Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

880 and getting certain projects of his own in train. For some years the Bololo headman, in exchange for liquor, guns, contraband of all sorts, and above everything, in exchange for immunity from raids, had carried on a thriving business with a band of Arab slave dealers, whose chief was the notorious Sheik El Rassan, as wily and unscrupulous a ras- cal as lived in the whole of Africa. The Arab slaver frequently accompanied his caravans on their nefarious errands. They wove their mysterious way through the fastnesses of the dense jungle and the dry stretches of grass land by trails whose existence was barely guessed at by the som- nolent authorities. At times they turned aside and plunged still deeper from sight to avoid a district whose commandant was known to be an honest man; at times they paraded boldly through sections where the authorities were agreeably open to reason— when it chinked. Not one in ten of these expeditions re- turned to its desert home without a long string of wretched captives and a substan- tial store of ivory, gold, and caoutchouc, and the area beneath the sway of Lombo and his doughty warriors had long been a particularly .fertile field for their activities. Twice a year that precious scoundrel turned over to the sheik the accumulation of pris- oners and loot that had accrued to him by taxes or as a result of the ceaseless tribal warfare in which he engaged. On his present trip, however, El] Rassan had found Lombo missing from Gama, the town itself deserted, and learned with righteous indignation that there was small prospect of his receiving any spoils from the absent headman. He was still fuming over this irritating blow to his hopes when one of his scouting parties returned with the tale of a skirmish on the shore of Lake Bwalo and the loss of a fine string of captives. The sheik was properly enraged, and even the out-of-hand killing of the leader of the minor expedi- tion did not entirely pacify the disappointed Arab. He sent off several swift runners with instructions to find Lombo, wherever he might be, and demand from him some account of his movements and what chance ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. there was of his producing any treasure, human or otherwise. One of these messengers had succeeded in his quest and overtaken the Bololo party in its first camp after the sack of the Holden factory. It was dark before he arrived and his palaver with Lombo occupied sev- eral hours, so by the time they had fin- ished talking every one else was sound asleep. Nevertheless, he decided to start upon his return trip at once, for he could travel by the light of the moon, and his promptness might gain him favor in the eyes. of his employer. Also, while the brooding African night had its terrors for a helpless black boy, there was still more to be feared from the wrath of El Rassan if he suspected his messenger of sloth. The boy had left the camp a quarter of a mile behind him and was running easily, with his head thrown back and his elbows pressed close to his sides, when he was brought to a sudden halt by a noise that sent a deathlike chill to the marrow of his bones. It was the angry, menacing snarl of a leopard, somewhere close at hand. He stood frozen in his tracks, straining his ears for the faintest sound that might indicate the exact point from which the danger threatened. He heard nothing, but almost before he realized what was hap- pening one of the shadows by the side of the trail resolved itself into the figure of a man, who stepped into plain view in the moonlight. One glance was enough for the fright- ened mesenger. He had a momentary glimpse of a feathered headpiece, of a wiry, black form with a leopard skin about its loins, and he dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. ‘“‘ Minga, M’Buta!” he cried. ing, great fetish man!” ‘“ Minga!” answered C’Wayo shortly. ‘Rise! No harm will befall you.” The runner regained his feet, but glanced about him fearfully. “You heard, M’Buta? leopard—”’ ‘““It was my spirit that cried from his lair. He will not hurt you except at my command.” Even this amiable assurance did not put *“< Greet- The snarl of a comicloool C©