Across the Cameroons: A Story of War and Adventure

For him to snatch up the Sunstone was the work of an instant. And a moment afterwards the Black Dog was flying in the night, carrying in his arms the unconscious body of von Hardenberg.

CHAPTER XXIV-The Caves

Fernando, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, fired a shot at random in the darkness. It was the last round they had. A laugh came back from the distance.

Without a word the guide put down his rifle on the ground and examined the wounded boy.

"He is stunned," said he. "He will recover presently."

So saying he lifted Harry in his arms and carried him a distance of about a hundred yards to a place where there was a small stream in the valley.

There he bathed the boy's face and hands, washing the blood from the wound in his ear. Presently Harry recovered consciousness, sat up, and looked about him.

"Where am I?" he asked.

It took but a word to remind him of what had happened, and then he remembered that he had held the Sunstone in his grasp. He looked up at Jim and smiled.

"I was so near to capturing it," said he.

"We'll get it yet, sir," answered Jim. "Just now I had the shock of my life. I thought you had been killed."

"I'm all right," answered Harry. "I feel dizzy; that's all."

In a little time he was able to continue on his way. The bullet wound in his ear was nothing; it was scarcely painful.

That night they camped in the mountains, intending to march at daybreak towards the British camp. When the sun rose, however, they found to their surprise that the whole column was already on the line of march, moving towards the east in pursuit of the retreating enemy.

When they reached the scene of the bivouac the camp-fires were still burning, but no sign of life remained.

The British column had vanished into the bush; and only a few hospital-wagons were to be seen trundling slowly southward.

In the centre of the deserted bivouac stood a tall solitary tree, and it was under this that they rested throughout the heat of the day. Fernando, who had been dozing, rose to his feet, stretched and yawned. As he did so he caught sight of a star-shaped cut in the bark of the tree, and on the instant it was as if the man had become transfigured.

His eyes lit up, his lips smiled. Amazement, delight, and infinite pleasure were stamped on every feature of his face.

"What is it?" asked Harry, at a loss to explain the man's behaviour.

"Heaven be praised!" he cried. "My brother is still alive!"

"Alive!"

"Yes. Cortes blazed that tree, and the blaze is not one day old. Last night he was here-in the midst of the British camp."

"Are you sure of it?" asked Braid.

"I know," Fernando answered with conviction. "In the days when we hunted together we sometimes lost one another in the bush, and on such occasions we blazed the trees along the tracks of bush elephants in just such a manner as this."

Harry Urquhart looked about him.

"There is no sign of Cortes here," he said. "He cannot have left with the British?"

"No," said Fernando. "He is hiding somewhere. Let me think, where would he go. Both he and I know this district well."

The man paused a moment, standing perfectly still. Then, on a sudden, with an exclamation, he set off running towards the hills.

He did not return until long after nightfall; and then it was with the joyful news that he had found his brother, sound asleep-beside three boxes of German ammunition.

Without delay, guided by Fernando, the whole party set off in haste. They found Cortes, sleeping heavily, in a little dried-up watercourse well screened by trees. It was characteristic of Fernando that he had not awakened his brother.

Harry bent down and touched the sleeper on the shoulder. The man sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then looked about him. The light of the moon fell full upon his face.

Harry grasped his hand and shook it warmly.

"You escaped?" he cried.

"Yes," said Cortes. "When we charged through the Germans, my foot struck against a boulder and I fell upon my face. I think the fall did some injury to my wound-the wound I had received from the Black Dog; for, when I tried to run, I found myself unable to do so.

"You were then some distance ahead of me," he continued. "I feared I would be overtaken. For a moment I knew not what to do. Then I came to a place where there was a great hole in the ground covered with bushes, and there I hid, allowing the Germans to pass.

"When they had gone, I got to my feet and tried to think matters out. I knew where my brother would take you; I knew he would go to the old fort. I might have rejoined you by way of the tunnel. I thought of doing so, but in the end I decided to go in search of ammunition, of which I thought you might possibly run short. British Government ammunition would be no good, as-with the exception of one Express-we have all got Mauser rifles. So three times I crept by night into the German camp, and each time returned with a box of ammunition. I secured also a haversack of revolver ammunition. Their sentries are sleepy dogs."

"You did splendidly!" cried Harry. "We are absolutely without a round."

"I knew you were in the fort," Cortes went on, "and I guessed you would go to the British camp. It was there that I blazed the tree whilst the troops were marching away. I returned to the hills, because I was tired and wished to sleep. If my brother found the blaze I knew he would follow me here."

The man smiled. He had every reason to be proud.

After a while the younger guide spoke again.

"The Black Dog still lives?" he asked.

Fernando bowed his head.

The following morning they began the final stage of their march towards the frontier of Maziriland. The route led them along the crest-line of the hills, and thence across a valley thick with undergrowth and jungle, where the heat was tropical and humid. They were glad to reach high ground once again, and set forward across the plateau beyond which the Maziri mountains stood up like a line of thrones.

These same mountains had been plainly visible from the old fort they had held so gallantly against the Germans, and had even appeared quite near at hand. But in these high altitudes the atmosphere was exceedingly clear, and, besides, the mountains were of great height, dominating the surrounding country far into the interior of the Cameroons.

It took them in all six more days to reach the frontier, when once again they found themselves in the midst of hidden dangers.

They had no idea of what manner of reception they would receive from the Maziris themselves; indeed, concerning this strange race very little is known, either to anthropologists or explorers.

It is generally supposed that the Maziris are a race that emigrated from north-eastern Africa very early in the known history of the world. Their features are aquiline, their lips thin, and the colour of their skin no more than brown. Not only are they certainly not a Negroid race, but they do not appear to have intermarried with the neighbouring Negro tribes in the Cameroons. It is possible they are direct descendants of the ancient Egyptians, though it must remain a mystery how they brought to the wilds of Western Africa the religion and traditional customs of the followers of Zoroaster.

As soon as they had crossed the frontier, Cortes and Fernando guided the party towards the west, in which direction were the caves. This also was the most deserted part of the country, nearly all the Maziri villages being towards the east, where the country was more fertile and suitable for pasture.

There is to be found in a certain part of Africa-far from the sites of the famous cities of the Pharaohs-indisputable evidence of an extremely ancient civilization. Even so far south as Mashonaland, are ruins of towns which could only have been originally constructed by highly civilized peoples. Ancient Egyptian history, the writings of the Greek historian Herodotus, as well as the Old Testament itself, place it beyond all doubt that the Egyptians, the Persians and Phoenicians spread their learning and their influence far into the interior of what, until only a few years ago, was the Dark Continent-unexplored, unmapped and quite unknown. It can only be supposed that Maziriland was a relic of the early civilization of the East, in much the same way as the inhabitants of northern Spain are distantly related to the Irish.

Before we enter this strange, mysterious country, it must be placed on record that there befell a certain tragedy. In a word, Peter Klein, having contracted a fever in the jungle, and, being much weakened in constitution by the nerve-strain and the hardships he had undergone, fell into a rapid decline-and died, as he had lived, pleading to be spared.