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He must come and live with us." All night they rode, and the day was still young when they came suddenly upon a party hurrying southward. It was Bwana himself and his sleek, black warriors. At sight of Baynes the big Englishman's brows contracted in a scowl; but he waited to hear Meriem's story before giving vent to the long anger in his breast.
He could see men moving about among the huts inside the boma evidently Hanson was still there. Korak did not know the true identity of Meriem's abductor. How was he to cross. Not even he would dare the perils of the river almost certain death. For a moment he thought, then wheeled and sped away into the jungle, uttering a peculiar cry, shrill and piercing.
Meriem's conversation was interrupted by the sudden plunge of an excited little monkey that landed upon her shoulders in a flying leap from a neighboring tree. "Climb!" he cried. "Climb! The Mangani are coming." Meriem glanced lazily over her shoulder at the excited disturber of her peace. "Climb, yourself, little Manu," she said. "The only Mangani in our jungle are Korak and Akut.
Nothing short of death itself could prevent her Korak from returning for her. What delayed him though? When morning came again and the night had brought no succoring Korak, Meriem's faith and loyalty were still unshaken though misgivings began to assail her as to the safety of her friend.
"And make faces and throw twigs at the engine?" he laughed back. "Poor old Numa," sighed the girl. "What will he do without us?" "Oh, there are others to tease him, my little Mangani," assured Korak. The Greystoke town house quite took Meriem's breath away; but when strangers were about none might guess that she had not been to the manner born.
Returning from the foreman's quarters Bwana had noticed that the corral gate was open and further investigation revealed the fact that Meriem's pony was gone and also the one most often used by Baynes. Instantly Bwana assumed that the shot had been fired by Hon.
The slight deviation of the boat's direction was sufficient to throw the muzzle of the rifle out of aim. The bullet whizzed harmlessly by Meriem's head and an instant later she had disappeared into the foliage of the tree. There was a smile on her lips as she dropped to the ground to cross a little clearing where once had stood a native village surrounded by its fields.
He would never complain again! At that moment he became aware of voices raised angrily in the goatskin tent close beside the hut in which he lay. One of them was a woman's. Could it be Meriem's? The language was probably Arabic he could not understand a word of it; but the tones were hers. He tried to think of some way of attracting her attention to his near presence.
She no longer feared her, and when her brief story had been narrated and the woman came and put her arms about her and kissed her and called her "poor little darling" something snapped in Meriem's little heart. She buried her face on the bosom of this new friend in whose voice was the mother tone that Meriem had not heard for so many years that she had forgotten its very existence.
The report of the head man plunged Meriem into a period of despondency, for he had found the village of Kovudoo deserted nor, search as he would, could he discover a single native anywhere in the vicinity. For some time he had camped near the village, spending the days in a systematic search of the environs for traces of Meriem's Korak; but in this quest, too, had he failed.
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