CHAPTER XXIX

IN THE HANDS OF THE MAKOH'LENGA

COLIN SINCLAIR had been curious concerning the mysterious Makoh'lenga. Now he was finding out more about them than he wished.

His captors were without exception tall and muscular and well-proportioned. Their garb consisted solely of a white loin cloth. Their bodies were "unadorned" with chalk and ochre after the fashion of the majority of African tribes, nor were there any evidences of voluntary mutilation so frequently to be met with amongst savages. The only ornaments they wore were armlets of gold just above the left elbow. Every male lenga over the age of sixteen wore one.

They were noticeably clean in their habits and persons, orderly and well-disciplined, and, in short, seemed far in advance in the principles of hygiene above even the doyen of the Kaffir races--the pure-blooded Zulu.

But even these qualifications were no excuse for present conditions. The possibility of making a touching acquaintance with the golden axe rather blunted Sinclair's interest in his new and undesirable acquaintances.

There was no denying one fact--he felt "scared stiff." It was only by a determined effort that he kept his well-schooled and steady nerves under control. Perhaps if his arms had not been so securely bound he might have precipitated matters by planting a blow with his fist between the eyes of the copper-hued giant who was watching him so covertly.

The Makoh'lenga seemed in no hurry to commence the next phase of the operations. In a two-deep circle they stood motionless as statues, each warrior grasping the haft of a seven-foot, broad-bladed spear, while on his right arm he wore a small circular shield with a convex boss.

On the inside of each shield was a small sheath holding a short double-edged knife. The weapons were plain and serviceable, no attempt being made to engrave the metalwork or to embellish the hafts with paint and feathers. Simplicity of equipment seemed to be the keynote of these mysterious men.

At length, in reply to an invitation from the chief, two warriors stepped forward and solemnly presented the trophies--the captives' rifles. These were accepted without any hesitation, the chief apparently knowing the principles of modern firearm construction; but, strangely enough, he carefully examined the stocks as if to find some inscription.

Discovering none, a shade of disappointment flitted over his features, and without a word he handed them back to the men from whom he had received them.

Although the giant was obviously a person of rank, even if he were not the supreme head of the tribe, there was a total lack of servile abasement noticeable in the case of the Zulu, Matabele, and other Kaffir tribes.

The men tendering the rifles simply saluted by bringing the right hand in a horizontal position up to the chin. This was the recognised form of salutation. Equals greeted one another by bringing the right hand only breast high.

Several times Colin bethought him of the amulet, but, his arms being bound, he was unable to produce it. Perhaps, after all, it was a trump card. On the other hand, it might fail to produce the same effect upon these mysterious men as it had once upon the obviously less intellectual natives around Kilembonga.

Presently four warriors, laying aside their spears and shields, strode forward and grasped Desmond by the arms and legs, and held him in a horizontal position. Tiny did not utter a sound, nor did he offer any resistance, but he craned his neck and looked at the executioner's block with ill-concealed dismay.

It was a moment when the rattle of a machine-gun would have been most welcome. Even a stampeding of wild elephants or a death-dealing thunderstorm would have been a pleasurable diversion, but nothing of the sort happened.

At a word from the chief, Tiny's captors searched his pockets and tore open his shirt. Every article they took--knife, cartridges, handkerchief, matches, purse, and notebook they examined and then placed in a row on to the ground. They expressed no delight at the various objects which are highly prized by savages; indeed, their looks betrayed disappointment.

The examination over, Tiny was set upon his feet and left alone. The four warriors next directed their attention towards Colin, and he, too, was placed in a horizontal position and searched.

Suddenly one of the men gave a shout of delight; it was the first sound uttered by any one during the searching process. He had discovered the swastika.

Cutting away the cord that held it, the finder reverently presented it to the chief.

The latter, displaying considerable emotion, minutely examined the gold and copper amulet, then, holding it aloft, he shouted:

"_Ad idda ver h'lenga soya_."

Although utterly ignorant of the language, Colin realised its import. The chief had announced to his people that the much-sought-for amulet had been found.

A roar of exultation greeted the words. Almost before the volume of sound had abated a weird-looking contrivance was carried into the centre of the ring by a dozen huge men. It resembled a gigantic ram's horn, the bell mouth rising a good ten feet from the ground. At the other end was a hollow cylinder with a disc of goat's skin stretched tightly over the outer part.

Armed with a club-shaped stick, one of the natives began banging upon the drum portion of the instrument, keeping up the performance for the space of about a minute, the beats resembling the tapping of a morse code buzzer.

The volume of sound emitted from the bell-mouthed horn was stupendous. It seemed loud enough to deafen everyone within fifty yards. Even the ground shook perceptibly under the roar of the deep-pitched instrument.

The last long-drawn reverberations died away, and utter silence fell upon the close ranks of the Makoh'lenga warriors. Then, after a lapse of nearly five minutes, came a low, bass roar from a distant source. Somewhere, far up in the rugged mountains, an alert sentinel was replying to the sonorous message of the ram's horn.

The message was short and obviously satisfactory and to the point, for the moment the sound ceased the chief issued an order.

With the alertness and methodical precision of a crack British regiment, the circle of warriors dissolved, and the men reformed into a close column. Up doubled a party of men with the two litters in which Colin and Tiny had been carried through the forest.

With his own hands the Chief unknotted the bonds that secured the lads' arms. Then he signed to them to retake possession of their scanty belongings except their rifles. The amulet was retained by the Chief, who motioned to the two chums to seat themselves in the litters.

"This is going to be a bit of a picnic, after all, Tiny, old son," remarked Colin.

"Hope so," replied Desmond. "Only isn't it a bit too early to talk about picnics and joy rides? That chap seems jolly pleased to be able to bag your amulet. Now he's got that, what does he want us for? That's what I want to know."

At a sign from the Chief, Colin and Tiny climbed into the litters. Their previous acquaintance with this mode of conveyance had been in a state of being bound hand and foot. Now their limbs were freed and they were able to sit up and look about them, while an awning had been provided to shelter them from the glare of the sun.

The chums were in the middle of a long column of men marching four abreast, the warriors keeping step but taking much longer paces than is the case with European troops. They moved almost silently, their bare feet treading lightly upon the ground. Except when a command was given, not a word was spoken.

Following the base of the line of cliffs the Makoh'lenga marched for nearly two miles until they arrived at a shallow stream running through a deep gorge. Here the warriors turned sharp to the left, in file, and began ascending the stream, which varied from ankle to knee-deep.

Although the rivulet was not less than ten feet in width the walls of the gorge, which averaged two hundred feet in height, almost met at the top, so that the inclosed space was deep in gloom. It was a weird experience to the two chums, as they watched the symmetrical lines of dark figures making their way up-stream.

At length, above the swish of the water as hundreds of feet forced their way against the steady current, came the dull roar of a waterfall. Louder and louder grew the sound, until Colin could see an apparently unbroken sheet of water falling from a height of quite a hundred and fifty feet and breaking into a cloud of foam as it came in contact with the bed of the gorge.

Into this waterfall the Makoh'lenga plunged unhesitatingly. They, evidently, did not share the dislike, amounting almost to fear, of Zulu tribes for running water, yet it puzzled Colin to know where the men went. They seemed to be swallowed up in the clouds of spray as file after file disappeared. Beyond the waterfall was solid rock, and yet the column held on without a check.

Then came Colin's turn to pass through the sheet of descending water. To a great extent the canopy overhead prevented him from a thorough soaking, although the spray invaded the open side of the litter.

It was an ordeal quickly over. For a brief instant, as the water poured unhindered upon the canopy, it seemed as if the covering would collapse under the pressure. The bearers staggered under the weight of the falling water, but quickly recovering themselves, they bore Colin inside the fall.

Here was a clear space of about three yards between the wall of rock that formed a barrier and the gulley and the curtain-like waterfall, and on the right of this space was a natural tunnel driven obliquely through the wall of the chasm.

This, then, was the secret gateway to Makoh'lenga Land.