Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

AN AFRICAN SECRET. structed progress, and they were prepared to carry the white traveler himself if at any time he tired of walking. That was often enough, if Brad- shaw’s loud grumbling conveyed a particle of truth, but thus far he had not permitted himself to be carried a rod. On the contrary, he had forced the pace, and to such purpose that three of his original train had been unable to stand it, and they had been sent back to the coast at different intervals with letters to be mailed home. Bradshaw never could endure to refer to his cohort as “train.” He told Pan that the word was too suggestive of better modes of traveling, and Pan, though comprehending but dimly his employer’s meaning, obediently aban- doned the word, and never referred to the company as other than “ the cara- van.” © At this time the caravan was resting in the forest. It had occurred more than once during the journey that the travelers found they had adopted an impracticable route. On such occa- sions Bradshaw and Pan went on alone for the purpose of discovering, if pos- sible, a better way. Often, too, this pair made side excursions of considerable extent even when no exigency of the journey had arisen to demand such effort. Responding to Bradshaw’s question, Pan pointed toward the summit of the slope up which they were toiling. “ T think,” said he, “ there must be a river beyond there. We can soon tell.” “TI wouldn’t mind giving my feet a chance with a few days on a raft,” grumbled Bradshaw. As thev neared the forest, which proved to be much less extensive than it had appeared to be from below, a large bird with brilliant plumage soared away from a tree and hovered for a moment as if in curiosity over the travelers’ heads. Instinctively Bradshaw’s hand 19QI reached for the rifle that was slung across his back, but it was a spasmodic motion merely. The weapon was left untouched. He had been too long in the wilds to feel more than transient temptation for game that could be of no possible use to him. During the first month of his wandering he had shot many a bird for its feathers, many a beast for its skin, intending to take such trophies home; but all had been thrown away, and now he shot only when necessity demanded it. Bradshaw threw himself down under the first tree he came to, and, lying on his back, stretched arms and legs to their full extent after the manner of soldiers who have brief opportunity to rest while on march. . * Not a step further,” he said, “ until the sun begins to go westward.” Pan followed suit without comment, and for a few minutes they rested in silence. They were not sleeping, though, and presently, when Pan per- ceived that his employer was awake, he said: .““ Mr. Bradshaw, I wish you would tell me about Sam Hill. From other Americans I have heard much about your great chiefs, but until you came I think I never heard the name of Sam Hill.” Bradshaw smiled at the little patches of blue sky visible through the foliage. It was not only that the artless question amused him, but it awakened pleasant memories of his boyhood which had been passed mainly in a Vermont vil- lage where the mythical “Sam Hill” was such a universal by word that the habit of using it stuck to him uncon- sciously even after years of city life and association with cultivated people. “What chiefs of ours are you most familiar with, Pan?” asked Bradshaw. “ T know that your George Washing- ton was a very great man,” answered the African, “and your General Grant. I have also heard often of P. T. Bar- num.” COMIC NOOKS CO