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CHAPTER XI-A Shot from the Clouds

It is a remarkable fact that all this time Jim Braid had been sound asleep. Once inside the trunk of the hollow, shattered tree, he had found himself unable to overcome a feeling of drowsiness which by degrees completely got the better of him. Klein, on the other hand, had apparently received such a shock to his nervous system chat in spite of his extreme exhaustion he found it impossible to sleep. Also he had a dread of being left alone. He implored Harry, who had led him some way back into the forest, to remain at his side till dawn.

For the time being, they had nothing to fear from the German soldiers, who were at the bottom of the ravine and unable to reach them. Still, they could not continue their march, since without the guides they were lost and would not know which way to go. But so long as they remained where they were, there was always a chance that one, or both, of the brothers would return.

"Tell me," asked Urquhart, "how is it that I find you a prisoner in the hands of those who should be your friends?"

"It is a very simple story," said Peter Klein. "We left Dualla a few weeks ago. The party consisted of Captain von Hardenberg, our guide-an Arab sheikh-two native carriers, and myself. The Governor of Dualla wished von Hardenberg to join the force which is to oppose the British. Hardenberg was given an important command. But, since he had other business to attend to-which he himself considered of greater importance-in plain words, he deserted; and we endeavoured to penetrate the bush.

"For some days we journeyed without event. Then we discovered that we were tracked, and were obliged to fly for our lives.

"One night a shot was fired into our camp. And after that, day by day, we were harassed and tormented, until two nights ago a raid was made upon our bivouac. They came upon us from all sides at once. We were outnumbered by twenty to one. No course lay open to us but flight. The two natives went one way. They rushed into a large party of soldiers, and there is every reason to believe they laid down their lives. Von Hardenberg and the sheikh took to the hills, climbing the bare slope, and I think they managed to escape. As for myself, I fled downhill with a score of native soldiers at my heels.

"All yesterday I was pursued. I fled for my life across interminable valleys, across the hills, striving to reach the bush, where I knew I would be safe. Sometimes I found myself buried in the gloom of forests; at others I stood upon the edge of precipices so deep that the clouds were at my feet.

"Late last evening I was overtaken. They bound my hands behind my back and scourged me with a whip. They gave me to understand they would eventually put me to a traitor's death; but they thought more of von Hardenberg and Sheikh Bayram than they did of me. They were for ever asking me which way he had gone-just as if I could tell them what I did not know myself! When they brought me to the ravine, yonder, I was too fatigued and too disturbed in mind to sleep. And then you saved me at the eleventh hour. That is all my story."

Harry was silent for some moments.

"You have not told me," he said, "why you have come to this forsaken part of the world, or why von Hardenberg-who is my cousin-deserted from the Germans?"

Klein lowered his eyes. It seemed he was not incapable of feeling ashamed.

"The Sunstone," said he, quite quietly.

"My cousin has the Sunstone in his possession?"

"I have seen it," answered Klein. "He carries it upon his person. He never lets it out of his possession. He would not even let me touch it. He has had a special pocket made for it in the inside of his coat, on the left-hand side."

"You must be frank with me," said Harry.

"You saved my life," said the other.

"Then listen to the true story of the Sunstone. You doubtless know that my cousin stole it from my uncle, but you are perhaps ignorant of the fact that, to cover his own guilt, he wrongfully accused one who was innocent. I presume my cousin went to you and explained that, once he got to Maziriland with the Sunstone in his possession, he had acquired riches beyond all dreams. I suppose you agreed to go with him, to share and share alike? I suppose, also, that, in spite of the fact that our nations are at war, you consider the Sunstone of far greater importance than your Fatherland?"

"To my shame," said Peter Klein, "that is-or was-the truth. I sold my honour for gold long ago. I would not say that in Europe, in London or Berlin, but here we are in the very midst of death, and all things are different-or perhaps, we see all things with very different eyes."

"At least," said Harry, "you are honest now."

"I am a coward," the man confessed.

"You must see," Urquhart went on, "that you have no moral right to this money, even should the treasure be discovered. However, I have not come here to recover the treasure, so much as to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemies of my country. I am determined to capture the Sunstone, be the risk and danger what it may be."

Klein shook his head.

"He will not part with it," said he. "He is a desperate man."

"I will make him part with it," cried Harry, "once I run the rascal to earth."

"He is a desperate man," repeated the other. "He dare not return to Germany. He would be court-martialled, and probably shot. He will not part with the Sunstone at a lesser price than his life."

"I am sorry for him," said Harry, "because he is doubly a traitor. When the guest of the British nation he was to all intents and purposes a spy; he swindled you; and now, in the midst of war, he proves himself a traitor once again."

Peter Klein was silent, his thin fingers playing nervously. The strain of the past few days had seriously affected his health; he was suffering from a kind of St. Vitus's dance. He was never still for a moment.

"It is strange," said he, "that you think so much of the Sunstone. Long since I had forgotten all about it. I have now but one idea-to get back to Europe, if I can. I dare not return to my home, which is in Frankfort. I intend to end my days in Denmark."

It was then that somewhere in the forest, near at hand, a twig broke. Both sprang instantly to their feet.

A dark figure came suddenly out of the thickets, and Urquhart, with his finger upon the trigger of his revolver, was about to fire, when he was arrested by a voice.

"Is that you, Mr. Harry?"

It was the voice of Jim Braid.

"What is it, Jim?"

Braid came forward in the darkness. The moon was now low in the heavens. In the east, through the tree-tops, there was a steel-blue arc of light, heralding the approach of day. It was as if even the abundant vegetation of the jungle was itself awakening after sleep. When he was quite close to Harry, Braid took him by the arm.

"I have news for you," said he. "There's an uproar in the ravine. The Germans have discovered their prisoner has escaped."

"Here he is," said Harry, making a motion of the hand towards Peter Klein.

"Here! How did he get here?"

"There's no time for explanations now," said Harry.

"You're right, sir," answered Jim. "We're in danger if we stay!"

"We would be in greater danger still," said the other, "if we endeavoured to escape. After all, this is the last place they would think of searching. It would never occur to them that the prisoner had climbed up the side of the ravine."

There was the strongest common sense in this. Indeed, a few minutes later they had ample proof that Harry was perfectly right. Klein remained behind, whilst the two boys crawled back to the edge of the gorge and thence looked down into the bivouac.

The daylight was growing apace. Step by step the dawn mounted in the heavens, the shadows fled from the valleys, and the bush became alive with the songs of thousands of birds.

And then they witnessed a tragedy such as neither ever wished to see again. The native sentry, who had fallen asleep upon his post, was led with trembling knees and shaking lips before the major in command, who, after a few savage questions, hurled at the man like scraps of meat to a dog, sentenced him to be shot. And then and there the sentence was carried out before their eyes.

After that the major gathered his men together and divided them into two parties, evidently with the idea of searching both ends of the ravine. And now occurred one of the most strangely dramatic things of which we have to tell.

The commanding officer was giving final instructions to his officers and sergeants. He stood upon a large boulder. His subordinates were listening to his words with silent respect. He spoke in a husky, guttural voice, from time to time shivering as if he suffered from fever. Suddenly, he flung both hands above his head and uttered a piercing cry. Simultaneously, there came the sharp report of a rifle from beyond the ravine, and the German major fell forward on his face.

CHAPTER XII-The Mystery of the Running Man

On the instant the greatest disorder prevailed. As at a stroke the iron discipline of Potsdam vanished, and despite his uniform and training, and the curses of the German non-commissioned officers, the Cameroon native became the untutored savage once again.

In the panic of the moment the native soldiers took to their heels, evidently under the impression that they had been surprised by a British force. And, as they ran, shots rang out repeatedly from somewhere in the midst of the shrubbery that grew on the farther side of the gorge.

There was no question that the invisible man who commanded the ravine from his hiding-place upon the mountain-side was a marksman of repute. He fired in haste at running figures, and more than once his bullets found their mark. The German-trained soldiers vanished as by a conjuring-trick, disappearing round an angle of the gorge.

All this had happened in the space of a few seconds. Harry, taking his field-glasses from their case, scanned the mountain that overtopped the ravine, endeavouring to discover the form of the mysterious and terrible marksman who had created such alarm.

Nowhere was any living soul to be seen. The mountain-side was as silent as the grave. In the forest itself, hundreds of birds welcomed the dazzling sunlight with the gladness of their songs.

"Who was it?" asked Jim.

"It must have been Cortes or Fernando," answered Harry, "but I can see no sign of them. I expect one or the other will show himself in a minute."

They waited for several minutes. At last Urquhart could bear the suspense no longer. He lifted his hands to his mouth and let out a long-drawn shout.

His voice was echoed from the hills, which were now wrapped in clouds, but no voice came back in answer.

"I can't understand it," he exclaimed.

Braid admitted that the whole thing was something of a mystery, for which he could offer no sort of explanation.

And then, on a sudden, they saw a white-clad figure dashing over the rocks. It was a man who came down from the mountain-side, fleet and sure of foot. Upon his head he wore a turban. He was dressed in robes of flowing white, and in his hand he carried a rifle.

Harry directed his field-glasses upon this extraordinary figure. Beyond the fact that he was a tall man with a great black beard, he could see little or nothing, by reason of the prodigious pace at which the man was travelling. One thing, however, was perfectly certain: that this man-who apparently was the marksman who had so effectively scattered the Germans-was not one of the half-caste guides.

The running man came closer and closer, and the boys thought at first that he was about to approach to within speaking distance of themselves. But he turned off sharply to the left and disappeared in a belt of trees almost as suddenly as he had come.

They waited for some minutes, thinking that he would show up again; but that was the last they saw of him for some days, and it was not until then that they discovered who he was. He came and vanished like a thunderbolt that spreads destruction in its path. His rifle had spoken at dawn, and almost every shot had been the signal for the death of a human being. He came, and killed, and vanished. He was a three-day mystery of the wild hills of the German Cameroons.

Throughout that morning they knew not what to do. They were without guides; they had practically no provisions; and they had not the least idea where they were or in which direction they should go.

Soon after midday the two boys held a consultation, admitting Peter Klein to their counsels. But the ex-spy was no help to them; he was incapable of giving advice. They told him of the man they had seen that morning, the white figure on the mountain-side, but he only gaped and shook his head. It was as if the physical and moral strain he had undergone had actually made him mad.

Harry clung to hope as a drowning man lays hold upon a spar. He pointed out that they were helpless without their guides, and argued that it was wisest to remain where they were, in case either of the half-castes should repair to their meeting-place and find them gone.

That night they lit a fire in the forest, and seated around this they roasted some bananas-or rather plantains-they had found growing in the bush. After they had eaten these, Harry and Klein lay down to sleep, Jim Braid consenting to keep watch during the earlier hours of the night.

When the moon had risen, and a mighty stillness reigned in the forest, Jim Braid, who sat upon a boulder with his rifle upon his knees, heard on a sudden a short cough immediately behind him. He turned quickly in alarm.

Both Harry and Klein were sound asleep, and, seated on the ground immediately between them, calmly biting the end from a cheroot, was the figure of Fernando.

"You!" cried Braid, as soon as he could find his voice.

"Even myself," said the half-bred Spaniard. "Had I been a German, I could have killed all three of you."

"You were as silent as a snake," said the other.

The man chuckled.

"Before I was a trader," said he, "I was a hunter of big game."

It was then that Braid awakened Harry and told him the news. The boy was heartily glad to see the guide, whom he had certainly believed to be dead.

"And your brother?" he asked.

"My brother is safe," said the man. "You did wisely to remain here. You could never have got back to Calabar. The country swarms with German troops."

"Then what are we to do?" asked Harry.

"Go north," said Fernando. "Go north at every risk, to Maziriland. My brother has already struck out across the mountains. He and I know of a place where they will never find us. I have come here to take you there. Cortes awaits us. We must start at once. There is no time to lose."

CHAPTER XIII-The Black Dog

After they had explained to Fernando how it had come about that Peter Klein had joined their party, they set forward in a northerly direction, guided by the half-caste. They passed through the forest and crossed a wide valley. Thence they traversed a great ridge of hills, at the end of which they came to a mountain-top. This they began to ascend. There were many places so steep and stony that they were often obliged to go on all fours, and Klein, who was both weak and nervous, stood in constant danger of his life.

Finally they gained the summit. The top of the mountain was shaped like a bowl. It was evidently the crater of an extinct volcano. In one place an enormous rock had a cleft in it like a sword-cut, and through this Fernando led them. The cleft was so narrow that they were obliged to walk sideways, like crabs. After a time the passage opened, and they found themselves in a small arena in the centre of which a spring of water bubbled to the surface. After the heat of the forest the air was delightfully refreshing and cool.

When they had drunk their fill the guide took them to a place where a boulder as round as a football and about five times the size, lay upon the ground. This he rolled away, not without difficulty, and underneath it was a hole about three feet across, like one of those "blowholes" which can be seen in some of the caves of Cornwall or South Wales.

Fernando let himself down through the hole until he was hanging by his hands; then he dropped, and they heard him alight upon the ground about ten feet beneath. Braid followed next, and then Klein; Harry was the last to descend into the darkness.

Below, they found themselves in what was evidently a pocket in the side of the crater, a great rent caused by some volcanic disturbance in bygone times. The place was a kind of low and narrow gallery. The moonlight was admitted through several cracks in the walls.

At the farthermost end of the gallery a fire burnt, and at this a man was seated, whom they found to be Cortes, the younger of the two guides. When he saw them he rose to his feet without a word, walked deliberately to the wall, and thrust his head into one of the fissures.

The two boys watched him in amazement. The man-who, it will be remembered, was extremely slim and agile-wriggled like a snake. Gradually, it became manifest that he was squeezing himself through with the greatest difficulty. First his head, then his shoulders, then his body, and finally his legs and feet disappeared through the wall.

"Where is he going?" asked Harry, turning to Fernando.

"He has gone to replace the stone upon the hole through which we came. My brother is no fool. Life in the bush has taught us many things."

After a while the younger brother returned, squeezing himself again through the narrow opening. When he came to the firelight there were places upon his back and shoulders where his clothes had been torn, and where the rents were stained with blood. He did not seem to mind these wounds in the least, but laughed when Harry pointed them out.

"Here," said Fernando, "we are safe, and here we must stay for some days, until the Germans have left the district. They will never find us; no one could ever find us."

"We have food?" asked Harry.

Cortes pointed to a corner where lay the dead body of an antelope.

"I killed that this morning," said he. "Cooked, and in this cool climate, it will keep for days. Besides, my brother and I can hunt upon the mountain; but you and your two friends must remain here until the Germans have left the district. Then we can continue our march towards Maziriland."

In his heart Harry Urquhart felt more than gratitude towards these strange, gallant men. They were loyal, faithful, courageous, and full of infinite resource. They seemed to love adventure for its own sake, after the manner of the old Spanish explorers-the followers of Columbus-whose blood ran in their veins.

For three days the party remained in this singular hiding-place. Every morning the brothers went out to hunt. Harry and Braid did not mind the monotony of their temporary imprisonment, first, because they knew that this was their only place of safety, and, secondly, because they were glad enough of a few days' rest after all the exertions and privations they had undergone in the wilderness of the bush.

At midnight on the third night, something that was well-nigh miraculous occurred. All were asleep except Harry Urquhart, who was doing his turn on watch. He was walking to and fro along the gallery, and had reached a spot immediately underneath the hole which was covered by the stone, when suddenly a great shaft of moonlight shot down into the cave.

It was a moment before the boy realized what had happened-that the stone had been rolled away. Before he had time to give the alarm, to cry out, or bring his rifle to his shoulder, the stone was rolled back again, and all was dim and silent as before.

He ran to the fire and woke up his companions. All sprang to their feet. In a few breathless words Harry told them what had happened. Jim Braid seized a lighted brand from the fire, which was burning brightly, and carried this to the end of the gallery. Sure enough the stone was back in its place.

"Are you sure," he asked, "you were not dreaming?"

"I can swear to it," said Harry.

"What's that?" cried Braid, pointing to something white that lay upon the floor.

Harry Urquhart stooped, and to his amazement picked up a letter, written in German, which was addressed to:

"Peter Klein, Coward"

Here was a greater mystery than ever.

"This is apparently for you," said Harry, giving the letter to Klein. The whole thing was amazing.

Klein opened the envelope with shaking hands. Then he took it to the other end of the gallery, and, kneeling down, read it by the light of the fire.

Presently he returned and handed the letter to Fernando, who had a fair knowledge of the German language.

"Read that," said he. "How did it come here?" The man was as white as a ghost.

The writer had evidently been at some pains to disguise his handwriting. The letter was written in capital letters with a violet indelible pencil. The message, when translated, was as follows: -

"I have something of importance to say to you. Leave your hiding-place at once and alone."

"It is from von Hardenberg," said Klein. "He orders me to return to him-at once."

"Orders you! And you will go?"

"I have no option. I dare not refuse."

"Dare not!"

At that a groan escaped from the man's lips, and he threw out his hands with a gesture of despair.

"You do not understand," he cried. "In London that man was in my power, but in this wild country I am at his mercy; for there is one with him who is pitiless and terrible, who carries his crimes as a jester jangles his bells."

"Whom do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I mean the Arab sheikh. That man is a demon. There is nothing he would not do for money. There were times when I travelled with them when I thought that they meant to kill me. When I fell asleep at the camp-fire, I could see in my dreams the cruel, piercing eyes of the sheikh fixed upon me; they were like coals of living fire. Fool that I was to come here!" he broke out in despair. "Why did I not stay where I was safe?"

Fernando, turning to Harry, cut short the man's whining words.

"I must know the truth," said he. "How did that letter come here? Who wrote it?"

"It was written by my cousin," said Harry, "the man whom we follow; but whether he himself brought it here or the rascal who serves him, I am quite unable to say. At any rate," he added, with a smile, "your hiding-place has been discovered."

The half-caste returned to the fire, where he sat down, holding out his hands to warm them. He remained thus for some time, seemingly deep in thought; then he returned to Harry.

"Just now," said he, "I heard mention of a sheikh. Is the man's name by any chance Bayram; for he is a devil, in truth."

"That is the name of the man who is with von Hardenberg."

"I did not know," said the other, and remained silent for a long time.

"You did not know?" repeated Harry.

"When I agreed to come with you I did not know that the Black Dog of the Cameroons-as I and my brother call him-was to be our enemy. In all the hills and plains and forests of this huge, amazing continent, from the Sahara to Kilima-Njaro, from the Niger to the Nile, there is no man more greatly to be feared than the Black Dog of the Cameroons. He knows neither pity nor fear. There is hardly a valley in these mountains with which he is not acquainted. Small wonder he discovered our hiding-place! He is a foe who cannot be despised. Single-handed he could keep an army of natives at bay. Almost every cartridge in his bandolier, almost every bullet in the chamber of his rifle, means the life's blood of a human being. At one time he was the richest slave-trader in Africa. But I heard the English hunted him down, and that he was starving and penniless in London."

"It was he!" cried Harry, turning sharply to Braid. "He was the man we saw that morning on the mountain-side, who fired into the German bivouac at dawn."

"The sheikh was the man," said the guide. "You should have told me before."

"I blame myself," said Harry. "I know now that I can trust you and your brother with even more than life."

Fernando continued to speak in slow deliberate tones.

"If we are to come out of this alive," said he, "you will do well to take me into your counsels. Moreover, you must follow my advice. I and the Black Dog have an old score to pay. For myself, I am determined to be a debtor no longer." Then, without changing his voice, he turned calmly to Peter Klein. "You must go back to von Hardenberg," said he.

"No, no! not that!" Klein almost shrieked.

Fernando smiled grimly. He might have been one of his own hard-hearted ancestors, presiding at the Spanish Inquisition.

"I fear to go!" cried Klein, his terror stamped on every feature. "They will kill me! I know they will!"

Fernando laughed aloud.

"You will most certainly be killed," said he, "if you refuse to go. The Black Dog has marked you for his own."

At these words the spy fell down upon his knees at Harry Urquhart's feet.

"Keep me with you!" he pleaded. "Give me your protection! It is to the advantage of those men to kill me. They brought me here to do away with my life. They do not intend that I shall live to claim my share of the treasure, if they should ever find it."

Harry, somewhat roughly, told the man to get to his feet. Klein was an arrant coward. Harry felt little pity for the man; yet he could not find it in his heart to support Fernando's heartless verdict.

"You have little right to demand our sympathy," said he. "You are an enemy to my country and a spy; you are even a traitor to the rascals whom formerly you were pleased to serve. You have merited the most severe penalty which a state of war allows."

He was about to go on, when the man, losing all control of himself, seized him by both hands and begged him to be merciful.

"I renounce everything!" he cried. "I admit my guilt, and ask you to forgive me. I will give up all claim to a share in the treasure. I swear to be faithful to you, if you will only get me out of this alive."

"We do not think of the treasure," said Urquhart. "We are here to establish the innocence of an injured man and to checkmate von Hardenberg."

"It was he who stole the Sunstone," uttered Klein.

"I know that," said Harry. "That is why we have followed him. He may have the Black Dog of the Cameroons to aid him, but we have these two gallant fellows, who do not seem to know what it is to fear, to hesitate, or to give up hope."

He half turned, and with a motion of the hand indicated the two brothers, who were seated side by side.

Fernando slowly shook his head.

"As you will," said he. "You have yet to learn that the Cameroons is no place for clemency. I had a plan to trick the Black Dog. It was a cruel plan perhaps. I meant to sacrifice this cur like a kid tied to a stake to snare a tiger. However, let that pass. From to-night, I warn you fairly, we will be even in greater danger than before. We have an enemy to reckon with in the sheikh. At this very moment he waits on the hill-side for his victim." Fernando pointed to Peter Klein.

"He means to take my life!" cried Klein, who was now pacing to and fro, wringing his hands like one demented. "The moment they saw I was likely to be of no use to them, that I was a coward who could neither handle a rifle nor do a long day's march without fatigue, they schemed to do away with me. And what a place for a crime, these unknown, savage hills! In these parts a human life is of no more importance than that of a mosquito."

The man was overwrought, his nerves had been sadly shaken. He was on the verge of lunacy with panic and alarm.

And yet, what he said was obviously the truth. To von Hardenberg his presence was worse than useless, a mere encumbrance on the line of march. In all probability Fernando was right; the Black Dog waited on the hill-side to fall upon the poor, blind fool whom avarice had led so far from the land where he could spy and inform in safety.

The two guides had listened to this dialogue with evident interest and not a little amusement at the expense of Klein. It was Fernando who again broke in upon their talk.

"We will test the sheikh," said he. "We will soon find out his intentions."

At that he turned to his brother, and for some minutes the two spoke in Spanish. After a while it was Cortes who approached Klein and touched him on the arm.

"Get out of your clothes," said he. "I intend to wear them."

Peter Klein was glad enough of the chance of disguising his identity. Cortes put on the tattered white ducks, torn in a score of places by the thorn-trees in the bush, the pith helmet and the leather leggings, and then returned to the fire.

There, he loaded his revolver and the magazine of his Lee-Metford carbine. That done, without a word to his brother, he squeezed himself through the crack in the wall, and disappeared beyond it.