Royce and the two negroes marched steadily on, stopping only for brief intervals of rest. The track led northwards towards the River Yo and the Tubus' country beyond.
Late in the afternoon they came to a spot where the trail forked. It was clear that part of the enemy's force had continued on the direct northward course, while another part, apparently the smaller, had diverged to the east. It took John only a few seconds to determine which of the two parties included the prisoners. Besides the hoof marks, there were many prints of bare feet on the soil, and among these John detected the impressions made by Challis's boots. These were in the direct track going northwards. The track diverging to the east was made by hoofs only.
"Dem go to fort, sah—oh yes!" said John.
"Why do you think so?" Royce asked.
John grinned.
"No savvy what for," he said; "savvy all same."
Royce was aware that the fort lay eastward of them, but he had supposed that it was rather to the south than to the north. Like many negroes, John, as was afterwards proved, had almost as keen a sense of locality as a wild animal.
"If you are right," said Royce, "some of the men have probably ridden to the fort to waylay us on our return. That big fellow must be one of the Tubus."
"Him no Tubu, sah," said John decisively. "Big fella too much ugly."
As Royce had never seen a Tubu, this statement conveyed nothing to him. Goruba's countenance was certainly of a Nubian cast. But he felt assured that the man had some position of authority among the raiders, and had either sent or led a party to attempt his capture.
He was much troubled in mind at the thought of leaving some of the enemy in his rear. His only chance—a slight one at the best—of helping Challis would be wholly destroyed if the party from the fort came up behind him, and discovered him before he had time to go into hiding. There was no sign of that party having already returned and rejoined the main body. The one hope he had was that the men in ambush at the fort, after waiting there all day, had now given up the idea of waylaying him, and had struck into the northward route at some point far ahead.
Less than an hour of daylight remained; it would soon be dark, and the Tubus were not more likely than any other native tribe to continue their journey in darkness. So Royce felt that if he escaped notice until sunset he would be pretty safe until next morning dawned.
The sun went down, and the three men halted.
"Where are we to camp, John?" asked Royce.
The Hausa looked around. There was no shelter anywhere on the ground, but at a little distance from the track a solitary large tree reared itself to a height of some fifty feet.
"Dat's him, sah!" cried the man. "Sleep in tree; berry nice."
"It won't be the first time," thought Royce, remembering a certain hot afternoon years before, when he and Challis, happy-go-lucky schoolboys, had dozed the hours away in the fork of an elm overlooking the cricket-field.
They sat down on the ground to eat their frugal supper. John was quite concerned at having nothing better to offer his master than some parched grain and a few nuts, and vigorously rated the carrier for not bringing some of the birds Challis had shot. He wanted to kindle a fire and give the food at least a little flavour by roasting, but Royce would not allow it.
"We don't know how near the Tubus are," he said. "They might see the flame, or smell the smoke. I shall do very well as it is, John."
Then they climbed the tree one after another, Royce envying the agility with which the barefooted negroes mounted, and selected, each for himself, a secure perch among the branches.
The two Hausas fell asleep instantly. Royce, however, found his quarters very unpleasant. They were not in the least like the cool elm he remembered so vividly. Mosquitoes and a thousand other small insects buzzed about him, settling upon face and arms, some to sting, others to bite, until he was in torture. He swung his arms about to ward them off, and covered his face with his handkerchief, tucking it under his helmet and into the collar of his coat. But the terrible pests defied all his efforts to protect himself, and he gave up at last, resigning himself to endure their torments with what patience he was master of.
It was some time, too, before he lost his fear of toppling from his swaying perch and crashing to the ground. The effort to secure himself made his limbs stiff and cramped, and he looked forward to a night of sleeplessness and pain. But sleep crept upon him unawares. He fell into a doze, uneasy indeed, and fitful, but yet giving blessed intervals of oblivion.
From one of these spells of slumber, Royce suddenly started to wakefulness and a strange feeling of terror. He had not been dreaming; by this time he was so much accustomed to the stings of the insects as to be almost unconscious of them. Yet he was bathed in sweat, and felt as though some fearful doom were hanging over him. He lay panting in the crook of the branches.
What was this strange, musty odour of which he was now aware? What was the cause of the dreadful feeling of sickness that chilled his skin? Unable to account for his wretched state, he lay still, hoping that the feeling would pass.
The foliage rustled above and around him; insects hummed; in the distance he heard the wailing call of some strange night bird, the booming note of a giant frog, the bark of a beast of prey. In these there was nothing alarming. But his uneasiness, the sense of impending danger, grew upon him, and at last, unable to endure the mysterious feeling any longer, he was on the point of awakening John, for the mere relief and pleasure of hearing a human voice, when all at once the other man, farther from him, uttered a shriek of mortal terror.
The effect upon Royce was as startling as the shock from an electric current. He started up, almost losing his balance. The cry had this good result, that it enabled him to shake off the numbing horror that had oppressed him. Groping in his pocket, he drew out a small electric torch which he used but sparingly, because of the impossibility of re-charging it. With the other hand he seized his revolver.
A flash of the torch made all terribly clear. The hapless carrier was in the toils of an immense snake. John crouched near him, paralysed with horror. The snake was gradually tightening its hold, and its hideous head was swaying within a few feet of its victim.
Royce snapped his revolver at the reptile's head. The shot went wide. He fired again. This time his aim was true. For a moment the snake convulsively tightened its coils about the inert black body, causing the man to groan under the crushing pressure. Then the coils relaxed, the head drooped, and in a few moments the monster dropped with a thud upon the ground.
