By now Jeekie was shouting something to the natives in an unknown tongue, which they seemed to understand well enough.  At any rate the flogging ceased, the two fellows who were inflicting it slunk away, and the other men ran towards them, shouting back as they came.

“All right, Major.  You please stop here one minute with my Lord, late Bart. of Bloody Hand.  Some of these chaps friends of mine, I meet them Old Calabar while we get ready to march last rains.  Now I have little talk with them and find out thing or two.”

Aylward began to bluster about interference with his servants and so forth.  Jeekie turned on him with a very ugly grin, and showing his white teeth, as was his fashion when he grew fierce.

“Beg pardon, Right Honourable Lord,” he said, or rather snarled, “you do what I tell you just to please Jeekie.  Jeekie no one in England, but Jeekie damn big Lord too out here, great medicine man, pal of Little Bonsa.  You remember Little Bonsa, eh!  These chaps think it great honour to meet Jeekie, so, Major, if he stir, please shoot him through head; Jeekie ’sponsible, not you.  Or if you not like do it, I come back and see to job myself and don’t think those fellows cry very much.”

There was something about Jeekie’s manner that frightened Aylward, who understood for the first time that beneath all the negro’s grotesque talk lay some dreadful, iron purpose, as courage lay under his affected cowardice and under his veneer of selfishness, fidelity.  At any rate he halted with Alan, who stood beside him, the revolver of which Aylward had been relieved by Jeekie, in his hand.  Meanwhile Jeekie, who held the rifle which he had reloaded, went on and met the natives about twenty yards away.

“We always disliked each other, Vernon, but I must say that I never thought a day would come when you proposed to murder me in my own camp,” said Aylward.

“Odd thing,” answered Alan, “but a very similar idea was in my mind.  I never thought, Lord Aylward, that however unscrupulous you might be—­financially—­a day would come when you would attempt to shoot down an unarmed man in an African forest.  Oh! don’t waste breath in lying; I saw you recognize me, aim, and fire, after which Jeekie would have had the other barrel, and who then would have remained to tell the story, Lord Aylward?”

Aylward made no answer, but Alan felt that if wishes could kill him he would not live long.  His eye fell upon a long, unmistakable mound of fresh earth, beneath a tree.  He calculated its length, and with a thrill of terror noticed that it was too small for a negro.

“Who is buried there?” he asked.

“Find out for yourself,” was the sneering answer.

“Don’t be afraid, Lord Aylward; I shall find out everything in time.”