While Royce was recovering from the shock of his fall, Challis and some of the men, including Gamba, the young Tubu, galloped on in the hope of overtaking Goruba. But when they had ridden for a mile or two without catching sight of him, Challis pulled up, unwilling to leave Royce with only two or three men to support him in case the scattered Tubus attacked.
Riding back, he had not gone far, however, when he met Royce and the rest of the party.
"There are no bones broken; I'm all right now," cried Royce. "I suppose Goruba has got away?"
"Yes, confound him! He's as difficult to catch as a weasel. Is it any good going on?"
"We won't give it up yet," replied Royce. "He may delay to collect his scattered band, and if we can catch him before he gets to the ford over the Yo it will be a great score for us. He would be invaluable as a hostage, to say the least of it."
Gamba, smarting at the loss of his horse, was eager to push on, though he admitted that it would be difficult to overtake the best horse of the tribe. Only by accident could the pursuit succeed.
The party rode on at their best pace. The country soon became more rocky, and on the harder soil they lost the tracks of Goruba's horse. But this was of no importance. Gamba was sure that the man would make for the Yo, and the nearest ford was about two hours' ride from the spot where Royce had come to grief. Towards that ford he led the way, often outstripping the rest of the party in his eagerness.
But there was never a sign of Goruba. They scanned the crest of every rise in the ground, hoping to see the big form on the sky-line. Neither horse nor man came within their view.
At last they arrived at the river, and Gamba galloped at headlong pace down to the ford. There he sprang from his horse and feverishly examined the tracks on the softer soil. To his surprise and dismay, there were none very recent, and those there were all pointed in the opposite direction. It was clear that no horseman had crossed to the northern bank for some weeks past.
Baffled, he rode up and down stream to see if Goruba had avoided the ford, and perhaps swum his horse across the river at some other point. While he was doing this Royce crossed at the ford, and examined the ground on the opposite bank, and Challis sent some of the men to scour the neighbourhood.
After a long search they had to confess utter failure. In no direction was there any trace of Goruba's horse. Goruba had given them the slip.
Gamba wept with disappointment.
"It's enough to make any one snivel," said Challis. "What can have become of the fellow?"
"Whatever it is, we are done brown," said Royce. "It's no good riding any farther; we might tumble among a whole swarm of Tubus. And as it's getting late, we had better camp for the night, and then go back and digest our disappointment as well as we can."
At this moment Gamba gave a succession of peculiar shrill whistles.
"What's that mean?" asked Royce.
Gambaru explained that the man was whistling for his horse, thinking that Goruba had possibly left it some distance from the river and swum across, so that hoof marks might not betray him. But the signals were ineffective, and Gamba wept again.
Retreating from the bank, they formed a camp on a sheltered hillside, ate some of the food they had brought with them, and settled down for the night, arranging for the men to keep watch in turn. Nothing disturbed them, and early in the morning they started back for the fort.
On the way they caught sight of many stray Tubus making their way towards the river. These always slunk away when they saw the Englishmen, who did not think it worth while to pursue them. They already had enough prisoners, and shrank from further bloodshed.
They reached the fort just before noon. The fort itself had not been occupied during the night. John reported that the men had conceived such a horror of it that they preferred to remain in the open. The Tubus had wholly disappeared. Their failure and the flight of their leader had broken their spirit.
Some of the victorious natives had already gone back to their homes to relate how the dreaded Tubus had been defeated.
"We couldn't hope for anything better," said Royce. "The whole countryside will hear of it in a day or two; the prestige of the Tubus will be utterly shattered, and the people won't be afraid of them any longer. I rather fancy they will keep to their own side of the Yo in the future."
"If they do, we'll have done some good in the world," said Challis. "But now, old man, I want to see Rabeh's hoard. What's going to happen to that?"
"Well, I suppose it is fair spoil of war, but I haven't given a thought to the question as to what we shall do with it. We'll have to get it up and that will take some time; there's such a lot of it. I'll take you down the well for a private view. Then we'll have the barrier removed from the entrance in the wood and get the men to bring the stuff into the open."
They walked up the hill and climbed into the fort, where Challis was interested to see the changes made during his absence.
"You ought to have been an officer in the Royal Engineers, Hugh," he said.
Royce grinned.
"Don't be an ass!" was all he said.
They reached the well-room.
"Just wait up here until I get the door open," said Royce, as he stepped over the coping and began to descend by the iron staples.
Challis leant over the edge, watching him. Below, the depths of the well were dark, and he could hear the slight gurgle of the spring at the bottom.
"I say," came Royce's voice, "the door's open! I left it shut. One of the men must have been prying, in spite of what John said about their horror."
"You'll have to make an example of him! Shall I come down?"
"Wait a bit. My electric torch has given out. Have you got a match?"
"Not one. There's a box among our stores, though. I'll get it and bring it down to you."
He went to the room where the stores were kept. Meanwhile Royce, always impatient, passed through the opening in the wall and began to creep slowly along the tunnel.
Challis, having found a box of matches, was returning to the well when he was amazed to see a black, fuzzy head appear over the coping. For a moment he imagined that it belonged to one of Royce's own men whom he had routed out of the tunnel, but at a second glance he realised his mistake. The man's black cheeks bore Rabeh's telltale scars. It was Goruba.
GORUBA CLIMBS THE WELL
GORUBA CLIMBS THE WELL
With a shout, Challis dashed forward. Goruba's shoulders were now above the coping. In his right hand he bore a knife, and his eyes gleamed with rage. Challis was unarmed. His only chance was to deal with the negro before he had fully emerged from the well.
Shooting out his right arm, he brought his fist with sledge-hammer force upon Goruba's brow, between the eyes, just as the man was about to launch himself over the coping. The negro staggered back, lost his balance, and fell head over heels into the well. There was a thud, then a splash—and then Royce's voice from the opening:
"What's the row, Tom? When are you coming down with those matches?"
Challis shuddered with horror as he realised how narrow Royce's escape had been. A moment later, and Royce must have been dashed from his footing on the staple by the massive form of Goruba, and have fallen, like him, to the bottom of the well.
"Hurry up, Tom! What are you so long about, man?" Royce asked.
Challis leant over the coping.
"All right," he said, conscious that his voice was shaking. "Just a minute."
Pulling himself together, he set his foot on the first staple and began to descend very slowly, not daring to look down into the black depths. He reached the hole in the wall, struck a match, lit a candle end he had in his pocket, and followed Royce into the tunnel.
"What's up?" asked Royce. "You're as white as a sheet. Surely that little bit of a climb didn't make you dizzy?"
"No, I'm all right. Goruba's gone!"
"Gone? What do you mean? Of course he's gone."
"Down the well," said Challis, almost in a whisper. "He was climbing up with a knife. I went for him, and he fell."
For a moment Royce was speechless with astonishment. Then he said:
"But I don't understand. Where did he come from? He didn't pass me. Are you sure it was Goruba?"
"Certain. It was horrible."
"Poor old chap! Look here, you're shaken. Rest a bit while I go down. Perhaps the fellow isn't much hurt."
He took the candle from Challis's hand and went carefully down by the staples to the bottom of the well. There, huddled in a pool of water, lay all that was left of the gigantic negro. He was quite dead. It was clear that in his descent he had struck the stone slab projecting into the well. His neck was broken.
Awed by this strange tragedy, puzzled at the presence of Goruba here, Royce climbed up again and rejoined his friend.
"The poor wretch is dead," he said. "What an extraordinary fatality! He must have been in the darkness below. But what could he have been doing there?"
Together they sat on the stone floor with the candle between them. For some time neither spoke.
"I see part of the explanation," said Challis at last. "When he escaped from us he must have guessed that we should continue the pursuit, and slipped back at full speed to secure his treasure, or some of it, in our absence."
"The ruling passion!" said Royce. "Yes, that's it. But still I don't understand why he was down the well. If I had met him in the tunnel, now, there would have been no mystery about it."
"Perhaps he was in the room above, saw us coming, and came down to be out of our way."
"Ah! and to follow us through the tunnel and stab us in the back. That's it, to a certainty. Your going back for the matches saved our lives, Tom."
"We've a lot to be thankful for," said Challis.
"We have indeed! ... Now for Rabeh's hoard, old man."
They went along the tunnel, found the slab in the floor, lifted it, and made their way into the cave. Challis gasped when he saw the immense array of tusks.
"They are worth a fortune," he said. "No wonder Goruba wanted to drive us out."
"He has been moving things!" exclaimed Royce. "That row at the end there isn't as I left it. At least a dozen tusks are gone. I wonder what he has done with them. Let us go on to the farther entrance."
But halfway through the narrow tunnel beyond they found the path blocked. From floor to roof the tunnel was choked with a mass of earth, plants, and trees.
"The roof has fallen in," said Royce, scanning the obstruction by the light of the candle. "Things are becoming clearer. Look! Here's a tusk. Goruba must have been carrying it, or lugging it, for it's tremendously heavy, when the ground above sank. That accounts for his being at the other end. We shall have to go back, enter from the wood, and get our men to clear the rubbish away."
They retraced their steps, and rejoining their men, led a party of them into the wood.
"Here's a horse tethered!" cried Challis. "I wonder if it is Gamba's."
He sent Gambaru back to fetch the man, who the moment he caught sight of the horse yelled with delight, threw his arms round the animal's neck, and allowed it to rub its nose over his back. Then he sprang into the saddle.
"Not so fast," cried Royce, catching at the bridle. "Tell him I can't let him go yet, Gambaru. We must have a talk first. Keep him safe until I have time to attend to him."
He took the men on to the concealed entrance. Goruba had patiently removed the material with which it had been blocked up. Leading the men to the spot where the subsidence had occurred, Royce ordered them to clear away the rubbish and then report to him.
"Now we must find the tusks he removed," he said to Challis. "I daresay they are hidden somewhere in the undergrowth."
But though a hundred men spent hours in searching the wood, no trace of the tusks was discovered. It was not until later in the day that the mystery was solved. Some of the negroes, who had gone down to the stream to fetch water for their evening meal, came running back in great excitement. They had seen two long, yellow tusks gleaming through the water. Royce at once went to the stream with a number of Hausas, who hauled out the tusks, and after searching for some time found ten others concealed under the bank.
Meanwhile the tunnel had been cleared, and Challis superintended the men as they brought the whole treasure out into the open air. Some of them knew that the ivory was very valuable, others were more interested in the useless objects, like the kepi, a rusty sword or two, and particularly a gilt mirror, in which they examined their smiling features with great delight.
When the cave was cleared, Royce put John in charge of the treasure and sent for Gamba.
"I am going to let you return to your chief," he said. "You will take him a message from me. Goruba is dead. He lies at the bottom of the well in the fort. Your people may fetch him, if they will. He coveted this treasure, which was stolen, I have no doubt, by his master Rabeh. It is now mine.
"You will tell your chief all that has happened, how we have beaten his men in fair fight, how their man Goruba has met his death through greed. You will tell him that we will fight his men again if they come to this side of the Yo. These people are no longer afraid of the Tubus. They mean to be left in peace. Tell your chief that.
"We have taken some forty Tubus prisoners. We shall keep them until your chief sends word that he will do as I say, and keep his men from raiding on this side of the river. The country here belongs to the Great White King, and if your people do wrong again, the Great White King will send men with big medicine to punish you. Now you may go, and remember my words."
Gambaru translated this solemnly, sentence by sentence, and Gamba listened gravely. When he had permission to go, he leapt upon his horse, gave a shrill whistle, and galloped away to the north.
"I hope the Tubus have learnt their lesson," said Royce to Challis. "Now what are we to do with this ivory? I suppose it is booty, fairly won in war, but we ought to go shares with the crowd."
"You mean turn it into money?"
"Yes, though money will be no good to the negroes. The first thing, at any rate, is to carry it to the coast. I think our Tubu prisoners might do that for us. We'll sell it, and consult somebody, a missionary perhaps, as to what we can best do for the people."
"What about the tin mine?"
"Well, we shall simply have to come back again. It's a terrible loss of time, but, after all, we're in no hurry to be rich, and if we have managed to secure the peace of this country we shan't regret our trouble. Don't you agree with me?"
"With all my heart. It's a sort of lesson to us, Hugh. We came out thinking only of ourselves, and in this strange way we have been led to think of others. It's a fine thing to have been able to do some good in the world."
Next day the whole company set off for the south, the Tubus being laden with the ivory. It was a sort of triumphal progress for the Englishmen. The tale of their doings had already been carried through the country, and at every village through which they passed the people could not do enough to show their gratitude.
The party grew smaller every day as men broke away to rejoin their own people. When the coast was reached, after weeks of toilsome marching, the Englishmen had with them only their Hausa boys, the Tubu prisoners, and a few men from various tribes who clung to them because they wished to see the strange and wonderful things about which the Hausas had told them.
The ivory fetched £3000, a sum much in excess of what the Englishmen had expected. Royce, who had plenty of money, refused to accept any part of the proceeds for himself. Challis, after some consideration, decided that £1000 would come in very useful in buying machinery for his tin mine.
They happened to meet a medical missionary and his wife who had just arrived from England. To them they handed over £2000 on condition that they would use it for the good of the natives south of the Yo. And when, after a month's rest, they returned to the scene of their adventures, they were accompanied by the missionaries and a new band of Hausa boys, with John again as headman. The old band felt so rich on the generous pay they had received that they meant to retire from business, at least for a time.
John treated them with contempt.
"Plenty silly chaps," he said. "Dey hab got lots of cash; me savvy all same. What dey do? Spend, spend, spend all time. Bimeby all gone. What do den, sah? Dey want 'nother massa; no can find one. Dey go sick. Wah! Me hab got good massa; me savvy all dat, sure 'nuff."
When Royce and Challis were last heard of they were working a rich tin mine, with two hundred contented negro labourers in their employment. A little settlement had sprung up in the midst of the great plain, with two large bungalows, one for Royce and Challis, the other for the missionary and his wife, and a number of neat grass huts for the labourers and their families.
The country in their immediate neighbourhood was troubled no more by the Tubus. A brisk trade grew up between their settlement and the surrounding villages, and once a year the people for miles around go in procession to visit the white men, carrying presents for the strangers who saved them from the raiders and brought peace and prosperity to the countryside.
THE END
HERBERT STRANG'S STORIES
SOME OPINIONS
"I envy the boy or girl who is given a Herbert Strang book.... Mr. Strang's powers of invention are great. One is hurried along breathlessly from one adventure to another, till we are left gasping at the end of the jolly narrative.... Mr. Strang's books are full of the qualities to which boys—and girls—should aspire. Reading him, an older, less adventurous person 'lives by admiration.'"—KATHARINE TYNAN.
"The intellectual level of boys' stories has been materially raised by Mr. Strang, and at the same time he has infused into them a stronger human interest than the old writers did. The gain is an all-round one.... Mr. Strang has brought the boys' story up to the same level of artistic effort and realisation as the high-class novel."—JAMES BURNLEY.
"We rejoice to find that among the crowd of money-makers who produce as if by machinery the standard book for boys, there are still some who realise that because only a boy is to read a book it need not therefore be careless, and because the boy will be without experience the book need not therefore be impossible."—THE OUTLOOK.
"Mr. Strang's books suggest a standard by which very few writers of boys' books will bear being judged. The majority of them are content to provide their young friends with mere reading—Herbert Strang offers them literature."—THE GLASGOW HERALD.
A FEW STIRRING ROMANCES
BY HERBERT STRANG
The Air Patrol
A Story of the North-West Frontier.
Illustrated in colour by CYRUS CUNEO.
In this book Mr. Strang looks ahead—and other books have already proved him a prophet of surprising skill—to a time when there is a great Mongolian Empire whose army sweeps down on the North-West Frontier of India. His two heroes luckily have an aeroplane, and with the help of a few Pathan miners they hold a pass in the Hindu Kush against a swarm of Mongols, long enough to prevent the cutting of the communications of the Indian army operating in Afghanistan. The qualities which marked Mr. Strang's story, "The Air Scout," and won extraordinarily high commendation from Lord Roberts, Lord Curzon, and others, as well as from the Spectator and other great journals, are again strikingly displayed; and the combination of thrilling adventure with an Imperial problem and excellent writing, adds one more to this author's long list of successes.
"An exceptionally good book, written moreover in excellent style."—Times.
"'The Air Patrol' is really a masterpiece."—Morning Post.
The Air Scout
A Story of National Defence.
Illustrated in Colour by W. R. S. STOTT.
The problems of National Defence are being discussed with more and more care and attention, not only in Great Britain, but also in all parts of the Empire. In this story Mr. Strang imagines a Chinese descent upon Australia, and carries his hero through a series of exciting adventures, in which the value of national spirit, organisation, and discipline is exemplified. The important part which the aeroplane will play in warfare is recognised, and the thousands of readers who have delighted in the author's previous stories of aviation will find this new book after their own heart.
LORD ROBERTS wrote:—"It is capital reading, and should interest more than boys. Your forecast is so good that I can only hope the future may not bring to Australia such a struggle as the one you so graphically describe."
LORD CURZON writes:—"I have read with great pleasure your book, 'The Air Scout.' It seems to me to be a capital story, full of life and movement: and further, it preaches the best of all secular gospels, patriotism and co-operation."
"We congratulate Mr. Strang on this fine book—one of the best fighting stories we have read."—Morning Post.
The Adventures of Dick Trevanion
A story of 1804.
Illustrated in Colour by W. RAINEY, R.I.
The Trevanions are a Cornish family whose fortunes have fallen very low through the working-out of their tin mines and the scheming of a relative who bears a grudge against the head of the house. In this story, dated in the early years of the 19th century, the author weaves together various strands: the war with Napoleon, the operations of smugglers, the machinations of the schemer, and the change in the fortunes of the family which ensued upon various alarums and excursions.
"This is a story after a boy's heart, treating of smugglers and family feuds and French privateers."—Spectator.
Humphrey Bold:
His Chances and Mischances by Land and Sea.
Illustrated In Colour by W. H. MARGETSON.
In this story are recounted the many adventures that befell Humphrey Bold of Shrewsbury, from the time when, a puny slip of a boy, he was befriended by Joe Punchard, the cooper's apprentice (who nearly shook the life out of his tormentor, Cyrus Vetch, by rolling him down the Wyle Cop in a barrel), to the day when, grown into a sturdy young giant, he sailed into Plymouth Sound as first lieutenant of the Bristol frigate. The intervening chapters teem with exciting incidents, telling of sea-fights with that redoubtable privateer Duguay Trouin; of Humphrey's escape from a French prison; of his voyage to the West Indies and all the perils he encountered there.
"Mr. Strang is undoubtedly the best writer of this class of story that we have to-day. He has never done anything better than 'Humphrey Bold.'"—Newcastle Chronicle.
"Undoubtedly one of the strongest historical stories we ever remember to have read."—Schoolmaster.
Palm Tree Island.
Illustrated in Colour by ARCHIBALD WEBB.
In this story two boys are left on a volcanic island in the South Seas, destitute of everything but their clothes. The story relates how they provided themselves with food and shelter, with tools and weapons; how they fought with wild dogs and sea monsters; and how, when they have settled down to a comfortable life under the shadow of the volcano, their peace is disturbed by the advent of savages and a crew of mutinous Englishmen. The savages are driven away; the mutineers are subdued through the boys' ingenuity; and they ultimately sail away in a vessel of their own construction. In no other book has the author more admirably blended amusement with instruction.
"Written so well that there is not a dull page in the book."—The World.
Rob the Ranger:
A Story of the Fight for Canada.
With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.
Rob Somers, son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with Lone Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which has destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother. He is captured and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother in strange circumstances, and escapes with him in the dead of the winter, in company with a little band of stout-hearted New Englanders.
General Baden-Powell, in recommending books to the Boy Scouts, places "Rob the Ranger" first among the great scouting stories.
One of Clive's Heroes
A Story of the Fight for India
With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.
Desmond Burke goes out to India to seek his fortune, and is sold by a false friend of his, one Marmaduke Diggle, to the famous Pirate of Gheria. But he escapes, runs away with one of the Pirate's own vessels, and meets Colonel Clive, whom he assists to capture the Pirate's stronghold. His subsequent adventures on the other side of India—how he saves a valuable cargo for his friend Mr. Merriman, and assists Clive in his fights against Sirajuddaula—are told with great spirit and humour.
"An absorbing story.... The narrative not only thrills, but also weaves skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of our fierce struggle for India."—Athenæum.