The Tree of Life (Beadle)/Chapter 3
III
IN THE steamy heat of the morning the first conscious impression of the doctor was that a pulse was beating in his brain. The mental effort of an automatic medical diagnosis awoke him to the reality of the merciless beat of the drum. He swore violently and shouted for coffee. Outside the net the flies had already taken over the duty of torment from the mosquitoes. The doctor breakfasted on river-fish in an exceedingly bad temper.
The inconvenience of the camp-site began to weaken his resolution to stay even the few days. In the jungle one had not to scratch all day as well as all night. He consulted Ali but as ever merely elicited the imperturbable, "Allah only knows." The doctor gulped the quinine he was in the act of swallowing. The brilliant black eyes of Ali in his bronze cameo features regarded him coldly.
"If the doctor would permit himself to meditate upon the Occidental and the Or"
"Meditate!" spluttered the doctor, coveting the irrefragable composure of the Arab. " it, I believe I've a touch of malaria. Tell Yamagulu to get me the thermometer."
But his temperature was normal and his pulse as steady as the drum-throb. Later in the morning he persisted in visiting the old chief, Basayaguru, in spite of Ali's assurance that no more information would be forthcoming. But at any rate an audience would serve to fill up time. The old man, in token of his greatness and beauty, was so fat that he could scarcely walk. He lay like a baby hippopotamus upon his skins in the perpetual shadows of his square hut and appeared to do nothing save eat, drink, snuff and sleep, leaving affairs of war and peace to his son and politics perforce to Yamala, the witch-doctor.
To each of the questions put by Ali on the white man's behalf, he merely grunted non-committally, a process which led one to suppose that he was innocent of every crime as well as virtue that the black mind could conceive. The only articulate sentence elicited was an order to a slave to send the white chief another present of a large tusk of ivory. The doctor regarded the tusk in dismay.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded of Ali. "We can't possibly make return presents of anywhere near the value of these three tusks and the small ones. What do you think he's after? My Express? Because he won't get that, naturally."
"Allah only knows."
"Oh!" The doctor plucked savagely at his beard. "Ali, I ask what you think, not what Allah thinks."
"It is impossible to state, Doctor. Never have I witnessed such exquisite generosity from a native negro."
The little doctor returned to the camp, feeling, as he remarked to Ali, that there was something in this confounded country that would make a saint irritable. And, as he retired beneath the mosquito-net for a siesta, he grinned at the recollection of the sage advice based on theoretical knowledge he had given to clients about to leave for the tropics, to guard against irritation and liquor. During the hottest hours, when man and beast and bird, but not woman, made obeisance to the sun, the heart-throb of the drum continued mercilessly until the doctor in his sudorific bath struggled with an impulse to seize his Express and make an end of the tormentor.
At about four he suddenly grabbed the gun and, summoning Yamagulu, decided that he would seek something upon which he could wreak his exasperation. Yamagulu very naturally protested that neither bird nor beast would be stirring before the cool of the sinking sun, but the little doctor felt that in such a country to thrust forward reason was positively indecent and as incongruous as a Socratian debate in a lunatic asylum.
In the village not a body stirred. Unnoticed they selected the small canoe and embarked. The doctor directed the sullen Yamagulu to paddle down-stream along the bank until they should find fairly solid ground to land. About half a mile away, as they coasted just outside the guardian swamp, he perceived a narrow passage in the dense reed as if made by canoes. Up this turgid waterway the doctor insisted upon going. Fifty yards' paddling and reed hauling brought them within the line of the great trees and upon fairly solid earth beneath the dense jungle.
The doctor and the sullen Yamagulu landed and tore their way for some distance, earning a bath of sweat in the process. But this did not deter the doctor, who had obstinately made up his mind that he wanted distraction from the deadly ennui of the village. Farther on they struck higher ground and came upon a grove of considerable size.
Suddenly the sulky Yamagulu came to life and, touching the doctor's arm, pointed with his spear down the grove. The doctor failed to distinguish anything in the tangle of grass and bush. Then, just as he was about to whisper, he detected part of a bush that seemed to move. Slowly grew the form of some large animal. Calculating for the region of the heart, the doctor fired. A convulsive motion of the bush, and there leaped forth a big buck, high in the shoulders and dappled like forest light and shadow.
Again the doctor fired. The beast swerved to the right and disappeared. Yamagulu raced forward. The doctor followed and found him beside the buck. The first shot had been a fluke; striking the animal in the quarters as it had turned to flee, the bullet had lodged in the spine, killing it instantly.
"Okapi!" gasped the exultant doctor.
But, as he stooped, Yamagulu, grinning delightedly, drew his attention to a broad spoor through the dense grass which ten yards from the kill was streaked with blood, revealing that in all probability the mate was severely if not mortally wounded. Excitedly the doctor bade Yamagulu to stay and skin the slain animal and hurried off on the trail.
The beast was big and evidently bleeding heavily; so the spoor was easy to follow even for a white man. On panted the doctor, forgetful, as ever a hunter is, that time after all is an arbitrary affair. The ground rose steadily. The going became better at every yard. Where the trail led through thick bush, the beast had already forced a passage. As the ground sank into a slight valley, he caught a glimpse of the okapi as it dashed off from a shelter where it had apparently rested for a moment.
Wiping raining sweat from his eyes, the enthusiastic doctor plugged on down into a bog to his waist, dragged himself up the other side and on—and on—and on the little man struggled until quite suddenly the trail disappeared in a patch of jungle as thick as a grass mat. The doctor hunted furiously about—then with more care. No sign of blood; the blood-trail had disappeared entirely; not even a broken grass stem or twig could he find. Perhaps he had overrun the trail?
He cast about in circles. Fatigued and panting, he sat down to rest and wipe his streaming face. Just as he was about to make another effort, it suddenly occurred to him that the shadows seemed very dense. He glanced up through the leafy roof. The glittering ball of the sun was topping the trees. In a panic he snatched his watch. He stared incredulously at the hands pointing to a quarter past five. Only another three-quarters of an hour to sunset.
"!" he muttered disappointedly. "I'll have to give him up now. I'll go back and help Yamagulu finish the skinning."
A rational and wise decision of the doctor's. He stepped forward briskly, hesitated, made a pace and stopped altogether. He glanced about in a bewildered childlike fashion at the wall of tree trunks festooned with creepers.
"When the devil—what the—oh."
Again he stared around more incredulously. Then very softly he said—
"Oh, God!"
HE HAD no more idea of the direction from which he had come than of the secret of the cult. He was fatigued. So he sat down again, sagely concluding that he might as well rest while he thought the matter out systematically. Yes. Systematically; that was the thing to do. Now where was the sun when they had killed the buck? Um. Ah. At first he was sure that it had been over his right shoulder; then as equally positive that it had been behind him. Finally he concluded that there hadn't been any sun at all.
For a few moments the doctor was occupied in informing himself exactly how many different kinds of a fool he was; he bethought himself of Yamagulu and proceeded to inform the. African continent what particular species of criminal idiots it produced. Then he plucked at his beard and glanced at his watch again. Remained about forty minutes of daylight—that is, forest semi-gloom. Tropical twilight was the only thing in Africa in a hurry, decided the doctor bitterly. Then he rose determinedly and, choosing a direction at random, made the amusing assertion that he would continue in a straight line.
Within twenty yards he was bogged; he tried another direction and found impenetrable thicket; a third attempt found another bog. A puzzled wonder as to how the deuce he had ever arrived where he was if the confounded jungle was nothing but swamp-holes was broken by a brilliant idea. Of course! He would just fire a few shots which would bring the fool Yamagulu to him. Accordingly at intervals of half a minute he proceeded to carry out the scheme, which, however, was arrested by the appalling discovery that he only had left another ten cartridges—with the probability of spending the night in the jungle.
For a while he stood still, trying to concentrate upon listening for the expected yell from the succoring Yamagulu. In a few moments he became aware of the voice of the forest: a continued twittering hum, murmurs like lachrymose sighs, tiny squeaks and whispers, mysterious rustles, a sudden chatter and a harsh squawk, then a faint hooting. He fired another two cartridges in rapid succession. The echoes appeared like derisive laughter. A sudden screech behind him made him start convulsively.
"!" he muttered as if afraid to speak too loud lest some one hear. "I need a dose of bromide."
The gloom appeared to be deepening with a hissing noise as if it were slithering through the leaves. Erupted unbidden into his mind an exact knowledge of African carnivora. He glanced questioningly toward a tree. Images of gorillas and snakes shuttered his eyes swiftly. He grew violently angry with himself at the discovery that he was searching for things in the darkness. Suddenly he cursed aloud, as if challenging the whole menagerie of animals, and started off swiftly straight ahead of him.
Fighting with an impulse to run, struggling to suppress imagination, the doctor plowed on, tearing far more desperately than he realized, through thickets of creepers, tacking beside swamp-holes. Firmly he persisted in telling himself his exact medical condition. The forest appeared to overhear his thoughts and to laugh in rustling, weeping, insidious chuckles. Against his will he pulled out his watch repeatedly to peer at it in the gloom. Then he tore on to stop a moment to listen for Yamagulu's cry, only to hear the forest tuning up for the nocturnal anthem.
The gloom was so dense now that he could not see ahead of him. The canopied roof seemed writhing with innumerable arms, groping down—down. He crashed hastily through a tangle of creepers which seemed to be trying to strangle him, splashed in water and saw the gleam of moonlight on water. He stopped, drowning mosquitoes in his own sweat, wondered where he was, hoped that it was the creek and shouted—
"Yama-gu-o-o-o-o-o."
"Oo-oo-oo-o!" answered him.
A violent squawk brought him face about with his rifle to his shoulder. The forest murmured and sighed; mosquitoes buzzed in clouds.
Yie-e! squealed a bird at him.
Muttering something about a tree, he blundered on along the swamp edge, fell over something and grabbed. His hand clutched the edge of a small canoe drawn up on the swamp grass. At first hope made him think that it was his canoe and that Yamagulu was in the forest looking for him. He gave a mighty yell. That Sobbing echo closed his mouth. A short investigation showed him that the canoe was smaller than his own. He glanced across the glimmer of water at the dense wall of the opposite jungle. Then suddenly like a caress he became aware of the regular pulse of a distant drum.
Desire carried the conviction that he had landed on the farther side of the creek from the village and that therefore by crossing he could make the camp by following the drum. He placed the rifle in, pushed the canoe hurriedly over the swamp up to his knees and clambered aboard. Pulling the canoe along the swamp-grass, he made deep water and began to paddle with his hands. A dark object near the other side, which he thought was a floating log, suddenly splashed and disappeared.
"Crocodiles!" he gasped and paddled furiously.
He landed without mishap, dragged the canoe up as far as possible and stopped to listen for the drum. He could hear nothing save the weep of the jungle. The curtain of the trees cut off the vibrations. He hesitated a moment before plunging into the dense shadows. The ground became firmer; it began to rise. On and on he struggled, scarcely conscious of the mosquitoes. Again he saw the moon and a few paces farther on stood on to the edge of a great glade. A glow caught his eager eyes. He hastened toward it. In the moonlight was the faint outline of a hut.
"Thank God!" he muttered. "The village!"
As he hurried on, he perceived a great fence around the hut in which was the glow of a fire at the base of an enormous tree. The doctor reached the fence and peered through. He put up his hand and wiped his eyes.
"My God!" he murmured. "Am I crazy?"
Seated beneath the great tree in a camp-chair in the moonlight was a bearded white man in full evening dress; an opera hat was tilted on his head; the firelight glowed upon the expanse of shirtfront.