Evening Star Newspaper, April 21, 1929, Page 92

- By Mary Hastings Bradley T HIL LOVETT stood before his tent and stared down the clear- ing at the village. It was vivid in the brilliant sunshine; the peaked huts of grass shone in startling gold relief against the dark geen of the banana groves crowding tween them and the abrupt wall of the forest." Except for a few stray chickens and a tethered goat the clear- ing between the huts was empty, for the entire population of the place was massed just out of sight at the palaver- house down the slope. He could hear the drums. . . . He had heard them for two days now through the forest, throbbing, throb- bing. He believed his men had led him out of the way to reach this village in answer to the calling drums. And now those porters of his were feigning sick, refusing to go on. He said to himself anxiously that he would give a hundred pounds for some one with a knowledge of Africa, this Africa, to talk to. ‘This was no Africa that he had ever known. He was familiar only with the British colony of well or‘nnbed posts and drilling soldiers, of telephones and transport, with little motor cars bounc- ing over the plains and motor bikes whizzing along roads, with natives tid- ily organized, either on reservations or wearing number disks on their submis- sive necks. This was the Kongo, and a wild, un- touched part of the Kongo, out of reach, out of knowledge. He was deep in forest that he had never seen—andy it got his wind up, he said frankly to himself. Something was wrong. Something was going on. . . . Those men of his who pretended to be too sick to march were down at the end of the village among the naked throng swaying before those drums. What was it all about? He had asked and been answered with apparent frankness. A girl—the chief's daughter —had died. Now her ghost was to die. Some sort of religious ceremony, he sup- posed. How long would it last? Sup- pose his porters refused to leave? He had no real hold over them; they were :rfld savages from a village farther ack. He was & fool ever to have taken on this safari. He was no white hunter by profession, like his friend Persee, for whom he was acting. He had taken this on a bit for friendship, a bit for the money, for these two Americans with him had offered a good price for their fancy in trips, and a bit for the adventure. A planter’s life grows stale after the excitement of war. He ought to have known enough not to go into the Kongo. But it was the Kongo they had wanted—not the safe, organized Kongo about Ruchuru that they could have reached easily tromi Kabale. No, they must come on the| old poacher’s route across the Semliki Valley into the forest, skirting unknown country west of Lake Edward. Ignorant as babes, that young brother and sister! Eager to see real wilds and real savages. He rather liked that in them; he himself was fed up with na-| tives in calico, and he was grateful to the Americans for not yearning for big game. Savages had seemed easler to handle than elephants. Now he was not so sure. o E wished he knew what this village was up to. He didn’t relish the thought of getting hung up for days between these walls of forest. The for- est was getting on his nerves. It had seemed heavenly when they reached it, after the steaming heat of the Semliki Valley. Dim and dark it was, full of silvery green light, with orchids flashing out from the damp greenery, with elephants squashing ahead of them down the muddy trails and monkeys barking down unseen from the branches of those incredibly high trees. Lovely enough, if all you had to do was to admire its loveliness—like his Americans. But _he had to get the caravan through, to find men for the loads, then food for the men. Every step was head- porterage: there were beasts of burden. They could not come on the old route, for the tsetse fly was there now; so they had made a zigzag circuit on na- tive trails from village to village. He was sure that this village was not on the line of march, but the men had in- sisted. Porter trouble—unending, everlasting porter trouble. No trained men. Just any men he could get to carry—com- ing in reluctantly and running away nights. And now what sort of “ngsma” had he run into—this ghost-dying? There was nothing to worry over, of course, except possible delay, but he did hate to be let down before those two Ameri- cans. He felt so responsible. And he wasn't sure how to handle those wild natives. . . . He kept thinking of those ghastly bones he had seen in the banana trees. “Capt. Lovett!” Out of the tent next to him came first a bright head, then a slim, khaki- clad figure. “Your helmet, please.” “Oh. certainly! I only thought, per- haps, here in the green forest—" Miss Bryce put on her helmet with the air of one amiably gratifying a whim on the part of a too-rigorous nurse. She came and stood beside the youn? Englishman. She was almost as tall, for he was a slightly built young man of medium height; her flannel skirt and khaki trousers were identical in_cut, turned out by a London tailor, and her stout boots and the wool puttees en- casting her slim legs were every whit as muddied as his. She would have said that she had abolished every hint of femininity, but there was a flagrantly feminine trick to it. somehow—even her way of jamming her hands in her pockets showed that she enjoyed them and felt the masquerade. “Is there a dance in the village?” she asked lightlv. He had kept them in ignorance of his uneasiness, yet her imperviousness rather irritated him. He said a little shortly, “I'm going to see.” “I'l go with you.” No asking him, of course—just con- ferring her presence as a joyous gift! Those red-headed girls! He could not have said why he felt | 8o exasperated with her lately. Even the color of her hair annoyed him—it Jooked so brightly self-confident and so pleased with itself. This porter trouble was making him edgy, he told himself, and he increased the restraint of his manner. But how is your “As you like. brother?” “Bob's asleep. Not much of a tem- perature, but it is the fever, isn't it?” “Right-0.” Having a bit of fever was one of the things travelers liked to mention afterward—a go of fever, they'd say lightly. * * * A nice boy. “Expurgated Africa!” The girl made a gesture of impatience. “We go through all this ort to see a wild country and then you want to look first, to know if the show is proper enough for me!” “Not & bit,” he denied dryly. “I wasn't worrying about your morals. The ghow will be decent enough—what there 'is in sight. I dare say you see worse at balls.” “Well, then—" Reluctant amusement was touching him. “Expurgated Africa,” he re- peated. “You find this—dull?” “It isn't vivid,” she admitted. She tilted her sunburnt young face up to him. *“I didn't expect the movies, of cot but somehow this does seem tame. All these villages and bananas and toddling babies. There has been a lot of bother to it, and lot of exer- cise, and the forest is marvelous, and hh: first 1vllh¢e or two zu i{\hfgrestjlng}:, ut as for savages—why, these jol blacks might as well be Swiss.” Phil Lovett was silent as they walked n?idly on. t was a long village, ,with the last huts down the slope; the land beyond pped down 'to the river. He wished, without formulating the reason, that they had not camped so far from that river, their only water supply. They could see the people now—a packed mass in the sunshine of the clearing, a seething mob of black backs. They were naked, but for a bit of bark cloth through a grass belt, black as ebony, and glistening with sun and sweat, rocking and swaying auto- matically with the hypnotic drums. The crowd was packed about a large hut, and the rhythmic drumming was just in front of the hut. Lovett had fairly to thrust his way through the throng. The blacks were not consciously obstructive, but they were utterly possessed by this thing that was happening. Men, women and children rocked and stamped and crowded forward. Their eyes were fixed, intent, avid with excitement. The drums were quickening. Faster and faster the small ones, like the crackle of a stick aiong a picket fence, heavier and heavier the big ones, with a deep, goading reiteration. “Boom, boom, boom!” * ok koK T}EY were in the forefront of the crowd. From all about them came suddenly a gasping murmur. Out from the hut's low door there came crawling an amazing figure in long, drooping black-and-white hair of the Colobus monkey. Crawling back- ward it came, with eerie agility, like a strange-running spider, then sprang to its feet and proceeded slowly, still walking backward, facing the hut. Monkey fur dangled from it; cowrie shells tinkled; parrot feathers jutted from a barbaric head dress—it was with the witch doctor, in full panoply. After him, out of the hut, came a young girl, walking ahead of two men. She was a young thing of about 14, a slim, graceful little dark creature, in a wisp of orange bark cloth, with iron | leglets and armlets glinting against | her dark skin. Her small, closely cropped head hung forward, unlike the upright carriage of most African women, and there was in her scarcely visible face, in every timid line of her, a sort of dazed hostility, of submitting terror. “It's a sort of religious ceremony. I think she represents a ghost,” said Lovett, and turned to question one of his own porters he found next to him. Sallie’s knowledge of Swahill—that useful lingua franca of Africa—was limited to the simplest of camp de- mands, and she gathered nothing at all now but that the porter was ex- cited and voluble, ready enough to ex- plain things to the ignorant white man, and that Lovett at first sounded sharp, then carefully casual and in- different. She supposed he thought it beneath him to let a native see he was interested. She was watching with the rest, as the curious ?rocasaion made its slow way across the sun-bright clearing— that wild, sinister witch-doctor, the helpless-looking girl and the impassive, guarding men—and then withdrew, step by step, into the low doorway of an opposite hut. Instantly the crowd lost the con- straint that had held it back during the processicn and rushed to swarm in after them, as many as could enter. The rest packed the entrance, save for = jigging circle about the tireless drum- ers. “Tell me about this ghost girl,” said Miss Bryce. “She—er—she’s the chief’s daugh- ter,” said Capt. Lovett slowly. “Her— er—sister died. Now she—er—repre- sents the ghost. That's it. Sort of a religious ceremony.” “What do they do?” asked Miss Bryce practically. “Sit about the ghest and mourn?” “Rather,” said the captain quickly. ‘That's it—mourn.” ‘She looks scared to death” said Sallie sympathetically. “She looks as if she thought she was a ghost.” But_untried. "‘llie1l be fit in the morning,” he sald easily. “AL we marching in the morning?” “We are, it— ® ok kX e E down the cl i as if to leave her be- ingly so casual, feet, but the e ing still the natives xn: nodded ahead. “Better let me “I expect she does” said the cap- to pay if they tried to in- fere. If he'd been alone—but he had his these two Ameri- SAL!.I! BRYCE rather wondered at the flow of anecdote that sud- denly in him du that walk back to camp. She 1t was oddly secretly subdued. Something about the ghost girl haunted her. She made to Eoxib speains tent 57, the moment she reached camp. Kamau always knew eve e Dinner was ready on a table in the open, with places set for two only, as Bob Bryce was taking his in his tent. Lovett stopped at that tent, found him comfortable, then went on to the boys, to whom he gave orders, emphatic and low-toned, to get hold of every porter that night for an early start next morn- ing. It would be hard—the men would want to stay over for the show. But he'd get them, if he had to collar them himself. . . . Thank Heaven, the business wasn’t till sunset of the next day. With luck they’d be 15 miles away. He walked back to the table. Sallie was still in her tent. He could hear her voice, exclaiming over something, and the next moment she came running out to him. “Oh, Capt. Lovett! What is this about the ghost girl? My boy says she’s going to die! Is that true?” Lovett registered a few swift inten- tions about that conversational boy. “I'm afraid it is,” he said reluctantly. “Her sister died—" “Oh, has she the same sickness?” After he cursed his clumsy truth- telling. For he said: “No, not as simple as that. I think the sister was drowned.” He did not add that the natives con- sidered the death due to witchcraft and that an old man had paid the penalty of their suspicions. His were the bones in the banana trees. The death of ‘a chief’s daughter exacted the extreme penalty. “Then why is she going' to die?” Sallie was insisting. “It's because she’s a twin" he ex- plained, even more slowly and uncom- fortably. “Fact is, natives have a deuced queer notion about twins., Often they kill one at birth—the Wakondo do—and that is the custom here, they say: but, since these were the chief’s daughters, the witch doctor let them both live—but only as one person. They had the same name, ate of the same dish Ifig were never apart an instant.” el “And now, since the sister is dead, they think this girl must die, too, The spirit divided between their two bodies must be reunited.” “They are going to kill her?” “She’s considered part of her sister. It's really a—a special favor that she’s been allowed to live at all. And, if they didn’t kill her now and send her spirit to join her sister, they'd feel they were bringing all sorts of punishment upon their village. This is a religious thing, you know.” c “And you're staying here and letting it happen?” You're letting them Kkill this girl?” Sallie’s young voice rose incredulously, and her young eyes turned on him in horror. He stiffened. “It isn't a thing I can stop.” “Not a thing you can stop? Of course you can!” said Sallie stoutly. And then in shocked amazement: ‘“You mean you aren't going to do anything?” “There is nothing I can do. There is no administration here yet—these people have never seen a white official. There is no post we can reach.” “Administration—official!” The words seemed to be choking Sallie. “Can’t you do something on your own re- sponsibility?” she demanded hotly. “Youre & white man—with guns— and—and authority! Why, haven't you any—any—courage?” W ke THERE were sparks in Lovett's eyes— cold glints of bated anger, but his manner was giacial. He merely vouch- “EXPURGATED AFRICA!” THE PATIENCE. WE GO THROUGH A rilling Contest With an African Witch Doctor. “Tell me, tell me truly,” she saia urgently, “if you were alone here— would you interfere?” He thought a moment. He had answered that question impulsively to himself a while ago, in the but now, under the sting of her he said, stiffly and stubbornly: not_at all sure that I should.” She left him then; she ate her dinner in the tent with her brother. 'Lovett ate his alone at the table. From time to time, he could hear their voices, Bob's low-toned, sympathetic, hers in- cautiously indignant, Then the brother came out to him. Lovett was grimly glad to have a man to_talk to. He could see that the brother, while not sharing the sister’s flame of wrath, thought this was rather poor-spirited cxredkney, but Lovett's mood ed ik Brgon, who boyish, good: e Jet Bryce, who was a , good- humored chap, expostulate with in- grem‘xx:l; feebleness, then told him to urn in. n;l-lehnwe‘r;: nothing to be «;c:‘l:‘e‘ ,” he young man rej in his tent. o s “Nothing that he will do,” said the girl, with indignant distinctness, Lovett walked out of earshot. * ok kK SLE!ZP was fitful for him that night. He was possess2d by a dull, rankling anger. And he was uneasy. . . . porters had come, though sullenly, they had eed to march in the morn- ing only if he would make camp by noon. They said they were sick. He know they were planning to make a dash back to the village for the girl's death. He'd not try to prevent them, once a camp was made at a safe dis- tance. He wanted Sallie Bryce out of earshot. He wanted to be out of ear- shot himself. Once it was over, he could reclaim the porters. Africa taught compromise, Only fools chal- lenged her. ‘The drums had fallen to a muttering like rain on the roof, but there was an incessant humming of distant voices, like a far-away vibrancy of bees. And there seemed, to his unquiet sense, to be rustling and whisperings in the trees beyond the tents. He got up half a dozen times during that night to peer out into the tropic blackness. Nothing to fear, he told himself. The villagers had no interest in this camp. The rustlings were only some of the porters sneaking out. He was up before dawn. The camp was strangely quiet about him. So, too, was the village. He strode over to the cook tent, where the cook was squatting |over a feeble flame between three stones, stirring the coffee. Through the dim- ness he discerned the figures of his boys standing uncertainly about, falling silent as he approached. ~ The air of disaster was on them. Not a porter about the place. De- camped in the night. Lovett’s jaw tightened. He'd not en- dure that. A bergain was a bargain. He was in his rights there, and natives believed in justice. He was lost, if he did not stand up for his rights. He'd g0 down to the chief and try to get some pressure put on these fellows. First to Bryce's tent. “Bryce! I say, I have to go down to the village. Please have the boys take down the tents, while you are break- fasting, to be ready when the porters | come.” “Right you are,” came Bryce's volce from within. From the next tent came Sallie Bryce's clear tones, “They can begin on mine any time, Capt. Lovett.” As she spoke she flung open the tent |flaps and came out, And after her, a scorn, “I am The but L\ TN GIRL MADE A GESTURE OF IM. ALL THIS EFFORT TO SEE WILD COUNTRY. AND THEN YOU LOOK FIRST TO KNOW IF THE SHOW IS PROPER ENOUGH FOR ME!” safed coldly: “This isn't a thing you understand.” “What is there to understand,” said the girl passionately, “but that you— that we—are standing by and letting that poor little thing to be put to death?” “I expect we stand by at home and Let a great many unjust executions be one.” “But this we know about. This is power.” not in our power,” he contra- dicted, with the sharpness of his crisped nerves. “It's their affair—utterly. We've no authority, no means of en- forcing our demands—no earthly right to rush in and make trouble. I daren’t risk it. I've my responsibility toward you.” s-‘l'!‘i‘v'e'll Iléelxy!lve Iyou from mtl:mt;‘ said e grandly. “I am speaking for my brother, I know. He'd face any danger rather than see a helpless thing like that girl murdered—" “Neither you nor your brother know ca,” sald the captain stubbornly. “I do—more or less. I have to you two safely back to Nairobl—-" “Or your reputation will suffer?” She was ashamed of that the mo- ment it was out. But she wanted, sav- agely -enough, to hurt him, to break through that glacial armor of cold, safe, cautious authority. Her whole na- ture was in arms, in passionate pro- tectiveness. It was unbearable to her that this thing should be done—un- bearable that he should stand by and let it happen. She ‘had thought him so brave, so strong, so—so erent! Andblnnwyhs was bt:ol’d and hard ana ignoble. Yes, ignoble! Yet there was something oddly re- in the steadiness of the look he gave ke 4 in our “It's get | ghost through the grayness, came a shrinking, soft-stepping little creature, with abject head. “T'd better tell you,” said Sallie, “that T've taken on a personal maid. I hope you don’t object, Capt. Lovett?” ‘There was an_uncertain little humor in her bravado, but the captain did not respond. His dumfounded look dwelt slowly on that ghost girl, crouching be- hind Sallie—shivering in the cool air of dawn, and trembling, too, with more than ‘cold; then his eyes came bleakly back to rest on Sallie's flushed an mutinous young face. “How did you get her?” “Simplest thing in the world,” A very feminine jubilation flouted e just walked down to the village last night—" “ Alone?” “Kamau was with me. He carried my gun for parade, but the people were peaceful enough. I went ht to that hut where the girl was, and there zju; a creb:d ol;.h:m, sing and dnnxa pombs and twanging ur ents of theirs, and the chief was h Kamat instrums there, and I told him, througl |of course, that the ‘wi‘m'.h_:-‘l;; o w there poor in the corner like a scared little p— and walked her off.” “They said a lot of things we couldn't understand,” said Sallle honestly, “that didn't sound awfully pleased. it’s only fair to Kamau to say that he was terrified at my coming at all, and wanted to wake you. But he couldn’t ut the didn't d | tensity and suspense were all THERE WAS AN UNCERTAIN LITTLE HUIIOR IN HER BRAVADO, BUT THE CAPTAIN DID NOT RESPOND. HIS DUMBFOUNDED LOOK DWELT SLOWLY ON THAT GHOST GIRL, SHIVERING WITH MORE THAN COLD. took the girl into my tent and had Kamau sleep o:v, :n back.” * *x THOSE rustlings in the trees—Lovett understood them now. He could imagine how the natives, surprised and bewildered, yielding the girl out of sheer dumfoundedness, had flung about, without understanding or concerted action, just waiting and watching. They were watching them now, of course. But this uncertainty would not last forever. He wished he knew what he might expect! And to think of Sallie Bryce, willful, defiant Sallie, making her way down there alone at night, confronting that crowd in the hut! She was a child, with a child’s blithe way of playing with fire. He was furious at her ignorant audacity. She had let him in for it rnow. This was what she called putting it over. . . . He could not trust him- self to a comment. He merely said briefly, “You need not trouble to have your tent taken down. The porters have run away. She was watching him anxiously, for all her show of triumph. “Why, you just said——" she began, and he curtly cut her short. “I supposed they were hiding out for the show, and that I could bring them in’ But now I'm sure it's because they are afraid to stay with us.” ‘Afraid? But what of?” “I wish I knew!” he said grimly. As he strode over to the breakfast table and poured himself a cup of coffee, he fiung back, “Doubtless we'll have a chance to find out.” Sallie turned, rather slowly, and shep- herded hér shy little charge back into her tent. Then Lovett heard her ex- plaining to her brother. Bryce's reaction, when he came hur- rying out, gave Lovett the full measure of his inexperience. Bryce was a little apologetic to Lovett, as the man in charge of the safari, for his sister's rashness, but clearly he took pride in what he termed “the youngster's spunk.” He seemed merely concerned that Lovett's dignity should not take the thing too seriously. “Hang it, it's not a matter of what I feel,” sald the young Englishman. “It's a matter of getting stranded, help- less, in this forsaken wilderness.” “Suppose we get out afer those por- ters ourselves?” said Bob cheerily. “Or scout out around the country for more? Or we might send back to some of those villages we came through for a fresh supply.” “Or we might write a letter to the ‘Times,” said Lovett. He added with an effort at explanation: “there’s nobody to scour or send. We can't spare the camp-boys; they are all we have, and I'd not be justified in sending them alone—no porters would come for them anyway. You don't know what it took to get these.” “Well, what do you propose to do?" He sounded, to Lovett's strung-up nerves, as if he were discussing pos- sible diversions for the day. “Go down to the village presently,” Lovett said, and he lighted & cigar- ette without further speech. * K ko DAWN was coming with a tropic rush. The darkness was thinning about them as if gray gauze curtains were | being drawn swiftly up, and the sil- very shapes of the huts below them stood out like cardboard stagings from the mysterious background of the for- est . . . The Eastern sky was a back- drop of lemon green, against which the flat, outspreading tops of trees were defined, and a crimson edge of the sun was working sharply up behind the branches as if pulled by a string. A sudden rush of light and warmth touched the breakfast table, quenching the light of the candles, and the boy blew them out. But it was not the dawn Phil Lovett was watching . . . His eyes were search- ing the clearing. Not a soul in sight . . . Down at the palaverhouse, un- doubtedly, getting the right magic from the medicine man. His ears had been conscious for some time of the drums. He'd go _down there as soon &s he had got his thoughts in order. But he had no need to go to the village. A few minutes more and the village was coming to him. He saw the blacks come streaming into the clearing between the huts, jabbering and shouting among themselves, pour- ing along the way up to the tents. The chief and his headmen were in the lead, the tall spears in their hands catching the light of the sun on their polished points, and after them trooped men, women and children, a curious, crowding rabble. Lovett went forward to meet them, and the chief came forward while the others paused. He was an impressive- looking savage, erect and dignified, like an ebony statue in his bit of bark- cloth, his tall spear in his hand. An ivory horn hung about his neck, and iron bracelets glinted on his arms and legs below the knee. ‘Through the tent flaps Sallie watched those two men confer, that savage in his bark-cloth, and the young English- man in his khaki. She had no real feeling of danger about the scene— no more than she had had the night before when in haq} impulse she had gone to that crowded hut. The whole thing seemed unreal to her, somehow, a picturesque scene, like the rest of this strange Africa. She was only concerned for fear Lovett would surrender the poor creature at her feet, -{mx her or little creature was suddenly apparently in ‘The murmuring to her, pleading. “They shan't take you—you are safe,” Sallie crooned. Sallle’s eyes turned anxiously back to the conference. Lovett was shak- ing his head—he raised a hand in determined negation. Sallie’s heart He was refusing! Well, that was settled, then! However he felt about it, he wasn't going ive the girl up . . . She had not really wn what to expect from that queer, cold caution of his, but she had meant But excitement began to touch her as she saw the agitation of the blacks, who to crowd about Lovett, yell- ing shouting and demanding. The place was suddenly pandemonium. Lovett was trying to hush them; she heard his voice through the tumult, first in attempted p:;su;sltonmmm in mrg: ringing authority, bu uproar overm:l.d'rhemobrlnmmmln. 111 ling. YRS chlot withdsew in the midst of The his throng, the babble increasing with her the bo .|and locked at the child she had saved her. | out the cries about him ceased and the to | girl. “We've taken a line, haven't we?” he said coldly, and passed on. * x ok ¥ DmANTLY now, Sallie turned to the table and made a pretense of breakfasting. She felt that even Bob, at present, was inclined in his thoughts to put her in the wrong. For comfort Sallie went to her tent from death. Always the girl said some- thing to her, in her unknown tongue, with a plaintive, rising inflection, but no one could interpret. She touched no food. Kamau, guarding the tent, said anxiously, “No good, Memsahib. Very bad. Girl better go.” “No!” sald Sallle imperiously, and laid stout commands upon him, but un- ceriainty and suspense were now in her veins. Uneasiness lay like a pall over the camp. The boys sat about, their voices lowered. The guns were cleaned and loaded. Two boys who' started for the river with pails came back without wa- ter. They had been turned back. Their revolvers were only for protection, not for challenge. The water supply was moved to Lovett's tent. The heat grew. Steadily, slowly the sun rose on its upward climb, and brighter and ~hotter the rays poured down. The sky was cloudless, the air brazen. Heat waves shimmered between them and the village, and the green of the bananas grew incredibly brilliant, as if done with fresh paint, while the shadows of encircling forest were liks caverns, dark and sinister. The cool- ness of that forest became a tantaliz- ing memory. ‘The drums were throbbing again with an altered rhythm—monotonous, rally- ing, Insistent—like the throb of a wound. And over the drums came the wail of a chant, louder and louder, “Al—ai—ai!” Once Lovett made a trip to the vil- lage. He came back without reporting, ]Ind Sallie did not ask. She felt like |2 child in disgrace, mutinous, but vaguely ashamed. Suddenly she went up to him and {told him so. “But I think I did the right thing,” she added. “The question always is, with the right thing,” he said slowly, “whether you are prepared to pay for it.” Noon came. The sun stood overhead: | the shadows skulked underfoot like | black cats. The village noises sank. The | drums died in torpor. The very air was | heavy with heat. Bob's temperature had risen a little {and he talked of going down to force | the chief to send in their porters. Per- | emptorily Lovett forbade any village ex- | cursions on his part. } “He thinks he's a little tin god,” said | ‘the boy sulkily to -his sister, and she | | flashed: “He is, as far as we are con-| Sallie’s knees were shaking under her. . . . Was Lovett killing the girl before them? Did he think this way was better for her than to fall into the hands of those savages? Was it death she was seeing, death at Lovett's hands? Still and lifeless, the little thing lay there. Lovett was speaking again. “He say,” whispered Kamau, “he say her spirit gone now meet her sister— both dead in beyond place—one spirit now. He say her body come back with another spirit, new daughter to chief— new name—new girl. Treat her well now. This because her father big chief. This magic from big spirits. He say he give big magic now to medicine man, so he can be biggest medicine man in the forest. . . . He say girl wake up now when medicine man call her.” Sallie breathed again. She felt her heart beating like mad. Lovett was holding out the bottle to the medicine man, talking rapidly and | urgently. That strange figure stood ir- resolute, then, like a swooping hawk. he bent over the sleeping girl. Lovett withdrew the handkerchief from &Rer face—she lay there, one slender arm outflung, in the abandonemnt of that strange sleep. Behind them the natives were crowd- ing in awed eagerness to see this new magic. Their witch doctors had drugs that made them invisible. There were charms even, evil charms. that made men’s spirits ride aloft in the night, while their bodies lay inert within their huts, but this swift flight into uncon- sciousness, this new death-in-life that sent the spirit to the spirit land, was a new and fearful thing that shook their souls. They tiptoed to peer over each other and they muttered in awsome under- tones as the witch doctor listened at the girl's heart, lifted one arm to let it fall back, inert, raised her head. to let that drop back heavily. Suddenly he broke into a wild chant. Now she saw Lovett lean forward and speak swiftly to him. He was thrusting the bottle on him, and the man seized it and passed it on to a follower; then the witch doctor bent again over the girl and began making wild gestures over the young form. . “He is calling her spirit back,” se}1 Kamau, through chattering teeth. . LREADY the girl had begun to stir. Now she was moaning. Immediate- ly the witch doctor seized her and dragged her to her feet, where she swayed dizzily. A woman ruihed for- ward from the throng, then‘ another 2nd another, and the crowd closed in about the ghost girl, murmuring in awe and amazement. With a screeching song of triumph, dilating upon his own great powers, the witch doctor whirled and began a frenzied dance back to the vallage, the men joining wildly in about him, while the women followed more slowly, chant- ing and clapping, carrying the girl. For an instant the chief stayed in talk with Lovett; then, with hasty ges- tures of assent, the old savage broke away and the young Englishman stood alone in the cleared space, staring after the retreating blacks. Slowly he took joff his helmet and passed his hand over a brow that was wet. “Chloroform!” Bob was saying exul- tantly. “He must have been thinking that out all day!” Not a word said Sallie. But she marched out to that solitary figure and held ont a none too certain hand. “Please, won't you let me thank you?"” | said Sallie. And then she added hasti- ly: “It's after 4:30—but I'll keep my | helmet on, if you say so.” Their eves met. There was no stiff- ness in his now, only unutterable relief, | and at the sight of Sallle, warm-heart- | ed, hot-headed little Sallie, standing | there in that new contrition and ap- | peal, something very quick and eager | and protective began to glow—Sallie | in disarming penitence, her eyes with | that little-girl look. The very color of | her hair was softer, its curl more sub- dued. Lovett thought he had never ‘seer; lcveueg }:;u-. “I was afraid I was jolly well kill | her with the stuff,” he said a llé{g | limply, “but it was 1 could think of.” | And he added, his eyes still kindling | at this new sight of her, his lips soft- | ening in a quizzical smile, “What do ynu’.tl'unk of your expurgated Africa now?” |‘ But Sallie was not thinking of Africa. (Copyright, 1929.) Champions in Cabinet (Continued From Third Page.) boating. Whereas the Navy Secretary uses a full crew in his racing yachts, Mr. Brown has room for just one as- | cerned. What can we do?” | Apparently nothing. Lovett suggested | | that the brother and sister go on with | | scme of the boys and what things they | | could carry and make camp farther on. | | then try next day for the next village.| | But there was no guide; the boys were | panicky; it was too late to march, any- | way. And Sallie refused to budge from her girl. At least. she'd take her own medicine, she told herself. “It would be darned good sense to give that girl back,” said Bob suddenly. | Sallie looked at him in silence. Well, | Africa was an eve-opener! | “Rather late to think about it.” said Lovett. He was looking es if days in- stead of hours had gone by. His lean brown young face was fairly gaunt un- der his helmet; the shadows showed | heavily in the temples. Y * Kk ‘HE drums. . . . They sounded again in the reviving cool of the afternoon. The throb of them dominated the camo. .. . Now a crash came, louder than the rest. “Boom—boom—boom!” The three whites were on their feet. The blacks were coming again, a wild surge of them through the village streets, a hoarsely yelling mob that broke into a run as it neared the tents. “Guns ready—but don’t shoot!” Lov- ett commanded urgently. £ At the head of the oncoming mob a mad figure was whirling, the specter of sinister omen they had seen the day before, tha witch doctor in his monkey fur and feathers. Now every inch of skin between his decoration was painted green and white and great red smears obscured any human resemblance in his face. A long stick, from which charms dangled, was held aloft in his clenched grip, and brandishing it, whirling and shrieking, he came on like some fren- zied creature in a nightmare. Behind them surged the chief with his spearmen and the villagers storm- ing after, the drummer in their midst. Straight out to meet them went Lov- ett, not a gun in his hands, his arm up- raised. He shouted something and the mob slackened to a pause, and the witch doctor hesitated, half crouching, facing Lovett. “Bring out the girl,” called the Eng- lishman Sallie's heart turned to lead, but she made no sign. She knew now—they could do nothing. She did not stir as Lovett’s boy went to her tent and led out the pitiful captive. At sight of that little figure a howl went up from the crowd, a wolfish howl of terrible expectancy and rending fe- rocity. Lovett seized the girl with one arm,, and gesturing for silence with the omer‘ he began to speak. As his words rln!l le crowded more and more closely hear, He was making a formal speech; his inflections had the ring of studied eloquence. “What does he say?” Sallie was de- manding helplessly of her boy. Kamau was gray with terror under the dusk of his skin. He muttered without taking his eyes from that tense xne: “He say he big medicine man, :le;__dle—not the way they make her * Kok ¥ THEY saw Lovett draw out from his coat and hold aloft a large bottle. ‘He held it there for the mob to see. Then he released his hold on the girl and pulled out a handkerchief, which he drenched with the contents of gg bottle. Then he stooped swiftly to girl and crushed the wet handkerchief over her face. A moment he held it there, then the little creature crumpled and collapsed, Sulekty 1o fung the | Bandkerchiet back ly he flung the han on mlm. drenching it again from e. “The chloroform!” Bob was gasping. “That bird’s used the chloroform He say he got magic about this | many persons He say his spirit tell him make | thaf sistant in his cat-boats. ~ These tiny boats have a small sail and are built for speed. One member of the crew han- dles the canvas while the other does the steering. The Postmaster General competed in the cat-boat races for the Presid Taft Cup in 1910, winning one event and coming in second in two others. He is a former commodore of the Toledo Yacht Club and a member of the Co- lumbus Athletic_Club. Mr. Brown has given considerable thought to the advisability of bringing | his cat-boat here from Toledo, but has found many drawbacks to the plan. In the first place, the Potomac RiveP is too narrow and too sheltered for cat- boat racing. The craft, he points out, require a broad expanse of water and an unobstructed sweep of wind. “I could use my boat on Chesapeake Bay,” he said recently, “but the bay is too far from Washington. I have thought of Gibsons Island as a favor- able spot for racing. That is about an hour and a half from Washington by automobile, which means three hours consumed in coming and going. I dis- like taking so much time off from my official duties. In Toledo I had an ideal cat-boat racing course close at hand and I could get there in a few minutes.” As a cook, Postmaster General Brown | has attained wide repute. Not only is he an expert in preparing tasty dishes for the table, but he is famous as a compounder of new recipes. Here is Mr. Brown's own recipe for one of his favorite dishes, “chicken paprikash”: “Draw, singe and dismember a roast- ing fowl, “Cook three large onions, minced fine, in equal parts of butter and lard until soft and turning brown. Cool the on- jons and fat and add two level tea- spoonfuls of Hungarian paprika. In a stew pan or small kettle which can be tightly covered place the neck. pieces of back and gizzard, Salt same and spread with mixture of onions, fat and paprika. “Then place legs and second joints in the utensil, salting and spreading with onions and so forth, as be!%re‘ “On top place the wings, breast pleces and liver, salting and spreading as with the other layers. Add no water. “Cover tightly and place over a slow fire until the bottom of the utensil' is well covered with juices from the chicken. The fire can then be turned up gradually until the juices are boil- ing. Cook tightly until well done—ap- proximately an hour and a half. Then remove the chicken from the utensil and pour off the fat. “Add one pint of sour cream, working it up thoroughly with the chicken es- sence and onion. Return all of the chicken to the utensil except the neck, back pieces and gizzard. Let the gravy come to a boil. “Then remove the chicken to a plat- ter, pour the gravy over it and serve. Mr. Brown is quite proud of this ipe. He has been complimented u it many times. Those who have the good fortune to taste the Brown chicken paprikash are enthusiastic over its palate-tickling dslectability. So e reci) make it pul as a big-game fisherman. He was em- fiked uj the ent | | Star State. He remembers with pleas- | ure a trip to Port Aransas, Tex., about | 30 miles north of Corpus Christi, where | he captured several huge tarpon and a | number of sharks. President Hoover and Secretary Hyde have had several | heart-to-heart chats about fishing ex- | periences they have had, and the two | are lizely to be found together an some | of the ‘presidential piscatorial excur- | sions of the future. If the Postmaster General is a better | ccok than Secretary Wilbur, he must prove it. The Interior Secretary as much as said so recently when advised | of Mr. Brown's abilities as a cook. Dr. | Wilbur has done most of his cooking |over a camp fire and he contends that | this requircs real resourcefulness. It | seems not unlikely that a cooking con- | test between the two cabinet culinary jartists will become inevitable. * ok x % | AB a hunter it is doubtful if any other member of the cabinet pos- sesses a record that can compare with | that of Attorney General Mitchell. Secretary Stimson used to handle a rifie skilfully and often followed t! hounds during the hunting season. is a fast rider and a fearless one— qualities which won the personal com- mendation of the presidential rough- rider, Theodore Roosevelt. Secretary Wilbur also likes to hunt and has shot small game in the Cali- | fornia forests on numerous occasions. The Attorney General, however, hat an enviable reputation as a mighty | Nimrod in the realm of big game hunt. |ing. He is a crack shot. His unerri aim has brought down every species « wild animal to be found on the Nort} American continent.. He has bagge] | mountain lions in the Colorado Mour« | tains, moose in Canada and bears iy Alaska. He has a cold-storage room full of trophies back home in Minne- sota. Of late, Mr. Mitchell has exchanged his trusty rifle for a professional mo- tion picture camera. * Kk % % \GOL! seems destined to be neglected by the present cabinet. The Pres- ident doesn’t play the game, although his younger son, Allan, is a frequenter of the links. Several of the cabinet mem- bers like golf, but find little time to practice it. Secretary Lamont plays what he calls “an elderly man’s game.” His score averages around 90. He is a member of the Burning Tree Club in nearby Maryland. Postmaster General Brown is a member of the Wi n Golf and Country Club, of which Mr. Hoover is a member of the board, and wouid be seen out there more often were it not for the pressure of business at the Post Office De] ent. He hasn't had a chance to shoot as many as nine holes for nearly threq months. Attorney General Mitchell and tary Good also enjoy a round of the course rmits, which isn’t so often. Secretary of Labor Davis golfs when the golfing is good. The official sport of the new admin- istration, however, appears to be “bull in the ring"—a strenuous sort of :fl game played with a heavy medicine and popular as a form of exercise on ! battleships. President Hoover learned | about the game during his South Amer-