Like Manu the monkey he scaled the high barrier. A few scattered shots followed him, but he dropped to the ground outside unscathed and disappeared in the growing gloom of the advancing night.
The long night of their captivity dragged on and still the "Gunner" and Jezebel lay as they had been left, without food or drink, while the silent corpse of Capietro stared at the ceiling.
"I wouldn't treat nobody like this," said the "Gunner," "not even a rat."
Jezebel raised herself to one elbow. "Why not try it?" she whispered.
"What?" demanded Danny. "I'd try anything once."
"What you said about a rat made me think of it," said Jezebel. "We have lots of rats in the land of Midian . Sometimes we catch them—they are very good to eat We make traps, but if we do not kill the rats soon after they are caught they gnaw their way to freedom—they gnaw the cords which bind the traps together."
"Well, what of it?" demanded Danny. "We ain't got no rats, and if we had—well, I won't say I wouldn't eat 'em kid; but I don't see what it's got to do with the mess we're in."
"We're like the rats, Danny," she said. "Don't you see? We're like the rats and—we can gnaw our way to freedom!"
"Well, kid," said Danny, "if you want to gnaw your way through the side of this hut, hop to it; but if I gets a chance to duck I'm goin' through the door."
"You do not understand, Danny," insisted Jezebel. "You are an egg that cannot talk. I mean that I can gnaw the cords that fasten your wrists together."
"Geeze, kid!" exclaimed Danny. "Dumb aint no name for it, and I always thought I was the bright little boy. You sure got a bean, and I don't mean maybe."
"I wish I knew what you are talking about, Danny," said Jezebel, "and I wish you would let me try to gnaw the cords from your wrist. Can't you understand what I'm talking about?"
"Sure, kid, but I'll do the gnawing—my jaws are tougher. Roll over, and I'll get busy. When you're free you can untie me."
Jezebel rolled over on her stomach and Danny wriggled into position where he could reach the thongs at her wrists with his teeth. He fell to work with a will, but it was soon evident to him that the job was going to be much more difficult than he had anticipated.
He found, too, that he was very weak and soon tired; but though often he was forced to stop through exhaustion, he never gave up. Once, when he paused to rest, he kissed the little hands that he was trying to liberate. It was a gentle, reverent kiss, quite unlike the "Gunner"; but then love is a strange force, and when it is aroused in the breast of a man by a clean and virtuous woman it makes him always a little tenderer and a little better.
Dawn was lifting the darkness within the hut, and still the "Gunner" gnawed upon the thongs that it seemed would never part. Capietro lay staring at the ceiling, his dead eyes rolled upward, just as he had lain there staring through all the long hours of the night, unseeing.
The shiftas were stirring in the village, for this was to be a busy day. Slaves were preparing the loads of camp equipment and plunder that they were to carry toward the north. The fighting men were hastening their breakfasts that they might look to their weapons and their horse gear before riding out on their last raid from this village, against the camp of the English hunter.
Ntale the chief was eating beside the fire of his favorite wife. "Make haste, woman," he said. "I have work to do before we ride."
"You are chief now," she reminded him. "Let others work."
"This thing I do myself," replied the black man.
"What do you do that is so important that I must hasten the preparation of the morning meal?" she demanded.
"I go to kill the white man and get the girl ready for the journey," he replied. "Have food prepared for her. She must eat or she will die."
"Let her die," replied the woman. "I do not want her around. Kill them both."
"Shut thy mouth!" snapped the man. "I am chief."
"If you do not kill her, I shall," said the woman. "I shall not cook for any white bitch."
The man rose. "I go to kill the man," he said. "Have breakfast for the girl when I return with her."
Chapter 25
The Waziri
"There!" gasped the "Gunner."
"I am free!" exclaimed Jezebel.
"And my jaws is wore out," said Danny.
Quickly Jezebel turned and worked upon the thongs that confined the "Gunner's" wrists before taking the time to loose her ankles. Her fingers were quite numb, for the cords had partially cut off the circulation from her hands; and she was slow and bungling at the work. It seemed to them both that she would never be done. Had they known that Ntale had already arisen from his breakfast fire with the announcement that he was going to kill the "Gunner," they would have been frantic; but they did not know it, and perhaps that were better, since to Jezebel's other handicaps was not added the nervous tension that surely would have accompanied a knowledge of the truth.
But at last the "Gunner's" hands were free; and then both fell to work upon the cords that secured their ankles, which were less tightly fastened.
At last the "Gunner" arose. "The first thing I do," he said, "is to find out what I was lyin' on yesterday. It had a familiar feel to it; and, if I'm right—boy!"
He rummaged among the filthy rags at the end of the hut, and a moment later straightened tip with a Thompson submachine gun in one hand and his revolver, belt and holster in the other—a grin on his face.
"This is the first break I've had in a long time," he said. "Everything's jake now, sister."
"What are those things?" asked Jezebel.
"Them's the other half of 'Gunner' Patrick," replied Danny. "Now, bring on the dirty rats!"
As he spoke, Ntale the chief drew aside the rug at the doorway and looked in. The interior of the hut was rather dark, and at first glance he could not make out the figures of the girl and the man standing at the far side; but, silhouetted as he was against the growing morning light beyond the doorway, he was plainly visible to his intended victim; and Danny saw that the man carried a pistol ready in his hand.
The "Gunner" had already buckled his belt about him. Now he transferred the machine gun to his left hand and drew his revolver from its holster. He did these things quickly and silently. So quickly that, as he fired, Ntale had not realized that his prisoners were free of their bonds—a thing he never knew, as, doubtless, he never heard the report of the shot that killed him.
At the same instant that the "Gunner" fired, the report of his revolver was drowned by yells and a shot from a sentry at the gate, to whom the coming day had revealed a hostile force creeping upon the village.
As Danny Patrick stepped over the dead body of the chief and looked out into the village he realized something of what had occurred. He saw men running hastily toward the village gates and scrambling to the banquette. He heard a fusilade of shots that spattered the palisade, splintering the wood and tearing through to fill the village with a screaming, terror stricken mob.
His knowledge of such things told him that only high powered rifles could send their projectiles through the heavy wood of the palisade. He saw the shiftas on the banquette returning the fire with their antiquated muskets. He saw the slaves and priosners cowering in a corner of the village that was freer from the fire of the attackers than other portions.
He wondered who the enemies of the shiftas might be, and past experience suggested only two possibilities—either a nval "gang" or the police.
"I never thought I'd come to it, kid," he said.
"Come to what, Danny?"
"I hate to tell you what I been hopin'," he admitted.