The Keepers of the Kings Peace | Page 4

you."
Bones smirked.
"Of course," he said, "you've overdone it a bit--women hate to be
disillusioned. What you ought to have done, sir, is to describe me as a
sort of ass--genial and all that sort of thing, but a commonplace sort of
ass."
Hamilton nodded.
"That's exactly what I've done, Bones," he said. " I told her how
Bosambo did you in the eye for twenty pounds, and how you fell into
the water looking for buried treasure, and how the Isisi tried to sell you
a flying crocodile and would have sold it too, if it hadn't been for my
timely arrival. I told her---- "
"I think you've said enough, sir." Bones was very red and very haughty.
"Far be it from me to resent your attitude or contradict your calumnies.
Miss Hamilton will see very little of me. An inflexible sense of duty
will keep me away from the frivolous circle of society, sir. Alert an'
sleepless--"
"Trenches," said Hamilton brutally.
Bones winced, regarded his superior for a moment with pain, saluted,
and turning on his heel, stalked away, followed by Ali Abid no less
pained.
He left at dawn the next morning, and both Sanders and Hamilton came

down to the concrete quay to see the Zaire start on her journey. Sanders
gave his final instructions--
"If the woman is upsetting the people, arrest her; if she has too big a
hold on them, arrest her; but if she is just amusing them, come back."
"And don't forget the 17th," said Hamilton.
"I may arrive a little late for that," said Bones gravely. "I don't wish to
be a skeleton at your jolly old festive board, dear old sportsman-- you
will excuse my absence to Miss Hamilton. I shall probably have a
headache and all that sort of thing."
He waved a sad farewell as the Zaire passed round the bend of the river,
and looked, as he desired to look, a melancholy figure with his huge
pipe in his mouth and his hands thrust dejectedly into his trousers
pockets.
Once out of sight he became is own jovial self.
"Lieutenant Ali," he said, "get out my log and put it in old Sanders'
cabin, make me a cup of tea and keep her jolly old head east, east by
north."
"Ay, ay, sir," said Ali in excellent English.
The "log which Bones kept was one of the secret documents which
never come under the eye of the superior authorities. There were such
entries as--
"Wind N.N.W. Sea calm. Hostile craft sighted on port bow, at 10.31
a.m. General Quarters sounded 10.32. Interrogated Captain of the
hostile craft and warned him not to fish in fairway. Sighted Cape
M'Gooboori 12.17, stopped for lunch and wood."
What though Cape M'Gooboori was the village of that name and the
"calm sea" was no more than the placid bosom of the Great River?
What though Bones's "hostile craft" was a dilapidated canoe, manned

by one aged and bewildered man of the Isisi engaged in spearing fish?
Bones saw all things through the rosy spectacles of adventurous youth
denied its proper share of experience.
At sunset the Zaire came gingerly through the shoals that run out from
the Isongo beach, and Bones went ashore to conduct his investigations.
It chanced that the evening had been chosen by M'lama, the witch, for
certain wonderful manifestations, and the village was almost deserted.
In a wood and in a place of green trees M'lama sat tossing her sheep
shanks, and a dense throng of solemn men and women squatted or sat
or tiptoed about her--leaving her a respectable space for her operations.
A bright fire crackled and glowed at her side, and into this, from time
to time, she thrust little sticks of plaited straw and drew them forth
blazing and spluttering until with a quick breath she extinguished the
flame and examined the grey ash.
"Listen, all people," she said, "and be silent, lest my great ju--ju strike
you dead. What man gave me this?"
"It was I, M'lama," said an eager woman, her face wrinkled with
apprehension as she held up her brown palm.
The witch peered forward at the speaker.
"O F'sela!" she chanted, "there is a man--child for thee who shall be
greater than chiefs; also you will suffer from a sickness which shall
make you mad."
"O ko!"
Half dismayed by the promise of her own fate; half exalted by the
career the witch had sketched for her unborn son, the woman stared
incredulously, fearfully at the swaying figure by the fire.
Again a plaited stick went into the fire, was withdrawn and blown out,
and the woman again prophesied.

And sometimes it was of honours and riches she spoke, and
sometimes--and more often--of death and disaster. Into this shuddering