Bindloss Harold
The League of the Leopard

CHAPTER XXIII
AN EYE FOR AN EYE

The expedition wandered southward leisurely, and Dane grew more savagely sullen as they passed dripping forest and foul morass in safety, until at last he ordered his tent to be pitched one sunset, fully a hundred yards from the camp. The light was failing when he stood outside it looking about him with a curious suggestion of anticipation in his face. They had reached the southern fringe of the Leopards' country, and another week's march should place them in touch with French officials. The forest was comparatively open, the cottonwoods growing well apart; and gazing between the long rows of towering trunks streaked by blue wood smoke, Dane could catch the shimmer of a sluggish creek. It was deep and miry, and haunted, as he had seen, by huge saurians, but a little produce evidently came down that way, for the bush path on either side was connected by a native ferry.

As he made a last survey the light died out; and his lamp was lighted when Amadu, Monday, and Bad Dollar came softly into the tent. Dane stood upright, but the rest crouched low among the cases, that they might not reveal their presence on the illuminated canvas. Monday growled a protest as he noticed how his master's figure was projected against it by the light; but his comments fell unheeded, for there was a definite purpose behind the white man's imprudence.

"Again I found the footsteps," Amadu reported, using a mixture of several tongues, as well as broken English. "The men who made them were tired, and have doubtless followed us far. They will surely be satisfied when they see us resting to-night."

Monday grinned wickedly; Bad Dollar flung back his woolly head and broke into a silent laugh; and Dane felt a thrill of satisfaction as he glanced at the speaker. The four formed a curiously assorted company; but one purpose dominated each of them equally, and the leader was contented with his assistants.

"One wore boots and trod in the soft places as no black man would," said Amadu, reading the unspoken question in the white man's eyes. "Another wore sandals, and went cunningly, as did the rest, walking as we do upon our naked feet. Still, they left this behind them among the thorns."

He held out what Dane was not surprised to see, a small tuft of leopard's fur, and laughed harshly.

"Ho, ho! We shall try whether they are devils with lead and steel!"

"The ferry canoe?" asked Dane briefly; and Amadu nodded.

"I go to see to it, and afterward it will need good witchcraft to find it. If any one would go south in a hurry he must swim to-night."

"There are crocodiles in that stream," smiled Dane. "You will take men you can trust and hide them where the path winds down to the water, Amadu. Monday, you will see that until I call, no boy leaves the camp, but let them lie down with their matchets beside them. Bad Dollar will wait with me; and I will borrow Cappy Maxwell's gun to-night, Amadu."

Sitting low among the cases now, Dane made careful preparations for his own share in the approaching tragedy. That it would prove one he felt certain. He cleaned Maxwell's gun with a loving care, polishing the inside of the barrel until it glistened, and touching each part of the action with oil. The weapon was a heavy, single eight-bore, with a rubber pad on the heel; part of this Dane cut away, leaving the steel bare, because he knew that at close quarters the butt of a heavy gun may prove as deadly as the muzzle. It was with a curious stirring of recollections that he saw the dead man's initials cut into the elevated rib, and because of them his face was the sterner as he laid down the weapon. At short range in the darkness it was likely to prove more formidable than any rifle, and – for Dane was wholly under the influence of the monomania – his own safety counted for little if he could use it with due effect.

Presently he reloaded half a dozen cartridges with heavy B pellets, crimping the wads down almost affectionately, and thrust one into the chamber and the rest into his pocket. Never were cartridges filled with greater care. Then he laid two of the colored lights Maxwell had brought beside the tent door, made sure he could find them by feeling alone, and placed a tin match-box in one pocket where it could be most quickly grasped.

At last all was ready, and Dane sat perched high on a deal case between the lamp and the canvas for a while. Any one in the forest could, of course, see him clearly; but though Dane expected his foes would strike that night he did not fear a long-range shot. Rideau, he knew, must have recognized that his late associate could lay a formidable complaint before the authorities, who, regarding his inland journeys with suspicion, would be glad to fasten any charge upon him, and perhaps equally glad of an excuse to send an expedition up into the Leopards' country.

After lying for a time on the matting at one end of the tent, he rose and turned the lamp out; the watching then was not cheerful, and it was comforting to feel the weight of the big gun upon his knee. The last hum of voices had died away in camp, the fires burned low, and except for an occasional floundering beside the creek, the bush was strangely silent. The darkness was now intense. The wild animals would await moonrise to begin their hunting; what Dane expected would happen before then. He could not see Bad Dollar, who crouched somewhere near the entrance of the tent, though he heard his file grate softly upon a matchet, and could picture him running a black thumb along the keen-edged blade at every cessation.

Confused memories crowded upon Dane, with Maxwell stalking through them all. He saw him again, alert, indomitable, resourceful, quelling the mutinous, cheering the dejected, and tending the sick. He saw him gasping his life away in that very tent, with, regardless of his own agony, words which would brighten all his partner's future upon his lips; and again a gust of passion stirred the lonely man in every fiber. It passed, and – for Dane was not for the time being wholly sane – left behind it a coldly murderous resolution.

Suddenly there was a touch upon his leg. Without a sound Bad Dollar had wriggled toward him. Turning as silently as he could, Dane crawled to the entrance, where he crouched with his right heel beneath him, behind the drawn-back sheeting which hung slackly. It was so dark that he could scarcely distinguish the nearest cottonwood; but though his ears failed to localize any definite sound he became conscious of some danger approaching. Under different circumstances Dane would have felt distinctly uneasy, knowing, as he did, that the thick gloom sheltered those who sought his life. Then, however, he feared only that he had not accurately loaded the cartridge, or that the damp had spoiled the fulminating mixture inside its cap; and his fingers were woodenly steady as they tightened on the gun.

He felt with one hand for the socket of the signal light and found it, stretched out a foot and pressed it against Bad Dollar when he touched him again warningly; and then the vague sensation of impending danger grew into shape at a recognizable sound. Noiselessly almost, but not quite, somebody or something was crawling toward the tent.

Dane suspended his very respiration as he strained his eyes, and listened. He could see nothing, and his ears seemed filled with a dull throbbing, but in spite of this he could hear the faintest of rustlings on two sides of the tent at once, and knew that, because no white man could move in such a manner, his dusky enemies were coming. One seemed to be making for the end of the tent, where his bed was spread; the other was creeping toward the entrance to prevent the escape of the victim in case his comrade failed at the first attempt. It was done with so little noise that Dane found it hard to realize he had creatures of flesh and blood to deal with, and not the malevolent devils the bushmen believed in. Bad Dollar made no further movement, and Dane crouched woodenly still, only sliding his forefinger inside the guard of the trigger when at last a spray of leaves swished softly a few yards away.

Then he heard somebody breathing close beside him, and knew that sudden death stood hidden behind the slacker sheeting which began to roll back very slowly; and yet, while the throbbing in his ears grew louder, he remained impassive another few seconds. He had awaited that moment patiently; and he meant to strike decisively, for his dead comrade's sake. There was no light. The night was black and thick; but some sense beside that of the optic nerve made it evident that part of the moving sheeting was more rigid than the rest because it rested against human flesh. Knowing that at the next move the assassin would fall over him, Dane felt for that portion of the sheeting with the muzzle of the gun while his forefinger contracted on the trigger.

The barrel found something that yielded as he added the last ounce of pressure; there was a detonation; the white man fell backward with his eyes filled with smoke and two fingers gashed by the trigger guard; and something that struggled convulsively fell upon the canvas and bore it down.

The tent collapsed behind Dane as he slipped from under it; but knowing how the heavy B-shot would at that distance smash through bone and muscle, he paid no more attention to this assailant. First he snapped out the spent cartridge and crammed another home, then, striking a match, touched the signal light. It smoldered for a moment, then a column of blue fire swept aloft, and its radiance which beat athwart the towering trunks showed a striking spectacle.

Close behind the white man a shapeless heap of fur and black flesh lay quivering upon the over-turned tent. Half-seen for a second a dim figure, whose garments were not those of a native, vanished among the remoter trunks. Men with weapons came flitting out of the shadows which shrouded the camp; and about thirty yards away a monstrous object with the head of a beast and the legs of a man was slinking toward a creeper festoon. Dane flung the gun to his shoulder and fired as it ran, but the glare of the light beat transversely along the barrel, blinding him. Springing clear of the filmy smoke, he saw the second assailant was still running, and he sprang forward without waiting to reload. The light would last but a few more seconds. Still, the object moved at twice his speed, and might have escaped but that as he blundered on, choking in his haste, a diminutive figure ran forth to meet it, and the beast flung an upper limb aloft. Dane saw the spear which had been meant for his destruction draw back to stab; but the negro, Bad Dollar, sprang sideways, and his broad matchet, long filed to a razor-edge, flared under the last flicker of the light as he swung it round his head. Then there was sudden darkness, a thud and a crash.

Dane, guessing that Bad Dollar's matchet had bitten deep, and that his carrier comrades would see his victim did not escape, turned at top-most speed in the direction of the creek. Men came running behind him; but a heavier sound was audible through the patter of their feet, and he knew that one who was not barefooted fled for his life near ahead. He was running fast, but Dane, flinging the gun down, knew that he was gaining, and remembered that the man he sought would find his passage barred across the creek. So they ran, straining every sinew in a desperate race. Now and then one smashed through a thorn brake, or staggered, catching his foot in a creeper vine, but neither went down, and the gurgle of the creek grew nearer all the time. Dane raised his voice, and though his cry was barely articulate it proved sufficient, and as Amadu's hail came back in answer the footsteps before him grew slower, and a tongue of flame shot up.

So far there had been no miscarriage, and to furnish light for the climax a torch had been kept ready by one of Amadu's men. It showed first the group of grim black figures which guarded the narrow path to the water through tall cane, and then a man in European dress who stood still, gasping with fear and rage.

It was Victor Rideau.

"See that no boy fires on him unless he moves!" Dane made shift to cry; and Rideau, turning, met him face to face.

"I have expected you a long time," Dane said brokenly, for the race had taxed his strength, and once more he was shaken by a fit of futile rage. "Now I can't tell you how I regret we did not meet just five minutes earlier."

This was an adequate expression of the pursuer's feelings, for as his enemy stood gazing about him in abject terror, Dane felt he could not strike him down in cold blood, and he longed fiercely that he might be provoked to some fresh violence.

"Can you understand, you thief and midnight assassin, that there is not enough room in this country for both of us?"

"I comprehend nothing, camarade," Rideau answered calmly. "What would you of me?"

"Satisfaction!" Dane tried to choke down his fury. "There is a long account between us, and we could have settled it with less difficulty if you had had the courage of your confederates a few minutes ago. As it is, you can choose between a dash for the forest and a volley as you go, or a journey down to the coast in my custody. There you will be turned over to the authorities. I reserve myself the privilege, if they do not render you incapable of further mischief."

Rideau laughed.

"There I should denounce you for the plunder and killing of the Indigene. The Administration has no charge against me. I am good friend of the sous official, me. My friend, you are excite, and talk foolishly."

"If the chief of the Administration is a friend of yours, his own words don't bear it out. I can substantiate quite sufficient against you; and unless I'm greatly mistaken, the man with the cross on his forehead lies riddled with big shot beside my tent. A number of my boys will swear to his identity. In the meantime I have no further words to waste with you. I intend to give the Administration the first opportunity for rewarding you. It will be time for me to take further steps if they do not profit by it as I think they will."

Dane felt that he was weak; but even in his passion there were things he could not do, and his enemy's helplessness was his protection. Also, he knew that justice is tempered with discretion throughout much of that country, and he hoped that if the Authorities suspected Rideau of different offenses, but could not convict him, they would see that this charge did not miscarry.

The assumption of indifference faded from Rideau's face, and with a swift glance over his shoulder he drew out his hand from under his jacket. Dane afterward decided that he saw, what all the rest were too intent to notice, that the torch was burning out; for with an evident effort and a shrug of his shoulders he answered quietly.

"La bas they laugh at you, and I make you pay. Alors, when I am impotent I surrender to the force majeure."

Dane, calling to Amadu, strode forward with the failing light upon him. Unarmed as he was, this was distinctly foolish, and he might have paid for his folly, for just before the negro dropped the torch Rideau flung one hand up, and simultaneously with a thin flash something hummed past the Briton's head. There was bewildering darkness, and Dane ran straight in upon his enemy, or where he supposed him to be, determined in spite of the pistol to end the feud there and then. Rideau, however, had beaten him again, for the growth about the water-side began crackling, and when some of Amadu's men fired into it, the sound did not cease, and they only came near destroying their master, who plunged savagely through the bending stems.

He fell into a pit of slime, sinking to the waist, and lost precious time floundering in its oozy grip before he dragged himself out. Then there was further ooze with matted roots which fouled his feet, while a sound behind him showed that the negroes were following. It was Amadu who, when he had waded up to the shoulders and sought for room to swim, dragged him backward by main force; and though Dane struggled, he was held fast in a grasp against which he was powerless.

"If the white man is alive he makes no sound," he said. "No man could find him in this darkness, but perhaps they who crawl along the bottom will. Still, when one brings the canoe up we will look for him."

As his reason returned to him Dane realized that the search would be useless. A hundred men might fail to find a fugitive who cowered motionless amid the luxuriant aquatic growth, though, as Amadu had suggested, the scaled inhabitants of the river would be less likely to miss him. Still, when somebody brought up a canoe he encouraged them by extravagant offers of cloth, and then turned back hurriedly toward the camp. It would, while the confusion lasted, lie open to attack; and Dane hoped that his enemy, if he succeeded in crossing the river, would leave a trail behind him which could be followed on the morrow.

Reaching his overturned tent he found a group of curious negroes clustered about it, and because a fire had been lighted, there was light to show that the huddled mass of fur and dusky skin lay where it had fallen. The canvas was foul with half-coagulated stains whose color made it unnecessary to inquire if the wound had been fatal. Dane had no compunction. The man who had been slain when seeking his life with devilish cunning was one of the league which had struck down his comrade. Stooping with a shudder of disgust, he stripped the leopard's fur from the face beneath, and was not surprised to see that a cross-shaped scar on the forehead showed lividly.

"Where is the other? There were two?" he asked; and it was with relief that he saw Bad Dollar, whom he had forgotten, shamble toward him and then turn beckoning. Dane followed the negro, who held high a blazing brand, toward where another monstrous object lay full length among the trampled undergrowth. The fur had fallen partly clear of the flesh beneath, and he saw that Bad Dollar's matchet had done its work.

"Come here, all of you," called Dane. "Tell them to look at this man's neck, Monday, and say if they know the meaning of what there is about it."

Monday talked with some of the negroes, who, chattering excitedly, bent with fear and hesitation, to examine the tattooed device.

"Them boy say this yellow nigger and them other be big cappy among them Leopard, sah," Monday interpreted. "That be the Ju-Ju mark, and no common nigger done wear him, sah."

"Cappy Maxwell was right again," said Dane. "Make me a bed in the camp and burn that tent to-morrow, Monday. I could not sleep in it – and I think until I leave this ghastly country I shall not sleep again. See to the sentries and let the rest lie down while they can. We lib for go on again with the sun."

CHAPTER XXIV
THE ESCAPE

Dane was mistaken when he said he could not sleep, for hardly had Amadu returned to report his failure to find any trace of the fugitive than he sank into deep slumber. This was not strange. He had lived for some time under a constant strain, sleeping very little; and now that part at least of his task was accomplished nature had her way. It was true that Rideau had escaped him, but Dane believed that if he was alive they might still overtake him. He decided that Rideau's life would no longer be worth a day's purchase in the Leopards' country, and he would head at once for the coast.

Events proved him right, for when he opened his eyes the next morning Amadu stood beside his couch to say that Rideau had left a trail it was easy to follow across the creek, and that the boys were ready to march. They started forthwith, and that was the beginning of a memorable chase. Every indispensable pound of weight, including the weapons, was ruthlessly flung away once they entered a settled country. The time for food and sleep was cut down, and the camp boys, seeing that the road led south toward the sea, vied with each other in their efforts to shorten the journey. The forest rolled behind them, as did miles of dusty grass; but the chase never slackened, and, for this region was populous, they had news of the fugitive. One morning Dane reached a village he had passed the previous night. At another they missed him by a few hours, and found two lame men he had hired and left behind.

Dane's own men had flung themselves down panting in the shade, but most of them rose cheerfully in answer to his summons, while Monday used forcible arguments to encourage the rest, and in ten minutes all were on their way again. They lost the path in a morass, and at the next village they found that Rideau had increased his lead; but Dane knew that they were near the coast, and that he held his enemy between him and the sea. So the chase went on, until they reached a native market on the banks of a broad stream. A white man, so its ruler stated, had seized a canoe there a few hours earlier.

"Say dam low t'ief man done go chop one canoe and lib for get out like the debbil down them river," explained a negro who seemed proud of his linguistic abilities.

"Tell your headman I'll pay twice its value for the best craft he has," said Dane; and then consulted with his subordinates, for it was evident that they must divide forces here. It was not more than three days' journey to the coast, the headman said; and taking Amadu, Bad Dollar, and six picked Krooboys with him in the big canoe, he left Monday to follow with the rest to Little Mahu. Dane felt sorely tempted to leave the gold with the headman, under guard, but thought better of it.

The Kroos were skilled with the paddle, the canoe was long and fast, and Dane's spirits rose as he felt the thin shell surge forward at every sturdy stroke. All that day the dusky bodies, stripped to the costume of Eden, swayed athwart his vision over the flashing blades, as he stared forward with aching eyes down the long vista of dazzling water that unrolled itself before him. Palms, cottonwoods, creeper festoons, mud banks, fled astern. The temperature grew suffocating under the glare of afternoon, but still the thudding paddles rose and fell, while froth licked the bows and the paddling song rose in spasmodic gasps. At sunset they met a big trade canoe toiling upstream; and, excited by promises of rich reward, the crew roused themselves to fresh effort when its helmsman told them that another craft with three men in it, one of whom was dressed as a white man, had passed him an hour earlier.

A full moon rose over the forest presently, and they pushed on across stretches of glistening silver and breadths of inky gloom. The Kroos had done gallantly, but they were only beings of flesh and blood, and their strength was ebbing fast. One who had dropped his paddle lay idle in the bows, another appeared to be choking, and fouled his comrade's blade, while the paddles of the rest dipped at steadily increasing intervals; so seeing that neither bribes nor threats could stir them, Dane desisted, almost too hoarse to make his voice audible. His hands were raw and bleeding where the haft of his paddle had eaten into them. The stream, however, ran with them, and they still made headway, while he strained his heavy eyes, expecting each moment to see a canoe ahead.

Dane, however, even yet had not gaged his enemy's ingenuity.

They ran the craft alongside the landing of a native village in another hour or two, crawled out of her very stiffly, and were told by the headman that two negroes had come ashore from a passing craft to purchase food a little earlier, while a white man lay still in her bottom. Dane concluded from this that the fugitive had slightly increased his lead, and he was wondering whether he could by main force get his boys on board again, or could engage a fresh crew, when a negro who spoke English plucked his sleeve.

"I go look them white men in canoe soffly, soffly. What you lib for dash me if I tell you something, suh?"

Dane had nothing left to offer as a present, and seizing the man by the shoulder, shook him violently.

"Tell me at once, and you shall have whatever you want if you will go to Mahu for it," he said.

The headman protested, but the negro only grinned when Dane slackened his grip.

"I not fool man, sah. The Lord he give me sense too much. You done dash me them jackus you have on now."

Dane's duck jacket was badly rent, but it was garnished with ornamental metal buttons such as the black man loves. Tearing it off, he flung it at the speaker. The heathen, finding himself successful, desired the white man's trousers too; but this time Dane, disregarding the headman, shook him savagely.

"I go look them white man, sah. He was a black man in white man's clofes."

Dane stared at the man stupidly; and then clustering huts, red fires, and wondering negroes, grew hazy before him, as choking with fury he saw what had happened. Rideau had changed clothes with one of his followers, and sending him on for the pursuers to follow, had landed and vanished into the forest. It was of the first importance to decide where he would make for. Mastering himself with an effort, Dane managed to obtain some useful information from the headman. Mahu, being partially sheltered, was the only port in that vicinity where any one would be likely to find surf-boats, or canoes suitable for a coast trip, he said; for the bar of the river they had descended was generally impassable. It seemed hardly probable that Rideau would turn north again without equipment or escort; and deciding that he would endeavor to escape from the colony before the authorities heard his pursuer's story, Dane determined to push on at once for Redmond's factory. His men, however, were utterly worn out, and finally declined to drag themselves a yard farther. Bad Dollar lay down, and was either unwilling or unable to get up again; only Amadu remained unbeaten. Finally the headman was prevailed upon to provide carriers, and Dane and Amadu were borne out of the village in lurching hammocks.

At first the motion of a hammock is soothing, but though very weary Dane could not sleep. The boys marched well; but consumed with impatience, he lay wide awake peering into the darkness, and striving to encourage them to more determined effort. They ceased the carrying song from sheer lack of breath, and the white man could hear them panting beneath him. The sun rose, but there was no halt for rest; and the men were stumbling when one shouted excitedly, and not far ahead low whitewashed buildings rose dazzlingly against the sea.

When the carriers halted in front of them, two traders whom Dane recognized from Maxwell's description met him at the compound gate, and stared wonderingly when, watching them with bloodshot eyes, the newcomer told his name.

"Where are the rest of you, and Maxwell?" asked Redmond. "You can't have lost the whole of them; though there's no need to tell me something has gone wrong. Few men come home from the back country looking as though they had enjoyed the experience, but you're almost as bad as the last one."

"I have not enjoyed mine," Dane answered huskily; for he remembered with what hopes and in whose company he had first marched from the sea, and the contrast was bitter. "Maxwell has made his last journey."

"Dead?"

Dane nodded; and Gilby laid a hand on his shoulder with a gesture of sympathy which touched him.

"He was a wonderful man – but all the rest of them are not dead, too?"

"We lost too many. The rest are following. I will try to tell you all in good time. Has Rideau arrived here lately?"

Gilby smiled dryly.

"He has; and the way he did it coupled with your own appearance would stir up any man's curiosity. Rideau came in dressed like a nigger this morning, in the hottest hurry, saying he'd important business down the coast, and offered me my own price for the loan of our big surf-boat to go there in."

"You didn't let him have it!" Dane gasped.

"We don't often let business pass us; but I told him to go to perdition, if he could find his way swimming." Gilby chuckled. "I also told him several things that needn't be repeated."

"Gilby never had any sense to spare," interjected his comrade. "He was so proud of the speech he made that instead of warning the niggers not to help him, he did nothing except tell me how he said it; and Rideau got some fishermen to take him east in their canoe. They'll be well away to leeward now. What did the brute do?"

"Instigated my partner's murder, and twice attempted my own life," Dane answered in breathless haste. "But I'm in no mood to waste time. Will you hire me that surf-boat?"

"If you want her to follow Rideau you shall have the boat for nothing, and we'll both come along," said Redmond. "Gilby, get down to the beach and see to the gear and crew. Meantime, you are coming straight into the factory to get some food. Where is Rideau making for? That I don't know, but he'll probably try to get on board the Minella if he's afraid of you. She's billed on a stopping trip for Lagos, but she'll edge close round Twin Point Bluff, and he'll no doubt try to board her there. There's a nice southwester blowing now, and under the big lugsail we ought to overhaul the canoe before he does so. She can't have got far until the breeze sprang up."

Dane had eaten little of late, but the food forced upon him almost choked him now; and leaving most of it untasted, he drank feverishly; then finding himself almost too exhausted to pace the veranda, he flung himself impatiently into a chair.

"Will that boat never be ready?" he asked.

"I'm hurrying her," replied Gilby, who also seemed impatient. "One boy's sewing a new cloth in the sail, and as she's too big to paddle far, we can't start until it's finished. She wants some pitch run into her bilge seams, too, and won't be ready for an hour or longer. Still, I'm hoping to overhaul Rideau early to-morrow – and he won't enjoy the meeting, by the look of you."

After some discussion Redmond reluctantly agreed to remain behind in charge of the gold Dane brought down; and it was nearly dark when, without shipping overmuch water, the surf-boat cleared the beach, and with tall lugsail straining, lurched away eastward over the moonlit swell. It was then that, lying in the stern to rest and gather strength for what might yet be required of him, Dane told Gilby his detailed story. He could afterward recall the intent face fixed upon him, the crash of breakers throbbing through the haze that hid the shore, and the listing craft's swift rise and fall. At the time, however, he was conscious of nothing except that they were speeding east, and that the trader assured him the slender native canoe dare carry very little sail in such a strength of breeze. Gilby held the tiller, a big Krooboy sat on the weather gunwale slacking off the lugsail sheet each time the boat dipped her side to a stronger puff of breeze, and Amadu lay on the weather floorings, deadly sick and groaning horribly, to the amusement of the amphibious heathen.