"Good, many of them?"

"Yes, many."

Wrenshaw took his gla.s.ses and scanned the further edge of the swamp.

Yes, there they came, in single file. He smiled as he noted the twistings of the secret path which they followed. On they came, a thin black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. Soon the head of the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not cease.

Wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse pistol on his camp table. Then he pushed the table into the patrol tent and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. In this position he had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity arose; in the meantime they were out of sight.

Although he had been expecting for some time to see the first Barushu emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. The natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file.

By this time it was quite light.

Wrenshaw took up his gla.s.ses again and examined his visitors. They were an ugly looking lot and quite naked. He presently became aware that there was something strange about them; what was it? Oh, of course, contrary to their custom, they carried no a.s.segais. Well, that, at any rate, was a good sign.

Then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. Marking time, obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. On second thoughts Wrenshaw rejected that explanation. He kept his gla.s.ses fixed on the foremost man. The fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. He shifted his gla.s.ses. By Jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or stiff in the right leg.

It was the gunbearer who solved the mystery.

"Morena."

"Well?"

"Why do the Barushu carry their a.s.segais in their toes to-day?"

"Why, indeed?"

So the devils meant trouble after all. Stalking him, were they? He would make some of 'em smart for this.

The white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy on the table. He glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder like a miniature notice-board.

He looked at the dull-brained cook and felt sorry for him. His interpreter, who was standing, appeared to be feeling faint. The gunbearer was quite unperturbed.

Close to a large dead tree, which stood alone in the plain about a hundred yards from where Wrenshaw was sitting, the leader halted and the Barushu began to bunch into knots, talking quietly. Wrenshaw didn't like the look of things. Something must be done, and done quickly. He must make the first move, and lose no time about it.

"Go," he said to the interpreter, "and tell the Barushu that they may pile their a.s.segais against that tree, and after that they may come forward and talk to me."

"Morena, I am afraid."

"So it seems, but what's the matter with your hands, with your coat?"

The interpreter was terrified, and, which was worse, showed it. He fiddled with the b.u.t.tons of his coat, doing them up, undoing them, and again doing them up. His pale, yellow face had become greenish, his eyes were rolling, and he seemed unable to stand still.

This would never do. Even if the Barushu meant no mischief, such an exhibition of fear wasn't good for them.

"Pick up that log," said Wrenshaw, pointing to a huge piece of wood collected overnight for the fire, "and hold it in your arms."

The frightened man obeyed, he held the log as a woman does a baby.

Wrenshaw turned to the gunbearer, "You go and tell them to stack their a.s.segais and come forward to talk. Don't go too near them, shout from halfway. I have my rifle ready."

If the Barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get in a few shots before the end came.

The gunbearer stepped forward. The Barushu watched his approach. A single man and unarmed. They could see that the white man was alone save for a Government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account.

Then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could two men do against so many? What was the trap? No, let this fellow come forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do.

Halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice that all could hear. Then he repeated it. No one heard his voice the third time, although he shouted l.u.s.tily, for the Barushu broke into peals of laughter. "Oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. Well, well, better do as we are told, put our a.s.segais against the tree and hear what he is going to say to us. But it would have been very funny."

Each man lifted his right foot, and removing his a.s.segai from between his toes placed it against the dead tree.

At length all the Barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the imperturbable gunbearer. At a signal from Nanzela, who sat slightly in advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in greeting to the chief official of the District.

So far, so good. Normal relations had been established. The usual formal inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered.

"Come nearer, Nanzela, and sit here," said Wrenshaw. "I wish to speak to you."

Nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down.

"The time has come when all men pay the tax to the Government. Have you had warning of it?"

"I have."

"All the people are paying the tax willingly and well."

Nanzela made no reply, but gazed at the speaker with an expression of indifference.

Wrenshaw put his hand carelessly on the b.u.t.t of his rifle and resumed.

"There are but two paths for a man to travel, the one is towards peace, and the other to trouble, war."

Nanzela blinked. He had not been able to see the white man's rifle from where he sat until called to come closer, nor had he noticed it before Wrenshaw's careless gesture drew his attention to it. His arms and those of his people were piled against the tree, and so, for the moment, out of reach. The white man's hand was on his rifle. All white men were good shots, and Wrenshaw had a reputation for being better than most. If he chose the wrong path now he would be the first to suffer. It would not be wise to run risks.

"It is only a foolish man who seeks trouble."

"Exactly," said Wrenshaw, "that is why all men are paying willingly and in full. I see you have your purse on your arm and have come to pay your tax." And again his hand caressed the b.u.t.t of his rifle.

Nanzela unbuckled an armlet which held his money.

Turning to the interpreter Wrenshaw told him to put down the log, which he was still nursing, and get a book of tax receipt forms from the pack-saddle.

Nanzela shook half-a-sovereign from his purse.

The official made out a receipt for ten shillings, which he gave in exchange for the money. Then, raising his voice, he said: "Every man who has paid the tax must carry his tax-paper in a stick so that all may see that he has paid willingly and in full."

The gunbearer cut a reed, slit it a few inches down its length, and offered it to Nanzela. The Chief slipped his tax-paper into the slit and bound the top with a shred of bark.

How simple it all was! Now man after man came forward, paid his tax, and received in exchange a small square of coloured paper, which he slipped into a split reed, making it fast with a shred of bark. Their Chief had paid, they naturally followed his example.

Wrenshaw had only one book of receipts with him; he had thrown it into the pack-saddle at the last moment. The book held one hundred forms, and these he had now used.