After a while he heard a faint snap, followed by another, and then a third. Then there was a tw.a.n.ging sound, very soft, like the noise of a fiddle-string when thrummed by a finger. It was followed almost immediately by a shriek, as terrible and unearthly as anything that Max had ever heard. It was the dying scream of a wounded beast--one of the great tribe of cats.

Crouch got to his feet.

"Fans," said he. "What's more, they've got my leopard."

He made the remark in the same manner as a Londoner might point out a Putney 'bus; yet, at that time, the Fans were one of the most warlike of the cannibal tribes of Central Africa. They were reputed to be extremely hostile to Europeans, and that was about all that was known concerning them.

Edward Harden was fully as calm as his friend.

"We can't get back," said he. "It's either a palaver, or a fight."

"Come, then," said Crouch. "Let's see which it is."

At that he led the way, making better progress than before, since he no longer regarded the spoor of the wounded leopard.

Presently they came to a place where the jungle ceased abruptly. This was the edge of a swamp--a circular patch, about two hundred yards across, where nothing grew but a species of slender reed. Though Max had not known it, this was the very place for which the other two were looking. Backwoodsmen though they were, they had no desire to face a hostile tribe in jungle so dense that it would scarcely be possible to lift a rifle to the present.

The reeds grew in tufts capable of bearing the weight of a heavy man; but, in between, was a black, glutinous mud.

"If you fall into that," said Crouch, who still led the way, "you'll stick like glue, and you'll be eaten alive by leeches."

In the centre of the swamp the ground rose into a hillock, and here it was possible for them to stand side by side. They waited for several moments in absolute silence. And then a dark figure burst through the jungle, and a second later fell flat upon the ground.

"I was right," said Crouch. "That man was a Fan. We'll find out in a moment whether they mean to fight. I hope to goodness they don't find the canoes."

In the course of the next few minutes it became evident, even to Max, that they were surrounded. On all sides the branches and leaves of the undergrowth on the edge of the swamp were seen to move, and here and there the naked figure of a savage showed between the trees.

The Fans are still one of the dominant races of Central Africa. About the middle of the last century the tribe swept south-west from the equatorial regions, destroying the villages and ma.s.sacring the people of the more peaceful tribes towards the coast. The Fans have been proved to possess higher intelligence than the majority of the Central African races. Despite their pugnacious character, and the practice of cannibalism which is almost universal among them, they have been described as being bright, active and energetic Africans, including magnificent specimens of the human race. At this time, however, little was known concerning them, and that little, for the most part, was confined to Captain Crouch, who, on a previous occasion, had penetrated into the Hinterland of the Gabun.

Edward Harden and his friends were not left long in doubt as to whether or not the Fans intended to be hostile, for presently a large party of men advanced upon them from all sides at once. For the most part these warriors were armed with great shields and long spears, though a few carried bows and arrows. The Fan spear is a thing by itself. The head is attached but lightly to the shaft, so that when the warrior plunges his weapon into his victims, the spear-head remains in the wound.

Captain Crouch handed his rifle to Edward, and then stepped forward across the marsh to meet these would-be enemies. He was fully alive to their danger. He knew that with their firearms they could keep the savages at bay for some time, but in the end their ammunition would run out. He thought there was still a chance that the matter might be settled in an amicable manner.

"Palaver," said he, speaking in the language of the Fans. "Friends.

Trade-palaver Good."

The only answer he got was an arrow that shot past his ear, and disappeared in the mud He threw back his head and laughed.

"No good," he cried. "Trade-palaver friends."

A tall, thin savage, about six feet in height, approached by leaps and bounds, springing like an antelope from one tuft of gra.s.s to another.

His black face, with white, gleaming teeth, looked over the top of a large, oval shield. With a final spring, he landed on dry ground a few feet from where Crouch was standing. Then he raised his spear on high; but, before he had time to strike, Crouch's fist rang out upon his chin like a pistol-shot, and he went over backwards into the mud.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "CROUCH'S FIST RANG OUT UPON HIS CHIN LIKE A PISTOL-SHOT, AND HE WENT OVER BACKWARDS INTO THE MUD."]

There was a strange, sucking noise as the marsh swallowed him to the chin. For some moments he floundered hopelessly, his two hands grasping in the air. He laid hold of tufts of gra.s.s, and pulled them up by the roots. Then Crouch bent down, gripped both his hands, and with a great effort dragged him on to terra firma.

His black skin was plastered with a blacker mud, and on almost every inch of his body, from his neck to his feet, a large water-leech was glued like an enormous slug. The man was already weak from loss of blood. Had he remained in the marsh a minute longer, there is no doubt he would have fainted. Crouch took a knife from his pocket, and, talking all the time, as a nursemaid talks to a naughty child, one by one he tore the leeches from the man's body, and threw them back into the marsh.

The others, who had drawn closer, remained at a safe distance. It seems they were undecided how to act, since this man was their leader, and they were accustomed to receive their orders from him. It is impossible to say what would have happened, had not Crouch taken charge of the situation. He asked the man where his village was, and the fellow pointed to the east.

"Yonder," said he; "in the hills."

"Lead on," said Crouch. "We're coming home with you, for a cup of tea and a talk."

For a moment the man was too stupefied to answer. He had never expected this kind of reception from an individual who could have walked under his outstretched arm. What surprised him most of all was Crouch's absolute self-confidence. The Negro and Bantu races are all alike in this: they are extraordinarily simple-minded and impressionable. The Fan chieftain looked at Crouch, and then dropped his eyes. When he lifted them, a broad grin had extended across his face.

"Good," said he. "My village. Palaver. You come."

Crouch turned and winked at Max, and then followed the chief towards the jungle.

CHAPTER III--THE WHITE WIZARD

When both parties were gathered together on the edge of the marsh, Max felt strangely uncomfortable. Both Crouch and Edward seemed thoroughly at home, and the former was talking to the chief as if he had found an old friend whom he had not seen for several years. Putting aside the strangeness of his surroundings, Max was not able to rid his mind of the thought that these men were cannibals. He looked at them in disgust.

There was nothing in particular to distinguish them from the other races he had seen upon the coast, except, perhaps, they were of finer physique and had better foreheads. It was the idea which was revolting. In the country of the Fans there are no slaves, no prisoners, and no cemeteries; a fact which speaks for itself.

Crouch and the chief, whose name was M'Wane, led the way through the jungle. They came presently to the body of the wounded leopard, which lay with an arrow in its heart. It was the "tw.a.n.g" of the bowstring that Max had heard in the jungle. And now took place an incident that argued well for the future.

M'Wane protested that the leopard belonged to Crouch, since the Englishman had drawn first blood. This was the law of his tribe.

Crouch, on the other hand, maintained that the law of his tribe was that the game was the property of the killer. The chief wanted the leopard-skin, and it required little persuasion to make him accept it, which he was clearly delighted to do.

Crouch skinned the leopard himself, and presented the skin to M'Wane.

And then the whole party set forth again, and soon came to a track along which progress was easy.

It was approaching nightfall when they reached the extremity of the forest, and came upon a great range of hills which, standing clear of the mist that hung in the river valley, caught the full glory of the setting sun. Upon the upper slopes of the hills was a village of two rows of huts, and at each end of the streets thus formed was a guard-house, where a sentry stood on duty. M'Wane's hut was larger than the others, and it was into this that the Europeans were conducted. In the centre of the floor was a fire, and hanging from several places in the roof were long sticks with hooks on them, the hooks having been made by cutting off branching twigs. From these hooks depended the scant articles of the chief's wardrobe and several fetish charms.

For two hours Crouch and the chief talked, and it was during that conversation that there came to light the most extraordinary episode of which we have to tell. From that moment, and for many weeks afterwards, it was a mystery that they were wholly unable to solve. Both Crouch and Harden knew the savage nature too well to believe that M'Wane lied.

Though his story was vague, and overshadowed by the superst.i.tions that darken the minds of the fetish worshippers, there was no doubt that it was based upon fact. As the chief talked, Crouch translated to his friends.

The chief first asked what they were doing on the Kasai, and Crouch answered that they were there for big game--for rhinoceros, buffalo and leopard. The chief answered that there was certainly much game on the Kasai, but there was more on the "Hidden River." That was the first time they ever heard the name.

Crouch asked why it was called the "Hidden River"; and M'Wane answered that it would be impossible for any one to find the mouth. On the southern bank of the Kasai, about two days up-stream, there was a large mangrove swamp, and it was beyond this that the "Hidden River" lay.

"Can you pa.s.s through the swamp in a canoe?" asked Crouch.

The chief shook his head, and said that a canoe could pa.s.s the mangrove swamp, but it could not penetrate far up the river, because of a great waterfall, where the water fell hundreds of feet between huge pillars of rock.

"One can carry a canoe," said Crouch.

"Perhaps," said M'Wane, as if in doubt. "But, of those that pa.s.s the cataract, none come back alive."

"Why?" asked Crouch.

"Because of the Fire-G.o.ds that haunt the river. The Fire-G.o.ds are feared from the seacoast to the Lakes."