Perhaps I could bring the women to understand; perhaps I could explain–“

“You couldn’t explain the babies out of existence,” said Sanders brutally.

That ended the discussion, for with a look of scorn and disgust she passed into the hut, leaving Sanders a prey to some emotion.

He turned a cold eye to the offending Fembeni.

“It seems,” he said, “that a man by becoming a Christian has less mouths to fill. Now I must investigate this matter.”

Fembeni regarded him apprehensively, for if a woman is questioned, who knows what she will say? And it was fairly unimportant to the man if he had one wife or forty.

There was no possibility of searching any farther that night for the erring Oko, and Sanders was rowed across the river in his canoe to interview the wives of the new convert.

He found one woman who viewed the coming change with considerable philosophy, and three who were very shrill and very voluble.

“Lord,” said one of these three in that insolent tone which only native women assume, “this white witch has taken our man–“

“I do not hear well,” said Sanders quickly, “yet I thought I heard a word I do not like.”

He whiffled a pliant stick till it hummed a tune.

“Lord,” said the woman, dropping her voice and speaking more mildly, “this God-lady has taken our man.”

“God-ladies do not take men,” said Sanders; “rather they influence their spirits that they may be better men.”

“Fembeni will be no better and no worse,” said the woman bitterly, “for he goes to the forest by night; often he has risen from my side, and when he has gone, behold the Nine Terrible Men have come from near by and taken that which they wanted.”

She stopped abruptly. There was horror in the eyes which met the Commissioner’s; in her anger she had said too much.

“That is foolish talk,” said Sanders easily.

He knew there would be no more information here and he played to quieten her fears.

He strolled through the village, talked awhile with the headman, and returned to his canoe.

Once on the Zaire he summoned Abiboo.

“Take three men and bring Fembeni to me,” he said, “and be very ready to shoot him, for I have heard certain things.”

He waited for ten minutes, then Abiboo returned–alone.

“Fembeni has gone into the forest,” he said; “also the God-lady.”

Sanders looked at him.

“How?”

“Lord, this Fembeni is a Christian, and desired to speak with the God-woman of the new magic. So they walked together, the God-woman reading from a book. Also he had a gift for her, which he bought from a Frenchi trader.”

“I see,” said Sanders.

He poured himself out a stiff glass of whiskey, and his hand shook a little.

Then he lifted down a sporting rifle that hung on the wall of his cabin, broke open two packets of cartridges, and dropped them into his coat pocket.

“Let the men come on quickly,” he said, “you commanding.”

“Lord, there are other sergeants,” said Abiboo. “I will go with you, for I am at your right hand, though death waits me.”

“As you will,” said Sanders roughly.

He went through the missionary compound, stopping only that a boy should point out the direction the two had taken, then he moved swiftly towards the forest, Abiboo at his heels.

He followed the beaten track for a hundred yards. Then he stopped and sniffed like a dog.

He went on a little farther and came back on his tracks.

He stooped and picked up some pieces of broken glass and turned aside from the path, following his nose.

* * *

Ruth Glandynne had supreme faith in the power of the Word which makes martyrs.

“You must have no doubt, Fembeni,” she said in her halting Isisi, “for with Light, such things as the Word brings, all things will be made plain to you.”

They were beyond the confines of the little mission station, walking slowly towards the forest.

She read little extracts from the book she carried, and so full of her subject was she that she did not observe that they had passed the straggling trees, the outposts of the big forest.

When she did notice this she turned.

“More I will tell you, Fembeni,” she said.

“Lady, tell me now,” he begged, “for Sandi has made me doubt.”

She frowned. What mischief can a materialist work! She had liked Sanders. Now for one resentful moment she almost hated him.

“There are white men who doubt,” she said, “and who place pitfalls in the way–“

“Also this have I bought for you,” said Fembeni, “paying one bag of salt.”

From the leather pouch at his side he produced a long flat flask.

She smiled as she recognised the floral label of the abominable scent beloved of the natives.

“This I bought for you, teacher,” he said, and removed the stopper so that the unoffending evening reeked of a sudden with the odour of musk, “that you might protect me against Sandi, who is no God-man but a devil.”

She took the bottle and hastily replaced the stopper.

“Sandi is no devil,” she said gently, “and will do you no harm.”

“He has crossed the river,” said Fembeni sulkily, and there was a curious glitter in his eyes, “and he will speak with my wives, and they will tell him evil things of me.”

She looked at him gravely.

“What evil things can they say?” she asked.

“They can lie,” he said shortly, “and Sandi will bring his rope and I shall die.”

She smiled. “I do not think you need fear,” she said, and began to walk back; but he stood in front of her, and at that instant she realised her danger, and the colour faded from her face.

“If Sandi comes after me to kill me,” he said slowly, “I shall say to him: ‘Behold, I have a woman of your kind, and if you do not pardon me you will be sorry.’”

She thought quickly, then of a sudden leapt past him and fled in the direction of the station.

He was after her in a flash. She heard the fast patter of his feet, and suddenly felt his arm about her waist.

She screamed, but there was none to hear her, and his big hand covered her mouth.

He shook her violently.

“You live or you die,” he said; “but if you cry out I will beat you till you die.”

He halt carried, half dragged her in the direction of the forest.

She was nearly dead with fear; she was dimly conscious of the fact that he did not take the beaten path, that he turned at right angles and moved unerringly through the wood, following a path of his own knowing.

As he turned she made another attempt to secure her liberty. She still held the scent flask in her hand, and struck at him with all her might. He caught her arm and nearly broke it.

The stopper fell out and her dress was drenched with the vile perfume.

He wrenched the flask from her hand and threw it

Grasping her by the arm he led her on. She was nearly exhausted when he stopped, and she sank an inert heap to the ground.

She dare not faint, though she was on the verge of such a breakdown. How long they had been travelling she had no idea. The sun was setting; this she guessed rather than knew, for no sunlight penetrated the aisles.

Fembeni watched her; he sat with his back to a tree and regarded her thoughtfully.

After a while he rose.

“Come,” he said.

They moved on in silence. She made no appeal to him. She knew now the futility of speech. Her mind was still bewildered. “Why, why, why?” it asked incoherently.

Why had this man professed Christianity?

“Fembeni,” she faltered, “I have been kind to you.”

“Woman,” he said grimly, “you may be kinder.” She said no more.

The horror of the thing began to take shape. She half stopped, and he grasped her arm roughly.

“By my head you shall live,” he said, “if Sandi gives his word that none of us shall hang–for we are the Terrible Men, and Sandi has smelt me out.”

There was a gleam of hope in this speech. If it was only as a hostage that they held her–

Night had fallen when they came to water,

Here Fembeni halted. He searched about an undergrowth and dragged to view a section of hollow tree-trunk.

Inside were two sticks of iron wood, and squatting down before the lokali he rattled a metallic tattoo.

For ten minutes he played his tuneless rhythm. When he stopped there came a faint reply from somewhere across the lake.

They waited, the girl and her captor, for nearly half an hour. She strained her ears for the sound of oars, not knowing that the water did not extend for more than a hundred yards, and that beyond and around lay the great swamp wherein stood the island headquarters of the Nine.

The first intimation of the presence of others was a stealthy rustle, then through the gloom she saw the men coming toward her.

Fembeni grasped her arm and led her forward. He exchanged a few words with the new-comers in a dialect she could not understand. There was a brief exchange of questions, and then the party moved on.

The ground beneath her feet grew soft and sodden. Sometimes the water was up to her ankles. The leader of the men picked his way unerringly, now following a semi-circular route, now turning off at right angles, now winding in and out, till she lost all sense of direction.

Her legs were like lead, her head was swimming and she felt she was on the point of collapse when suddenly the party reached dry land.

A few minutes later they reached the tumbledown village which the outlaws had built themselves.

A fire was burning, screened from view by the arrangement of the huts which had been built in a crescent.

The girl was shown a hut and thrust inside.

Soon afterwards a woman brought her a bowl of boiled fish and a gourd of water.

In her broken Isisi she begged the woman to stay with her, but she was evidently of the N’Gombi people and did not understand.

A few minutes later she was alone.

Outside the hut about the fire sat eight of the Nine Terrible Men. One of these was Oko of the Isisi, a man of some power.

“This woman I do not like,” he said, “and by my way of thinking Fembeni is a fool and a son of a fool to bring her unless she comes as other women have come–to serve us.”

“Lord Oko,” said Fembeni, “I am more skilled in the ways of white folk than you, and I tell you that if we keep this woman here it shall be well with us. For if Sandi shall catch you or me, or any of us, we shall say to him: ‘There is a woman with us whom you greatly prize, and if you hang me, behold you kill her also.’”

Still Oko was not satisfied.

“I also know white people and their ways,” he said. “Sandi would have left us, now he will not rest till we are scattered and dead, for Sandi has a memory like the river, which never ceases to flow.”

A man of the Akasava suggested an evil thing.

“That we shall consider,” said Oko.

He had already decided.