Page:Harris Dickson--Old Reliable in Africa.djvu/188

 then set a guard upon me in the forest I heard no shots; there were none. The knife is more deadly, and the knife is silent. I heard a scream, just one, short, sharp—the shriek of poor Balthazar. It was not like Balthazar to cry aloud. I have always wondered what Yambio could have done to extort such a scream. Then fire came, bursting from every tukul and the quarters. At morn there was no army post, only the ashes of a place accurst. Yambio conducted me to the seacoast. Day by day, week by week, we journeyed in silence, and reached the shark-infested waters of the Bight of Benin. A Dutch vessel lay at anchor. In a small boat we passed the sharks, and he lifted me to the vessel's deck. There he said farewell, kissing his own hand after the fashion of his people. And then—then—for one instant Yambio stood erect, balancing himself upon the rail, and plunged headlong into the sea. A flurry of white, the rush of a shark's fin, a dash of red blood—e fineto!"

A stark white moon had sunk behind the house and only the stars looked down, stars that were used to looking down upon tragedies in Africa. Silence, silence except for that maddening click—click—click of the Nile wheels. Colonel Spottiswoode knew that oxen were trudging round and round, that water flowed, that the boy slept, that all things went on just the same. He glanced