Long Odds by Harold Bindloss
CHAPTER IX
ANITA BECOMES A RESPONSIBILITY
It was two weeks later when Ormsgill reached the Mission with hisboys, footsore, ragged, and worn with travel. He had avoided Anita'shammock as far as possible on the way, and it was with a certainrelief he saw her safely installed in one of the dusky adherents'huts. Then he arrayed himself in whole, clean clothes, and when he hadeaten sat on the shadowy veranda talking with his host, a somewhatludicrous figure since Father Tiebout's garments were several sizestoo small for him. It was then the hottest part of the afternoon. Theperspiration trickled down their faces, and the little priest blinkedwhen he met the blazing sunlight with dazzled eyes.
They spoke in disjointed sentences, sometimes mixing words of threelanguages, but it was significant that although neither expressedhimself with clearness his companion seldom failed in comprehension,for priest and rash adventurer were in curious sympathy. Both of themhad borne heat, and fever, and bodily pain, and proved their couragein a land where the white man often sinks into limp dejection. Eachhad also in his own way done what he could for the oppressed, and had,perhaps, accomplished a little here and there. It was, however,inevitable that their conversation should turn upon the girl Anita.
"I had not heard of the raid up yonder," said the priest. "I am notsure that I am sorry. After all, one hears enough. Still, it no doubttook place. Herrero's companion would have no motive for deceivingyou. The question is what is to be done with the woman. To be frank,she cannot stay here."
"Why?" and Ormsgill's face grew a trifle grave, for Anita was rapidlybecoming a cause of anxiety to him.
His companion made a little gesture. "She would prove an apple ofdiscord; she is too pretty. One must not expect too much of humannature, and one wife alone is permitted. There is not now a boy shecould marry. In the second place, Herrero would probably attempt toseize her here."
It occurred to Ormsgill that Anita might not be anxious or evenwilling to marry anybody. In fact, he felt it would be an almostastonishing thing if she was. Still, he realized with a vagueuneasiness that it is, after all, very often difficult to foresee thecourse a woman would adopt.
"Then," he said, "I don't know what can be done with her."
"You are not one who would leave a task half finished?"
"At least, I cannot turn this woman adrift."
Father Tiebout wrinkled his brows. "There is, I think, only one placewhere she would be safe, and that is on the coast. There are alsofriends of mine who could be trusted to take good care of her in thecity, and she could be sent down from the San Thome Mission. It is,however, a long journey."
"If it is necessary," said Ormsgill, "I must make it."
His companion's little gesture seemed to indicate that he believed itwas, and Ormsgill dismissed the subject with a smile.
"In that case I will start again to-morrow," he said.
He set out in the early morning, taking two letters from FatherTiebout, one for the man who directed the San Thome Mission, and oneto be sent on from there to certain friends of his host's on thecoast, and it was two days later when he lay a little apart from hiscarriers in a glade in the bush. Blazing sunshine beat down into it.There was an overpowering heat, and a deep stillness pervaded theencircling forest, for the beasts had slunk into their darkest lairsin the burning afternoon. The snapping of the fire made it the moreperceptible, and Ormsgill could see the blue smoke curl up above abelt of grass behind which the boys were cooking a meal. Anita, whowas with them, would, he knew, bring him his portion, and in themeanwhile he felt it was advisable to keep away from her. She hadtalked very little with him during the last two days, but that was hisfault, and he fancied that she failed to understand his reticence. Infact, the signs of favor she had once or twice shown him had renderedhim a little uncomfortable.
For all that, his face relaxed into a little dry smile as he wonderedwhat the very formal Mrs. Ratcliffe would think of that journey. Heremembered that he had always been more or less of a trial to hisconventional friends even before he had been dismissed from hiscountry's service for an offense he had not committed, but he was oneof the men who do not greatly trouble themselves about beingmisunderstood. It is a misfortune which those who undertake anythingworth doing have usually to bear with.
He was, however, a little drowsy, for they had started at sunrise andmarched a long way since then. There was only one hammock, whichsomewhat to the carriers' astonishment Anita had occupied, for thiswas distinctly at variance with the customs of a country in whichnobody concerns himself about the comfort of a native woman. It wouldalso be an hour before the boys went on again, and he stretchedhimself out among the grass wearily, but, for all that, with a littlesigh of content. He had found the restraints of civilization galling,and the untrammeled life of the wilderness appealed to him. The needof constant vigilance, and the recognition of the hazards he hadexposed himself to, had a bracing effect. It roused the combativenessthat was in his nature, and left him intent, strung up, and resolute.The task he had saddled himself with had become more engrossing sinceit promised to be difficult.
He did not think he slept, for he was conscious of the pungent smellof the wood smoke all the time, but at last he roused himself toattention suddenly, and looked about him with dazzled eyes. He couldsee the faint blue vapor hanging about the trunks, and hear the boys'low voices, but except for that the bush was very still. Yet he wascertainly leaning on one elbow with every sense strung up, and he knewthat there must be some cause for it. What had roused him he could nottell, but he had, perhaps, lived long enough in that land to acquire alittle of the bushman's unreasoning recognition of an approachingperil. There was, he knew, something that menaced him not far away.
For a moment or two his heart beat faster than usual, and theperspiration trickled down his set face, and then laying a restraintupon himself he rose a trifle higher, and swept his eyes steadilyround the glade. There was one spot where it seemed to him that theouter leaves of a screen of creepers moved. He did not waste a momentin watching them, but letting his arm fall under him rolled overamidst the grass which covered him, for it was evidently advisable totake precautions promptly. Just as the crackling stems closed abouthim there was a pale flash and a detonation, and a puff of smokefloated out from the creepers.
Ormsgill was on his feet in another moment, and running his hardestplunged into them, but when he had smashed through the tangled, thornystems there was nobody there, and except for the clamor of the boysthe bush was very still. Still, this was very much what he hadexpected, and looking round he saw the print of naked toes and a kneein the damp soil before his eyes rested on the brass shell of a spentcartridge. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand,recognizing it as one made for a heavy, single-shot rifle of oldfashioned type, which had its significance for him. He fancied hiswould-be assassin had been lent the rifle by a white man who in allprobability knew what he meant to do with it. Then he glanced at thecartridge again, and noticed a slight outward bending of its rim.There was a portentous little glint in his eyes as he slipped it intohis pocket.
"Some day I may come across the man who owns that rifle," he said.
He stood still for another few moments, grim in face, with his jacketrent, and a little trickle of blood running from one hand which athorn had gashed. Every nerve in him tingled with fierce anger, but heknew that the man who runs counter to established customs has usuallymore than misconception to face in Africa, especially if hesympathizes with the oppressed, and he was one who could wait. Thenthe boys came floundering through the undergrowth, one or two withheavy matchets, and one or two with long flintlock guns, but Ormsgill,who recognized that pursuit would certainly prove futile even if theywere willing to undertake it, drove them back to the fire again.
"We will start when I have eaten," was all he said.
Anita brought him his meal, and stood watching him curiously while heate, but Ormsgill said nothing, and in half an hour they went on againand spent the rest of that day and
"Father Tiebout vouches for you--and your purpose," he said, watchinghis companion with doubt in his eyes.
"If he had not done so I should probably not have been welcome?" saidOrmsgill, smiling.
The priest made a little gesture which seemed to imply that he did notintend to discuss that point. "The girl would be safe with the peoplehe mentions. They are good Catholics."
"I am not sure that is quite sufficient in itself," said Ormsgillreflectively. "Still, Father Tiebout would scarcely have suggestedsending her to them unless he had felt reasonably certain that theywould show her kindness."
His companion's face hardened. "They are people of blameless lives.There are, perhaps, two or three such in that city. You could countupon the woman receiving kindness from them, but one would have youquite clear about the fact that my recommendation is necessary. It is,of course, in my power to withhold it, and if it is given you willundertake not to claim the woman again?"
Ormsgill looked at him with a little smile. "I have no wish to claimher, though I have only that assurance to offer you, and I must tellyou that I am going to the coast. There are, however, one or twoconditions. She must be treated well, and paid for her services."
"That would be arranged. It is convenient that she should understandwhat would be required of her. I will send for her."
Ormsgill made a sign of concurrence, and in another five minutes Anitastood before them, slight and lithe in form, and very comely, but withapprehension and anxiety in her brown face. The priest spoke to herconcisely in a coldly even voice, and it was evident that the coursehe mentioned was one she had no wish to take. Then he turned from herto Ormsgill as she stretched out her hands with a little gesture ofappeal towards the latter.
"It is your will that I should go away and live with these people?"she said.
Ormsgill knew that the priest was watching him, and that there wasonly one answer, but he shrank from uttering it. The girl's eyes werebeseeching, and she looked curiously forlorn. She was a castawaywithout kindred or country, one who had lived the untrammeled life ofthe bush, and he feared that she would find the restraints of the cityintolerably galling.
"It is," he said gravely.
The girl stood very still a moment or two looking at him, and Ormsgillfelt the blood creep into his face. He was, in all probability, theonly man who had ever shown her kindness, and he recognized that shetoo had misunderstood his motives and regarded him as rather more thanher rescuer. Then as he made no sign she flung out her hands again,hopelessly this time, and slowly straightened herself.
"I go," she said simply and turned away from them.
Ormsgill watched her cross the compound, a forlorn object, with thewhite cotton robe that flowed about her gleaming in the dazzlingsunlight, and then turn for a moment in the shadowy entrance of apalm-thatched hut. He was stirred with a vague compassion, but puttinga firm restraint upon himself he sat still, and the girl turningsuddenly once more vanished into the dark gap. It also happened thathe never met her again.
"One's powers are limited, Father. After all, there is not much onecan do for another," he said.
The priest looked hard at him, and then made a little grave gesture."It is something if one can ease for a moment another's burden. Ihave, it seems, to ask your pardon for a misconception that was,perhaps, not altogether an unnatural one, Senor."
Ormsgill saw little more of him during the day, and started for thecoast early next morning. He had only accomplished half his purpose,and that in some respects the easier half, but it was necessary forhim to procure further supplies and communicate with Desmond. Beforehe started, however, he sent home most of the boys Father Tiebout hadobtained for him, keeping only two or three of them, for these andthe others he had brought up with him could, he fancied, be reliedupon. They were thick-lipped, wooly-haired heathen, stupid in allmatters beyond their acquaintance, but after the first few weeks theyhad, at least, done his bidding unquestioningly.
This quiet white man with the lined face had never used the stick onone of them, and did not, so far as they were aware, even carry apistol. When they slept at a bush village or obtained provisions therehe made the headman a due return before he went away, which was notthe invariable custom of other white men they had traveled with. Infact, they looked upon him as somewhat of an anachronism in thatcountry, but since the one attempt a few of them had made to disregardhis authority had signally failed they obeyed him, and little bylittle became sensible of a curious confidence in him. What he said hedid, and, what was rather more to the purpose, when he told them thata certain course was expected from them they usually adopted it, evenwhen it was far from coinciding with their wishes.
There are a few men of Ormsgill's kind and one or two women who havemade adventurous journeys in the shadowy land unarmed, and carriedaway with them the dusky tribesmen's good will, while others havefound it necessary to march with a band of hired swashbucklers andmark their trail with burnt villages and cartridge shells. As usual, agood deal depended upon how they set about it.