Royce knew the Tubus by repute as a fierce and bloodthirsty tribe, living in French territory beyond the River Yo, whose raids across the border were notorious. It was certainly to be hoped that the peaceful objects of his expedition would not be hindered by encounters with those turbulent savages.
The first consideration, however, was the welfare of his boys. They depended for their food on the willingness of the natives to sell. Hitherto there had been no difficulty in this respect; but they carried only enough for a few days' supply, and at present their provisions were exhausted. The crops of this village were not yet ripe; the village itself was absolutely bare; it was of the first importance that food should be obtained at once.
As a result of a consultation with Challis and the headman, Royce decided to push on with John to the next village and buy food there.
"What if that has been raided too?" suggested Challis, as they talked it over.
"We must hope for the best," Royce answered.
"And it's pretty risky, you two going alone through a country recently raided."
"How long ago were the Tubus here, do you think?" Royce asked John.
"Two free days, sah."
"Well, then, it's likely that they've gone back to their own ground. For us it's a choice of two evils, and we must chance it. With good luck, we shall get to the next village before dark. I'll engage carriers there, and we ought to be back here with plenty of grub by to-morrow night."
They set off. Both were in good condition, and they made rapid progress. But the country was trackless, and Royce could only direct his course roughly by Drysdale's map.
The short dusk was falling without their having come on any signs of human dwellings. In another half-hour it would be quite dark, and Royce reluctantly but prudently decided that they must take shelter for the night, for fear of becoming hopelessly lost, and go on in the morning.
The country was bare, consisting of rocky ground sparsely covered with scrub. It offered nothing that gave promise of a comfortable defence against the night cold, and Royce had almost reconciled himself to spending the hours in the open when suddenly he caught sight, on the crest of a low hill about a mile to the left, of what appeared to be the ruins of a small building. Such ruins are to be met with here and there in the remotest depths of the great continent, the relics of ancient civilisations long vanished. There were no signs of life about this building, and Royce resolved to take shelter there.
They struck off to the left, climbed the hill, and, after a careful survey of the neighbourhood, approached the ruin. It turned out to be a dismantled stone fort, overgrown in parts with vegetation, but in a fair state of preservation. The outer wall was complete; inside, the principal chamber, which had once, no doubt, been the headquarters of a garrison, was roofless, and such timber-work as there had been was either burnt or had been carried away. Some smaller rooms were still covered from the sky, and it was in one of these that Royce determined to repose during the night.
They had brought with them a few biscuits and a small tin of preserved mutton, and they made a meagre supper. John having noticed, as they approached the fort, the runs of ground game among the bushes, set a few snares, in the hope of providing next day's breakfast. He returned with a huge armful of leaves and grasses to spread on the stone floor of the room chosen for their night's lodging.
"It's the first time I've been littered down like a horse," said Royce to himself, with faint amusement. "There's no telling what one may come to!"
"No berry comfy, sah," said John, when he had laid these rough beds in opposite corners. "All can do."
"It will do very well, John," returned Royce. "I suppose we shan't be disturbed by lions or any other unpleasant visitors?"
"No fink so, sah."
"Should we light a fire, do you think?"
"No, sah; no good. Fire make lions 'fraid; oh yes! but no make bad mans 'fraid."
"I see—it might drive off beasts, but attract men? Very well. I don't suppose I shall sleep much, anyway."
Royce had often admired the negro's ability to sleep anywhere and at any time, and to awake to full alertness and activity in a moment. Like a dog, he seems to have no need of the preliminary yawnings and stretchings to which a civilised man has accustomed himself. John fell asleep as soon as he had curled himself up on his grass bed. His master lay awake for a long time, listening to the rustle of the wind in the foliage that clothed the ruins, fancying that he heard the grunt of a lion and the bark of a jackal far away, thinking of Challis in his camp, and of the terrible scene of desolation in the ruined village.
A more experienced traveller would have taken that matter philosophically; Royce was greatly perturbed. He pictured in his mind the barbarians swooping upon the village, the massacre and pillage, the driving of women and children into slavery; and he shuddered at the misery which had fallen upon simple and inoffensive people.
He felt anxiety, too, about the future of his own little company. The region of which he was in search was apparently situated near the lands of the Tubus, the raiding tribe whose name was dreaded by his boys; and the prospect of coming into conflict with them made him uneasy. Not that he was a coward, or shrank from the possible necessity of fighting; but his object was peaceable, and he wished with all his heart that it might be attained without offence to the native peoples, without the shedding of blood. Yet his indignation burnt so fiercely within him, that he knew he would not be able to refrain from striking a blow for any hapless villagers who might be threatened with disaster at the hands of a savage enemy.
Turning over these things in his mind, and envying John, whose loud breathing proclaimed that no anxieties disturbed his repose, he lay wakeful for several hours, until he, too, fell asleep. He slept very heavily, as might have been expected of a man tired out by exhausting marches under a hot sun. The night was cool, the atmosphere was pure, and the young Englishman's rest was as peaceful as though there were no wild beast or savage man in the world.
When he awoke, the ghostly light of dawn was glimmering in the open doorway of the room. Like his countrymen everywhere, he turned over on his back, stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. Where was John? The heap of grass in the opposite corner was vacant.
"He's gone to examine his snares, I suppose," he said to himself. "I wonder if there's a stream where I can take a dip."
He rose, stretched himself again, feeling a little stiff, walked through the doorway, and entered one of the passages that led to the outside. He was just turning a corner when, with a suddenness that took him all aback, he came face to face with a negro, a man of huge stature, topping him by several inches.
The white man and the black were equally surprised. Both came to a halt, and stood eyeing each other for a moment in silence.
The passage was open to the sky, but the light of morning was as yet so faint that neither could see very clearly.
All at once the negro, with a roar like that of a wild beast, whipped a curved sword out of a belt about his waist, and, springing forward, delivered a furious sweeping cut which, if it had taken effect, must have severed Royce's head from his shoulders.
Fortunately for him, however, he was quick of eye and wit, and nimble in his movements. At school he had had no match in boxing and fencing. Being absolutely unarmed, he had no means of parrying the stroke; but he dropped on one knee, and the scimitar whistled within an inch of his crown, striking with a crashing stroke the wall on his right hand.
While the negro was still bent forward with the force of his blow, Royce sprang low at his knees, and, tugging them towards him, brought the man with a thud to the floor. The sword fell from his hand and clashed on the stone flags, and Royce reached down to get hold of it. But the negro sprang to his feet with agility amazing in so huge a man, and hurled himself upon the Englishman.
Royce had just time to straighten himself and prevent himself from being thrown down; the next moment the negro's arms were about him; he felt hot breath upon his face, and saw the gleaming teeth and infuriated eyes of a man from whom he knew he could expect no mercy.
He was well acquainted with the styles of wrestling in vogue in England—the Cumberland, the Devon, the Lancashire; but he was instantly aware that the negro's method was none of these. It was, in fact, a form of wrestling like that which had been practised ages ago in the Olympic games, and had no doubt been introduced into Northern Africa by the Romans in the days of Cæsar and Pompey. It resembled the catch-as-catch-can style of Lancashire more nearly than the lighter styles with which Royce was familiar.
The negro's aim seemed to be to throttle his opponent, or to squeeze the breath out of his body; and Royce, struggle as he might, felt the thick, muscular arms gripping him more and more closely. Slighter in build, he had no chance of employing the feints and tricks which might have compensated for a less powerful physique in dealing with an Englishman. In that straining grasp, there was no hope for the lesser man; in a few seconds the struggle must end.
The encounter, the coming to grips, had happened so swiftly that Royce had had no time to think that there was help at hand in the shape of John. But now, at this critical moment, when he felt that the very life was being crushed out of him, he remembered the staunch companion of his journey, who could not be far away.
Making a desperate effort to fill his lungs, he uttered a shout, or rather a choking gurgle, which no one would have recognised as the voice of an Englishman. The negro laughed, anticipating the moment when the white man would lie limp and lifeless at his feet. Bub John, climbing the hill with a rabbit dangling in his hand, heard the two sounds—the gasping cry, the loud, mocking laugh. Hastening forward at a run, he shouted aloud, giving a long, penetrating note like the yodel of the Swiss mountain shepherd. The sound, growing louder moment by moment, came to the ears of the negro. He realised instantly that, unless he could dispose of the Englishman at once, he would soon have two men to deal with.
The encouraging sound gave Royce new strength. He put forth his last energies to resist the strangling grip.
"Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!"
The newcomer was close at hand. The panting negro lowered his arms, caught Royce about the hips, and tried to lift him, intending to dash him upon the floor. Royce flung his legs about the giant's thighs, stiffened his muscles, and dragged with all his force upon the negro's shoulders.
"Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!"
The game was up! The negro dared not wait longer. Loosening his grip, he wrenched himself out of Royce's entwining arms, thrust him away, and, turning about, rushed through the passage into the open. There he saw John hurrying up within twenty paces of him, and swerving to the left, in five seconds had disappeared among the bushes.
