Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 83: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE JU-JU MAN. hill until he could walk upright with safety, and then hurried to their side. The trader greeted him with a rueful smile. “Tt appears that my sins.have found me out,” he said. ‘‘ M’Buli seems positive that our peppery friends across the way are the main body of the Arab detachment that we drove off the day before yesterday. They evidently spotted our approach and laid a very neat little ambush for us. They’d have gotten all the revenge they want if M’Buli’s scouts hadn’t detected them.” Rushton mentally apologized for his amusement at the headman’s precautions. He felt that the last half hour had perma- nently impressed upon him the virtue of unceasing watchfulness while traveling through the African bush. “What do we do now?” he asked. “One of two things,” replied the trader. “We can take to the tall grass.and circle around the Arabs until we reach the trail again, or we can fight.” Fred Iooked at M’Buli and found that the chief was gazing at him intently—and hopefully. ‘“Tet’s give ’em hell!” said the young man briskly. M’Buli’s features wrinkled in a joyous grin that revealed his knowledge of at least one sound Anglo-Saxon idiom. He looked to Holden for approval and the trader nodded.. “No one could call me a religious fa- natic,” he said whimsically, “ but I’ve al- ways considered it a Christian duty to take a shot at a slaver. They are the curse of the continent, and every man’s hand should be against them. In the present case I hate to give up the time from our own business, but perhaps it is only wise to teach these fellows a lesson rather than push on and leave them to threaten our rear.” They fell to a brief discussion of ways and means, while the Arabs kept up a de- sultory fire that wasted their ammunition and gained them nothing. The swarthy sons of the desert dared not risk a charge in the open, which would surely cost them dear, and it was evident that having failed in their surprise attack they were at a loss what to do next. 873 The simplest strategy is often the best, and M’Buli decided upon the time-honored device of a flank attack. Only fifteen of his men were armed with guns, and these were ordered to maintain a fire from their hill while their comrades made a wide detour that would bring them to the rear of the enemy. At a signal agreed upon, the rifle- men would distract the Arabs’ attention by a pretended charge while the larger force of Batateke warriors fell upon them from behind with spears and axes. M’Buli took charge of the flanking party and invited Holden and Rushton to accom- pany him, so that there would be at least two rifles in the crowd. The sun was getting well up in the sky by this time, and the perspiration poured from the bodies of the weary blacks as they followed the swift pace of their mdomitable leader. ‘They plunged after him into a trackless sea of grass that was more like young cane; it towered above their heads, cut their flesh, and tripped them at every step. Fred had never imagined such a stifling atmosphere as he now experienced, and in addition to the other discomforts he found it almost impossible to breathe as the dust from the grass worked its way into his throat and nose. The sound of the guns grew indistinct as they swept well off to one side to make certain of remaining unseen, and when the firing grew loud once more, Fred welcomed the noise with relief as indicating the ap- proaching end of their torturesome journey. In a few minutes they had reached the trail again, and found themselves about a quar- ter of a mile in the rear of their unsuspect- ing foes. The Batateke warriors, at a ges- ture from M’Buli, spread out fanwise and crept stealthily forward. Their tactics would probably have met with complete success had it not been for a curious bit of misfortune. One of the hang- ers-on of the Arab caravan, having no stomach for a fight, had prudently elected himself a rear guard of one. He lay down in the shade of a scrub palm, well back of the firing line, and remained there in drowsy contentment, refreshing himself from time to time with a long pull at a bot- tle of trade gin. He had just thrown his comiclboooks C©