Oscard immediately went to his tent and came out with his short-
barrelled, evil-looking rifle on his arm. He fired both barrels in
quick succession and waited, standing gravely on the edge of the
Plateau. After a short silence two answering reports rose up
through the mist to his straining ears.
He turned and found Victor Durnovo standing at his side.
"What is that?" asked the half-breed.
"It must be Joseph," answered Guy, "or Meredith. It can be nobody
else."
"Let us hope that it is Meredith," said Durnovo with a forced laugh,
"but I doubt it."
Oscard looked down in his sallow, powerful face. He was not quick
at such things, but at that moment he felt strangely certain that
Victor Durnovo was hoping that Meredith was dead.
"I hope it isn't," he answered, and without another word he strode
away down the little pathway from the summit into the clouds,
loading his rifle as he went.
Durnovo and his men, working among the Simiacine bushes, heard from
time to time a signal shot as the two Englishmen groped their way
towards each other through the everlasting night of the African
forest.
It was midday before the new-comers were espied making their way
painfully up the slope, and Joseph's welcome was not so much in
Durnovo's handshake, in Guy Oscard's silent approval, as in the row
of grinning, good-natured black faces behind Durnovo's back.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330