Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

4 Adventure Swahili—coast man, y’know, Mr. West- laike.. Must ha’ bin his servnt.”’ “Well, I’ll have a look at him. Coming, Alick?” “What’s the good?” said Bodiker sourly. ‘‘He’s dumb.”’ Tony glanced at his partner, whose eyes were glued to the sick man’s face with a sharply inquiring expression as he went out. The mutilated negro he found squatting on his hunkers in the bright moonlight by the camp-fire, the kitchen boys and porters staring at him half inquisitively, half super- stitiously. The pustules on his face and body did not seem so far advanced as those of his white master’s. “Habari gani? How’s things?” said Tony in the little Kiswahili he’d already picked up. But neither the negro’s head nor his eyes moved in the slightest. “Shenzie (savages) cut him ear,” ex- plained Wandie, his personal boy, who spoke a little English. ‘Good God, the swine!” ejaculated Tony and, bending, looked into the negro’s face. Immediately the latter’s eyes gleamed, and he nodded his head as if approvingly, making an inarticulate noise, horrible to hear. 1 TONY returned to the camp table set beneath the big Mbuli tree where, W lolling in a camp chair as if he aR the expedition, was Sawyer. Tony sat down and poured out a glass of whisky from the bottle placed on the table every evening just at sundown. Sawyer ten- tatively moved an empty glass in front of him, made a noise in his throat and said— “Ain’t that big bum gone yet?” “No. I think he’ll pull round,” answered Tony, lighting a cigaret. “Kin I have a shot, Mr. Sawyer asked. “Sure,” said Tony, pushing the bottle over to him and, noting the wetness of the empty glass, smiled slightly. ‘Real stuff that!” stated Sawyer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘‘Feller needs a shot o’ hooch here, I guess.”’ A pause. “Say, Mr. Westlake!” “Welle” “You ain’t mad at me, are yer? Didn’t think I was gettin’ kind o’ fresh nor nothin’?”’ “Oh, that’s all right, Sawyer,” Westlake?” replied Tony, giving the man one of his good- natured smiles. “A few months of. this country’ s liable to get anybody’s nerves on edge. ae sure is!’ agreed Sawyer heartily. ‘“Didn’t mean nothin’, Mr. Westlake.” “Forget it. Hullo!” as a hail came from the bell tent. He rose and hurried over. Sawyer fol- lowed him and stood silently at the back of the tent. Bodiker was standing at the head of the cot with a scowl on his face. The sick man’s eyes were open and staring be- wilderedly up at Plessons by the light of the hurricane lantern slung to the pole. “That’s all right, ol’ cock!’ Plessons was saying cheerily. “We found yer with a black fella. Don’t you worry. We'll fix yer.” The feverish eyes wandered around to Tony and seemed disappointed. They closed momentarily as if in an effort at recollection. ‘“‘Don’t—understand,”’ he whispered faintly. ‘‘Where are the others?” “What others? |Your Swahili?” from Plessons. | ‘‘No—the men—who found us. You’re not ——” “Ves, yes,” urged Tony. “This man here found you.” ‘“‘No—no,” insisted the other peevishly. Then with a convulsive start and fright in his eyes— ‘‘Where is it?” “What?” “The sack! The sack!’ “You hadn’t any sack. Had he, Ples- sons?” “‘No; nothin’.” “Where did you come from?” persisted Tony as the man stared as if in blank dismay. ‘“‘Why—I told you. Oh, God, where are they?” ¢ Who?” Seemingly torn with mental anguish, the man tried to raise himself, but merely suc- ceeded in twisting a little to one side. Then he caught a glimpse of Bodiker’s face staring down at him. Instantly Bodiker stood back. ‘‘See if another shot will do him good,” said he in a low voice and strode rapidly from the tent. “That man—that man,” eumbled the old fellow frantically and strove again to rise. SBS CoMmicbool. Wh) © 5}