The Ivory Trail | Page 3

not very far away the aromatic smell of a clove warehouse located us, not disagreeably, at the farther end of one of Sindbad's journeys, and the birds in the mango branches cried and were colorful with hues and notes of merry extravagance. Zanzibar is no parson's paradise--nor the center of much high society. It reeks of unsavory history as well as of spices. But it has its charms, and the Arabs love it.
It had Fred Oakes so interested that he had forgotten his concertina--his one possession saved from shipwreck, for which he had offered to fight the whole of Zanzibar one-handed rather than have it burned.
("Damnation! it has silver reeds--it's an English top-hole one--a wonder!")
So the doctors who are kind men in the main disinfected it twice, once on the French liner that picked us out of the Bundesrath's boat, and again in Zanzibar; and with the stench of lord-knew-what zealous chemical upon it he had let it lie unused while he picked up Kiswahili and talked by the hour to a toothless, wrinkled very black man with a touch of Arab in his breeding, and a deal of it in his brimstone vocabulary.
Presently Fred came over and joined us, dancing across the wide red floor with the skirts of his gown outspread like a ballet dancer's--ridiculous and perfectly aware of it.
"Monty, you're rich! We're all made men! We're all rich! Let's spend money! Let's send for catalogues and order things!"
Monty declined to take fire. It was I, latest to join the partnership and much the least affluent, who bit.
"If you love the Lord, explain!" said I.
"This old one-eyed lazaretto attendant is an ex-slave, ex-accomplice of Tippoo Tib!"
"And Tippoo Tib?" I asked.
"Ignorant fo'castle outcast!" (All that because I had made one voyage as foremast hand, and deserted rather than submit to more of it.) "Tippoo Tib is the Arab--is, mind you, my son, not was--the Arab who was made governor of half the Congo by H. M. Stanley and the rest of 'em. Tippoo Tib is the expert who used to bring the slave caravans to Zanzibar--bring 'em, send 'em, send for 'em--he owned 'em anyway. Tippoo Tib was the biggest ivory hunter and trader lived since old King Solomon! Tippoo Tib is here--in Zanzibar--to all intents and purposes a prisoner on parole--old as the hills--getting ready to die--and proud as the very ace of hell. So says One-eye!"
"So we're all rich?" suggested Monty.
"Of course we are! Listen! The British government took Tippoo's slaves away and busted his business. Made him come and live in this place, go to church on Sundays, and be good. Then they asked him what he'd done with his ivory. Asked him politely after putting him through that mill! One-eye here says Tippoo had a million tusks--a million!--safely buried! Government offered him ten per cent. of their cash value if he'd tell 'em where, and the old sport spat in their faces! Swears he'll die with the secret! One-eye vows Tippoo is the only one who knows. There were others, but Tippoo shot or poisoned 'em."
"So we're rich," smiled Yerkes.
"Of course we are! Consider this, America, and tell me if Standard Oil can beat it! One million tusks I I'm told--"
"By whom?"
"One-eye says--"
"You'll say 'Oh!' at me to a different tune, before I've done! One-eye says it never paid to carry a tusk weighing less than sixty pounds. Some tusks weigh two hundred--some even more--took four men to carry some of 'em! Call it an average weight of one hundred pounds and be on the safe side."
"Yes, let's play safe," agreed Monty seriously.
"One hundred million pounds of ivory!" said Fred, with a smack of his lips and the air of a man who could see the whole of it. "The present market price of new ivory is over ten shillings a pound on the spot. That'll all be very old stuff, worth at least double. But let's say ten shillings a pound and be on the safe side."
"Yes, let's!" laughed Yerkes.
"One thousand million--a billion shillings!" Fred announced. "Fifty million pounds!"
"Two hundred and fifty million dollars!" Yerkes calculated, beginning to take serious notice.
"But how are we to find it?" I objected.
"That's the point. Government 'ud hog the lot, but has hunted high and low and can't find it. So the offer stands ten per cent. to any one who does--ten per cent. of fifty million--lowest reckoning, mind you!--five million pounds! Half for Monty--two and a half million. A million for Yerkes, a million for me, and a half a million for you all according to contract! How d'you like it?"
"Well enough," I answered. "If its only the hundredth part true, I'm enthusiastic!"
"So now suit yourselves!" said Fred, collapsing with a sweep of his skirts into the nearest chair. "I've told you what One-eye says. These dusky