The Keepers of the Kings Peace | Page 5

group strode Bones, very finely clad in white raiment yet limp withal,
for the night was close and the way had been long and rough.
The sitters scrambled to their feet, their knuckles at their teeth, for this
was a moment of great embarrassment.
"Oh M'lama," said Bones agreeably, and spoke in the soft dialect of the
Isisi by--the--river, " prophesy for me!"
She looked up sullenly, divining trouble for herself.
"Lord," she said, with a certain smooth venom, "there is a great
sickness for you--and behold you will go far away and die, and none
shall miss you."
Bones went very red, shook an indignant forefinger at the offending
prophetess.
"You're a wicked old storyteller!" he stammered. "You're depressin' the
people--you naughty girl! I hate you--I simply loathe you!"
As he spoke in English she was not impressed.
"Goin' about the country puttin' people off their grub, by Jove!" he
stormed; "tellin' stories... oh dash it, I shall have to be awfully severe
with you!"
Severe he was, for he arrested her, to the relief of her audience, who
waited long enough to discover whether or not her ju--ju would strike
him dead, and being obviously disappointed by her failure to provide
this spectacle, melted away.
Close to the gangway of the Zaire she persuaded one of her Houssa
guard to release his hold. She persuaded him by the simple expedient of
burying her sharp white teeth in the fleshy part of his arm--and bolted.
They captured her half mad with panic and fear of her unknown fate,

and brought her to the boat.
Bones, fussing about the struggling group, dancing with excitement,
was honourably wounded by the chance contact of his nose with a wild
and whirling fist.
"Put her in the store cabin!" he commanded breathlessly. "Oh, what a
wicked woman!"
In the morning as the boat got under way Ali came to him with a
distressing story.
"Your Excellency will be pained to hear," he said, "that the female
prisoner has eradicated her costume."
"Eradicated...?" repeated the puzzled Bones, gently touching the patch
of sticking--plaster on his nose.
"In the night," explained this former slave of science, "the subject has
developed symptoms of mania, and has entirely dispensed with her
clothes --to wit, by destruction."
"She's torn up her clothes?" gasped Bones, his hair rising, and Ali
nodded.
Now, the dress of a native woman varies according to the degree in
which she falls under missionary influence. Isongo was well within the
sphere of the River Mission, and so M'lama's costume consisted of a
tight-- fitting piece of print which wound round and round the body in
the manner of a kilt, covering the figure from armpit to feet.
Bones went to the open window of the prison cabin, and steadfastly
averting his gaze, called--
"M'lama!"
No reply came, and he called again.
"M'lama," he said gently, in the river dialect, "what shall Sandi say to

this evil that you do?"
There was no reply, only a snuffling sound of woe.
"Oh, ai!" sobbed the voice.
"M'lama, presently we shall come to the Mission house where the
God--men are, and I will bring you clothing--these you will put on
you," said Bones, still staring blankly over the side of the ship at the
waters which foamed past her low hull; for if my lord Sandi see you as
I see you --I mean as I wouldn't for the world see you, you improper
person," he corrected himself hastily in English--"if my lord Sandi saw
you, he would feel great shame. Also," he added, as a horrible thought
made him go cold all over, "also the lady who comes to my lord
Militini--oh lor!"
These last two words were in English.
Fortunately there was a Jesuit settlement near by, and here Bones
stopped and interviewed the stout and genial priest in charge.
"It's curious how they all do it," reflected the priest, as he led the way to
his storehouse. "I've known 'em to tear up their clothes in an East End
police cell--white folk, the same as you and I."
He rummaged in a big box and produced certain garments.
"My last consignment from a well--meaning London congregation," he
smiled, and flung out a heap of dresses, hats, stockings and shoes. "If
they'd sent a roll or two of print I might have used them--but strong
religious convictions do not entirely harmonize with a last year's Paris
model."
Bones, flushed and unhappy, grabbed an armful of clothing, and
showering the chuckling priest with an incoherent medley of apology
and thanks, hurried back to the Zaire.
"Behold, M'lama," he said, as he thrust his loot through the window of

the little deck--house, "there are many grand things such as great ladies
wear--now you shall appear before Sandi beautiful to see."