assault. Instead of the continuous rattle of musketry that had lasted for so long, only an occasional shot resounded in the valley.

Inch by inch, they drew nearer to the enemy's position, and when not twenty yards from the place where a German officer was shouting hoarse, guttural words of command, Harry whispered to his followers to halt. He desired to give them time to gain their breath, that the charge might be as swift as it was sudden and unexpected.

During the next few minutes it was as if each second dragged out into eternity. At all events, the anxiety and excitement had the most amazing effect upon Peter Klein, who was a coward from the day of his birth. It drove him mad, and he became like some infuriated beast, a bull in a bull-ring or a baited bear.

Suddenly springing to his feet, before Harry had given the word of command, he discharged the magazine of his rifle in the direction of his own countrymen. Then, seizing the weapon by the muzzle, he dashed down hill, swinging it round and round his head as a man uses a club.

Harry and his three companions followed in the man's wake, firing right and left. Though it was dark, they were near enough to Klein to see what happened. The man was as terrible in his madness as he had been despicable in fear. Without a doubt, terror had overcome his senses. Giving himself up for lost, he had been able to bear the suspense no longer, and now rushed furiously, demented and panic-stricken, into what looked like certain death.

A German sergeant jumped out of the grass before him, and the butt of Klein's rifle crushed the man's skull as though it were a nut. Another man-a native-a second later was dropped to the ground, with a blow that would have felled an ox. A third rushed upon the maniac, and so tremendous was the stroke that sent him to his death that Klein's rifle broke at the small of the butt.

Still the ex-spy was undefeated. With the steel barrel in one hand and his revolver in the other, he went onward in the dark, filling the night with an infinity of savage and appalling yells.

CHAPTER XIX-War to the Knife

Ten minutes later Peter Klein stopped dead, looking about him with wild, staring eyes. The night was cold-for they were still at a great altitude-and the breath was pumping from his nostrils as it does with a horse. However, he was given little time to rest, for Harry, running forward, seized him by the arm.

"Get on!" cried the boy. "We're not out of danger yet."

On they went, racing for freedom, crossing hills and minor valleys, passing beneath trees, and sometimes knee-deep in the water of forest streams.

For a time they heard the guttural voices of the Germans behind them. At last these became inaudible in the distance. The soldiers were not able to follow on their tracks, since they had no way of knowing which route the fugitives had taken.

At last Harry deemed it safe to call a halt.

Klein, who was still running like one possessed, had to be stopped by force. He would not desist from flight, until Jim Braid had tripped him up. Harry, followed by Fernando, came upon them shortly afterwards.

"See," cried Harry, pointing to the east, "there comes the dawn! In half an hour it will be daylight."

"Do you know where we are?" asked Braid, turning to the guide.

"Yes," said the man. "We are towards the Maziri frontier. I recognize the mountains on the sky-line. There is a good place near at hand where we can hide, and where-even if we are discovered-we will be able to hold our own for many days."

"Let us go there," said Harry. "But where is your brother?"

No one answered. They peered into the faces of one another. The younger guide was missing.

Fernando, the man who had sworn an oath to kill the Black Dog, lifted his hands to his mouth and let out a long-drawn howl which was like that of a jackal, and which carried far in the stillness of the morning. It was a signal that his brother knew of old. Three times he repeated it, and each time lifted a hand to his ear, and stood listening expectant.

No answering cry came back. A death-like silence reigned over the valleys and forests and the mountain-side.

"He is lost?" asked Harry.

"He may have taken the wrong direction in the darkness. He may have been struck by a bullet. Who can tell? These things are in the hands of God."

"He may be somewhere near at hand," said Braid, hoping for the best.

Fernando shook his head.

"If Cortes is alive he is far away; otherwise he would have heard my signal. At any rate we can do no good by waiting here. We must push on; the day approaches. As I said, I know of a place where we shall be safe."

As the grey light extended from the mountain-tops to the valleys, Fernando led them to a kind of ancient fort, constructed of great stone boulders and surrounded by a deep ditch. In the parapet of this fort there were loopholes through which to fire, and in the centre, well screened from observation, was a small hut made of the branches of trees. The redoubt stood on a sharp pinnacle of rock commanding a wide stretch of country on every hand. It had doubtless been constructed centuries before, when there was a more advanced stage of civilization in the heart of Africa. Indeed, it is from this bygone civilization that the Maziris themselves trace their origin.

As the daylight increased they were able to take in their surroundings. Many miles up the valley, it was just possible to see a little village, which, Fernando assured them, was in Maziriland itself. Some distance to the west was a great forest which extended as far as the eye could reach.

Harry looked around him in amazement.

"But this place is almost impregnable," he cried. "Four resolute men could hold it against hundreds."

"Is there water here?" asked Braid, turning to the guide.

The man pointed to a small spring which bubbled up to the surface near the door of the hut.

"I will tell you the story of this place," said he. "Years ago a party of six Maziris sought refuge in this fort, which was built in the olden times, when the Ancients crossed the deserts from the east. For eight months those six men held the army of one of the Cameroon kings at bay. They had laid in a great store of food. They made the defence even stronger. Time and again they beat back the attack."

"And in the end?" asked Jim.

"In the end four of their number were killed, but the other two escaped."

"Escaped! How did they escape?"