That was all. The men crouched fearfully, looking up into the trees. It was Zveri who broke the silence. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. "What did it say?"
"It warned us to turn back," said Kitembo.
"There will be no turning back," snapped Zveri.
"I do not know about that," replied Kitembo.
"I thought you wanted to be a king," cried Zveri. "You'd make a hell of a king."
For the moment Kitembo had forgotten the dazzling prize that Zveri had held before his eyes for months-to the king of Kenya. That was worth risking much for.
"We will go on," he said.
"You may have to use force," said Zveri, "but stop at nothing. We must go on, no matter what happens," and then he turned to his other lieutenants. "Romero, you and Mori go to the rear of the column and shoot every man who refuses to advance."
The men had not as yet refused to go on, and when the order to march was given, they sullenly took their places in the column. For an hour they marched thus; and then, far ahead, came the weird cry that many of them had heard before at Opar, and a few minutes later a voice out of the distance called to them. "Desert the white men," it said.
The blacks whispered among themselves, and it was evident that trouble was brewing; but Kitembo managed to persuade them to continue the march, a thing that Zveri never could have accomplished.
"I wish we could get that trouble-maker," said Zveri to Zora Drinov, as the two walked together near the head of the column. "If he would only show himself once, so that we could get a shot at him; that's all I want."
"It is someone familiar with the workings of the native mind," said the girl. "Probably a medicine man of some tribe through whose territory we are marching."
"I hope that it is nothing more than that," replied Zveri. "I have no doubt that the man is a native, but I am afraid that he is acting on instructions from either the British or the Italians, who hope thus to disorganize and delay us until they can mobilize a force with which to attack us."
"It has certainly shaken the morale of the men," said Zora, "for I believe that they attribute all of the weird happenings, from the mysterious death of Jafar to the present time, to the same agency, to which their superstitious minds naturally attribute a supernatural origin."
"So much the worse for them, then," said Zveri, "for they are going on whether they wish to or not; and when they find that attempted desertion means death, they will wake up to the fact that it is not safe to trifle with Peter Zveri."
"They are many, Peter," the girl reminded him, "and we are few; in addition they are, thanks to you, well armed. It seems to me that you may have created a Frankenstein that will destroy us all in the end."
"You are as bad as the blacks," growled Zveri, "making a mountain out of a mole hill. Why if I-"
Behind the rear of the column and again apparently from the air above them sounded the warning voice. "Desert the whites." Silence fell again upon the marching column, but the men moved on, exhorted by Kitembo and threatened by the revolvers of their white officers.
Presently the forest broke at the edge of a small plain, across which the trail led through buffalo grass that grew high above the heads of the marching men. They were well into this when, ahead of them, a rifle spoke, and then another and another, seemingly in a long line across their front.
Zveri ordered one of the blacks to rush Zora to the rear of the column into a position of safety, while he followed close behind her, ostensibly searching for Romero and shouting words of encouragement to the men.
As yet no one had been hit; but the column had stopped, and the men were rapidly losing all semblance of formation.
"Quick, Romero," shouted Zveri, "take command up in front. I will cover the rear with Mori and prevent desertions."
The Mexican sprang past him and with the aid of Ivitch and some of the black chiefs he deployed one company in a long skirmish line, with which he advanced slowly; while Kitembo followed with half the rest of the expedition acting as a support, leaving Ivitch, Mori, and Zveri to organize a reserve from the remainder.
After the first widely scattered shots, the firing had ceased, to be followed by a silence even more ominous to the overwrought nerves of the black soldiers. The utter silence of the enemy, the lack of any sign of movement in the grasses ahead of them, coupled with the mysterious warnings which still rang in their ears, convinced the blacks that they faced no mortal foe.
"Turn back!" came mournfully from the grasses ahead. "This is the last warning. Death will follow disobedience."
The line wavered, and to steady it Romero gave the command to fire. In response came a rattle of musketry out of the grasses ahead of them, and this time a dozen men went down, killed or wounded.
"Charge!" cried Romero, but instead the men wheeled about and broke for the rear and safety.
At sight of the advance line bearing down upon them, throwing away their rifles as they ran, the support turned and fled, carrying the reserve with it, and the whites were carried along in the mad rout.
In disgust, Romero fell back alone. He saw no enemy, for none pursued him, and this fact induced within him an uneasiness that the singing bullets had been unable to arouse. As he plodded on alone far in the rear of his companions, he began to share to some extent the feeling of unreasoning terror that had seized his black companions, or at least, if not to share it, to sympathize with them. It is one thing to face a foe that you can see, and quite another to be beset by an invisible enemy, of whose very appearance, even, one is ignorant.
Shortly after Romero re-entered the forest, he saw someone walking along the trail ahead of him; and presently, when he had an unobstructed view, he saw that it was Zora Drinov.
He called to her then, and she turned and waited for him.
"I was afraid that you had been killed, Comrade," she said.
"I was born under a lucky star," he replied smiling. "Men were shot down on either side of me and behind me. Where is Zveri?"
Zora shrugged. "I do not know," she answered.
"Perhaps he is trying to reorganize the reserve," suggested Romero.
"Doubtless," said the girl shortly.
"I hope he is fleet of foot then," said the Mexican, lightly.
"Evidently he is," replied Zora.
"You should not have been left alone like this," said the man.
"I can take care of myself," replied Zora.
"Perhaps," he said, "but if you belonged to me-"
"I belong to no one, Comrade Romero," she replied icily.
"Forgive me, Senorita," he said. "I know that. I merely chose an unfortunate way of trying to say that if the girl I loved were here she would not have been left alone in the forest, especially when I believe, as Zveri must believe, that we are being pursued by an enemy."
"You do not like Comrade Zveri, do you, Romero?"
"Even to you, Senorita," he replied, "I must admit, since you ask me, that I do not."
"I know that he has antagonized many."
"He has antagonized all-except you, Senorita."
"Why should I be excepted?" she asked. "How do you know that he has not antagonized me also?"
"Not deeply, I am sure," he said, "or else you would not have consented to become his wife."
"And how do you know that I have?" she asked.
"Comrade Zveri boasts of it often," replied Romero.
"Oh, he does?" nor did she make any other comment.
Chapter 17: A Gulf That Was Bridged
THE general rout of Zveri's forces ended only when their last camp had been reached and even then only for part of the command, for as night fell it was discovered that fully twenty-five percent of the men were missing, and among the absentees were Zora and Romero. As the stragglers came in, Zveri questioned each about the girl, but no one had seen her. He tried to organize an expedition to go back in search of her, but no one would accompany him. He threatened and pleaded, only to discover that he had lost all control of his men. Perhaps he would have gone back alone, as he insisted that he intended doing; but he was relieved of this necessity when, well after dark, the two walked into camp together.