Bosambo of the River

"Lord," said Bosambo loftily, "I am, as you know, of the true faith, believing neither in devils nor spells, save those which are prescribed by the blessed Prophet, it is well known that Bimebibi is a friend of ghosts, and has the eye which withers and kills. Therefore, lord, he is an evil man, and all the chiefs and peoples of this land are for chopping him – all save the people of the Lesser Isisi, who greatly love him."

Again Sanders nodded.

The Lesser Isisi were the fighting Isisi; they held the land between the Ochori and the Akasava, and were fierce men in some moments, though gentle enough in others. Yet he had had no word from N'mika that trouble was brewing. This was strange. Sanders sat in thought for the greater part of ten minutes. Then he spoke.

"War is very terrible," he said, "for if one mad man comes up against five men who are not mad, behold! they become all mad together. I tell you this, Bosambo, if you do well for me in this matter, I will pay you beyond your dreams."

"How can a man do well?" asked Bosambo.

"He shall hold this war," said Sanders.

Bosambo raised his right arm stiffly.

"This I would do, lord," he said gravely; "but it is not for me, for Bimebibi will cross with the Akasava just as soon as he knows that the Ochori do not hold the border."

"He must never know until I bring my soldiers," said Sanders; "and none can tell him." He looked up quietly, and met the chief's eye. "And none can tell him?" he challenged.

Bosambo shook his head. "N'mika sits in his village, lord," said he; "and N'mika is a great lover of his wife by all accounts."

Sanders smiled. "If N'mika betrays me," he said, "there is no man in the world I will ever trust."

* * * * *

N'mika faced his wife. He wore neither frown nor smile, but upon her face was the terror of death. On a stool in the centre of the hut was the tail of the white antelope, but to this she gave no attention, for her mind was busy with the thoughts of terrible reprisals.

They sat in silence; the fire in the centre of the big hut spluttered and burnt, throwing weird shadows upon the wattle walls.

When N'mika spoke his voice was even and calm.

"Kira, my wife," he said, "you have taken my heart out of me, and left a stone, for you do not love me."

She licked her dry lips and said nothing.

"Now, I may put you away," he went on, "for the shame you have brought, and the sorrow, and the loneliness."

She opened her mouth to speak. Twice she tried, but her tongue refused. Then, again:

"Kill me," she whispered, and kept her staring eyes on his.

N'mika, the Wonderful Lover, shook his head.

"You are a woman, and you have not my strength," he said, half to himself, "and you are young. I have trusted you, and I am afraid."

She was silent.

If the man, her lover, did what she had told him to do in the frantic moment when she had been warned of her husband's return, she might have saved her life – and more.

He read her thoughts in part.

"You shall take no harm from me," he said; "for I love you beyond understanding; and though I stand on the edge of death for my kindness, I will do no ill to you."

She sprang up. The fear in her eyes was gone; hate shone there banefully. He saw the look, and it scorched his very soul – and he heard.

It was the soft pad-pad of the king's guard, and he turned to greet Bimebibi's head chief.

His wife would have run to the guard, but N'mika's hand shot out and held her.

"Take him – take him!" she cried hoarsely "He will kill me – also he plots against the king, for he is Sandi's man!"

Chekolana, the king's headman, watched her curiously, but no more dispassionate was the face her husband turned upon her.

"Kira," he said, "though you hate me, I love you. Though I die for this at the hands of the king, I love you."

She laughed aloud.

She was safe – and N'mika was afraid. Her outstretched finger almost touched his face.

"Tell this to the king," she cried, "N'mika is Sandi's man, and knows his heart – "

The headman, Chekolana, made a step forward and peered into N'mika's face.

"If this is true," he said, "you shall tell Bimebibi all he desires to know. Say, N'mika, how many men of the Ochori hold the border?"

N'mika laughed.

"Ask Sandi that," he said.

"Lord! lord!" – it was the woman, her eyes blazing – "this I will tell you, if you put my man away. On the border there is – "

She gasped once and sighed like one grown weary, then she slid down to the floor of the hut – dead, for N'mika was a quick killer, and his hunting-knife very sharp.

"Take me to the king," he said, his eyes upon the figure at his feet, "saying N'mika has slain the woman he loved; N'mika, the Wonderful Lover; N'mika, the Child of Sacrifice, who loved his wife well, and loved his high duty best."

No other word spoke N'mika.

They crucified him on a stake before the chief's hut, and there Sanders found him three days later, Bimebibi explained the circumstances.

"Lord, this man murdered a woman, so I killed him," he said.

He might have saved his breath, for he had need of it.

CHAPTER XI

"THEY"

In the Akarti country they worshipped many devils, and feared none, save one strange devil, who was called "Wu," which in our language means "They."

"Remember this," said Sanders of the River, as he grasped the hand of Grayson Smith, his assistant.