06 African Adventure

by Willard Price

  Hal laughed. ‘Thanks, Colonel. I don’t want either the credit or the photograph. Hold it.’ He snapped the picture and gave the camera back to Colonel Bigg.

  Hal walked away, chuckling. He had never met anybody quite like the colonel. The man was harmless enough, so long as he only wanted his picture taken. But a fool was a dangerous person to have along on a safari. This fake White Hunter would have to be watched. He might get himself and everybody else into serious trouble.

  A scream behind him made him turn round. The colonel was already in trouble. He was dancing and prancing, yelling at the top of his voice, ripping off his jacket, shirt, and trousers, slapping his body, and stamping his feet

  Hal could guess what had happened. He had seen soldier ants at work during his Amazon journey. Now the ants had been attracted by the leopard’s carcass, and when the colonel placed his foot on the animal’s head the ants had swarmed up his legs and were puncturing every part of his body with red-hot needles.

  Hal ran back into camp. He did not run fast enough to suit the colonel.

  ‘Hurry up! I’m being eaten alive. Do you want ‘em to kill me?’

  He was astounded when Hal paid no attention to him. Hal had something else to think of besides a dancing colonel.

  Soldier ants are one of the greatest terrors of the tropical jungle. They march across the country like an army and devour everything in their path. They swarm over their prey in a thick blanket. They can strip the hide from an elephant

  ‘Make fire!’ he yelled to the Africans. ‘A ring of fire all round the camp.’

  The ants already in the camp were bad enough. But behind them would be a column of soldiers perhaps a mile long, marching steadily towards the camp.

  The colonel would have to take care of himself. Hal dashed into his father’s tent. If the ants attacked a helpless man he might be killed. ‘Ants!’ Hal cried.

  His father needed only that one word to get the whole story. ‘None here, Hal. The hippo. Quick!’ Hal was out again and racing to the hippo’s cage. He would open the cage door and let the animal escape rather than allow it to be murdered by the ravenous ants. The hippo was trembling with fear, for even the largest animals know this danger and dread it. But the ants had not yet climbed the wheels of the truck. Hal jumped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and drove the truck several hundred yards out of camp.

  His next thought was for the baby leopards, and the dog. He came running back to the camp-site, whacking as he ran the few ants that managed to get on his body.

  He found the dog and the spotted kittens huddled together, while Joro thrashed the ground around them with an old shirt, driving away the ants.

  To Hal this was an amazing sight. Here was truly a man divided against himself. Joro was pledged to be a murderer. He was ready to kill men. The savage was strong and fierce within him - yet also inside him was a very gentle heart that prompted him to protect two leopard cubs and a dog.

  His own body was not free of the biting ants, but he let them bite as he beat away the danger from the whimpering animals.

  Who could hate this good-hearted killer? Hal at last saw clearly that his father was right. Even if it was dangerous to keep Joro, he must he kept and somehow freed from the deadly grip of the Leopard Society.

  The ring of fire that the men had made round the camp prevented more ants from coming in, and those already inside were either killed or driven out. The marching army had changed its course to go round the camp and beyond into the jungle. Hal made sure that their path did not take them near the caged hippo.

  Now at last he had time to think of the yelping colonel. Bigg had got rid of his last scrap of clothing and was grabbing himself here and there and wherever he felt a new bite. The huge ants, never less than half an inch long, dug their pincers into the flesh and did not relax their hold, even when their entire bodies except the head had been torn away.

  The tingling of his own arm reminded Hal of the line of heads that closed his wound beneath the bandage, and he could sympathize a little, not too much, with the cavorting colonel. He pulled out his knife and ran the back of it over Bigg’s body, scraping off the heads.

  Bigg was not grateful. ‘Took you long enough to get to it,’ he grumbled. His voice was hoarse from much squawking. He pulled on his clothes. He was still shivering and shaking. Hal turned to the cook.

  ‘Got any coffee?’

  ‘Plenty,’ said the cook cheerfully. He had not been bitten, since the ants had kept well away from his fire, so he had been able to attend to his duties as usual. He filled the canteen with strong, hot coffee and passed it to Hal, who poured some of it down Bigg’s throat. Hal kept the canteen strapped over his shoulder, in case anyone else needed some of the same medicine.

  As Bigg began to feel better, he seemed to expand and grow until he was once more the great White Hunter. He surveyed the camp like a general inspecting his army.

  ‘This would never have happened,’ he said, ‘if I had been running this safari. All this trouble could easily have been prevented.’ ‘How?’

  ‘With ant-poison. Surely you have some.’ 1 believe there are some boxes of it in the supply wagon,’ said Hal. ‘It’s good for ordinary ants. I don’t think it would have stopped the soldiers.’

  ‘You don’t think? That’s what’s wrong with you young fellows, you don’t think. This camp is still in danger, you know. Those ants are going round us just now, but they may change their evil little minds at any moment and come straight through the camp. But don’t you worryI’ll fix them.’

  He went to the van that held the supplies, rummaged about among boxes and packets, and emerged with a tin of ant-poison.

  He just wants to show how clever he is, thought Hal. Well, let him have his fun.

  Bigg stepped over the burning bunches of grass, twigs, and sticks with which the men had ringed the camp, and began to sift ant-poison on the hurrying ants, taking good care to keep his feet well away from the line of march.

  The ant army came on in a column about a foot wide, the soldiers marching so close together that they touched. They did not seem to mind the poison that sifted down upon them like a miniature snow-storm.

  Bigg followed the column back to where it emerged from the forest, sifting as he went. He walked on into the woods until he could no longer see the ants because of the thick underbrush.

  Then, well satisfied with himself, he returned to camp. The ants, however, kept marching by. For an hour they kept coming. Then the last of them passed and the protecting fires were allowed to die out.

  Bigg, his self-conceit completely restored, beamed upon Hal.

  ‘Well, my boy, it’s a good thing I thought of the ant poison, isn’t it? You see how well it worked. Next time you’ll know what to do.’

  Hal was about to point out that the poison had not worried the ants in the least But what was the use of arguing? He would never convince Colonel Bigg. So he smiled and said nothing.

  Chapter 9

  The poisoned baboon

  A loud clatter of voices came from the woods - shouts, barks, what sounded like the wail of a suffering infant, and high-pitched screams like the voices of women in distress.

  Hal stopped to listen. The sounds were almost human, but he knew they came from the large troop of baboons that inhabited the forest. What was bothering them?

  He pulled out his father’s order-sheets. Baboons - yes, a travelling circus wanted two of them.

  Perhaps if he wandered down to the woods and took a look at the troop, he could think out the best way to capture two baboons. Besides, he was curious to find out what was the cause of all this disturbance.

  He walked slowly down to the edge of the forest, following the poison trail laid by Colonel Bigg. As he came in under the trees and saw angry baboons in every direction, he realized that he should have brought a gun, or at least some staunch companions, for these brutes were in anything but a good mood.

  Everywhere, on the ground, in the branches
, the baboons, sometimes called dog-headed monkeys because of their long, dog-like faces, peered angrily down at him. He made a hasty estimate of their number. There must be three hundred of them.

  As a naturalist, he had learned enough about baboons to know that he was in real danger. All the scientific reports on animal behaviour that he had read, and all the hunters he had talked with in Nairobi, agreed that baboons are among the most quick-tempered of animals. At one time they might be as mild as milk, but when they become excited there is no animal more savage.

  The big fellows weigh eleven stone, and one of them is a match for a man. Two of them can tear a leopard to bits.

  They are more to be feared because they are remarkably intelligent. They react much like human beings. Throw a stone at a baboon and he will throw one back, and his aim is good. He will pick up a stick and use it as a club.

  He knows how far an average rifle will shoot and keeps just far enough away to be out of range. He likes to tease the man with the gun. He will put his head down, look at the hunter from between his legs and make faces at him.

  Only the birds have sharper eyes. Scientists credit the baboon with eyes equal to eight-power binoculars.

  When they make a raid on the farmer’s crops, one of them stays up in the top of a tree to act as a sentinel. He gives warning of any approaching danger.

  But he knows the difference between a man and a woman. Also the difference between a man with a gun and a man unarmed. He gives a shrill alarm when he sees a gunman, a mild alarm when he sees a man without a gun. no alarm whatever at the appearance of an unarmed woman.

  A ranger had told Hal that the baboons knew his car and kept well away from it. When he wanted to approach them closely he had to use another car. Also the baboons recognized the uniforms of the African game-scouts, who are called askaris. When a farmer saw his crops being ruined by animals, he would call the askaris. They would come in, shoot some of the marauders, and scare off the rest.

  That would work very well if the animals were rhinos, buffaloes, hippos, wart-hogs, forest pigs, or even elephants. It didn’t work with baboons. As soon as they saw the uniforms, they didn’t wait to be shot at. They disappeared as if by magic. When the askaris had gone, they would return and continue their thievery.

  To get close enough to shoot them, the askaris must take off their uniforms and put on plain clothes so that they looked like ordinary villagers. And as they walked towards the baboons they must conceal their guns behind their backs.

  Even so, a baboon sentinel up a tree might catch sight of a gun and give the alarm, whereupon every baboon would promptly vanish.

  The baboon is smart enough to know what is good to eat. He is not like the lion who will eat no grass, the elephant who will eat no meat, the crocodile who will eat no vegetables, the leopard who will eat no shrubbery, or the giraffe who eats only the leaves of trees.

  The baboon, like the human being, has learned the value of many different kinds of food. He enjoys fruit, berries, sprouts, vegetables, insects, worms, snails, young birds, and when he is very hungry he may kill and eat pigs, sheep, lambs, goats, chickens, and dogs.

  He has one great advantage over man. A man cannot take more food if his stomach is already full. A baboon can. He stores the extra food in his cheek pouches. He keeps it there until there is room for it in his stomach. Then he takes it out of these storage pockets, chews, and swallows it.

  A scorpion is dreaded by most animals because of the poisonous stinger at the end of its tail. The intelligent baboon does not worry about that. He knows exactly where the stinger is and how to pinch it off and throw it away. Then he eats the scorpion.

  If you let baboons alone they will let you alone. That’s a pretty good general rule. But it’s not always true. Suppose someone else has made the baboons very angry.
Then you happen to come along. They may take out their anger on you.

  Hal faced three hundred angry baboons. Certainly he had done nothing to provoke them. Had anyone else annoyed them? Had anyone from the camp been in the woods today?

  He could think of no one until his eye happened to rest upon a pale-green dust on the ground. Ant-poison! The blundering Colonel Bigg had been there and left a trail of poison.

  But why should that bother the baboons? They were wise enough not to eat poison.

  A pitiful wailing like the loud crying of a woman came from a female baboon whose arms wrapped round a screaming baby. Suddenly Hal understood. The small baboon’s lips were covered with a pale-green foam.

  Not as wise as its elders, it had eaten some of the green poison. Now it was suffering terrible pain. It twisted, writhed and screamed in its agony. Death was not far away.

  The troop could not punish Colonel Bigg, but here was a man they could kill and they showed every intention of doing so. They bared their great canine teeth, furiously barked and screamed, and danced up and down with rage. Hal knew that one false move on his part would bring them upon him like an avalanche. If he picked up a stone and threw it, that would seal his own fate.

  He stood perfectly still and calculated his chances. If he turned his back on them and ran, they could overtake him.

  Perhaps he could quietly withdraw. He took one step backward, then another. He heard baboon voices behind him. He turned and saw that his escape was cut off. The three hundred baboons had so distributed themselves that they completely surrounded him.

  Now they were beginning to move in on him and their angry jabbering rose to a high pitch. One by one they would leap forward, then back, then forward again. Each of these cavortings would leave them a little closer to their victim.

  Hal gave up any idea of escape. He would try something else. If baboons were so intelligent, he would appeal to their intelligence.

  Instead of retreating farther, he took a step forward. The surprised baboons shrank back a little and there was sudden silence.

  Quietly, Hal spoke to them. He said anything that came to his mind. It didn’t matter what the words were, because they couldn’t understand words. But they could understand the tone of his voice. It was gentle and kind, and there was no fear in it.

  As he spoke, he looked at the suffering youngster. He loosed the strap from his shoulder and held his canteen out at arm’s length. He shook the canteen slightly so that the splash of the liquid could be heard. Then he raised the canteen to his lips as if to take a drink. Again he stretched it out towards the baby, all the time speaking gently.

  He took another step forward. Immediately the baboon mother screamed and began to back away. But the baboons behind her did not let her go.

  Three grave, wise old fellows seemed to be reasoning with her in a sort of conversation made up of low grunts and barks. They appeared to be saying:

  ‘Perhaps he isn’t so bad after all. Perhaps he can help your baby.’

  The mother was hard to convince. She clutched her infant more closely and tried to slip away. When Hal took two more slow steps forward, she screamed with terror and that started the baby shrieking once more. Some of the other man-haters in the troop began roaring anew, and their savagely bared teeth did not make Hal any more comfortable.

  He stood perfectly still until the noise died down. Then he spoke soothingly and offered the canteen once more.

  It was the baby itself that decided in favour of Hal. It watched him with great round eyes, then reached out its hand towards the canteen. Hal did not move. The baby, straining to clutch the canteen, tried to free itself from its mother’s grip. It had the curiosity of any child, the desire to get hold of a strange new thing and play with it.

  It began a loud whimpering. The mother, losing patience, turned her brat upside-down and whacked its little red bottom. She tried again to escape, but now she was completely walled in.

  Hal had only a few feet more to go. He went down on one knee. Now he did not look quite so terrifying.

  Little by little he inched forward. His heart was beating wildly. He was quite aware that this was a dangerous experim
ent. Perhaps this strong, bitter coffee would counteract the poison. On the other hand, perhaps it would kill the patient. If it did, the ‘doctor’ would promptly be ripped up into small pieces by three hundred sets of savage teeth.

  Suspiciously the baboons watched. How could they be sure that the stuff in this thing was not more poison? But Hal’s manner and voice quieted their fears,

  Like all animals, they respected courage. If Hal had bolted, they would have been on him in a minute. His easy, steady advance had them puzzled and almost convinced

  One last, long reach and the baby had clutched the canteen. Hal did not allow it to be drawn from his hand. He shuffled forward a little closer to his patient in spite of the angry muttering around him. He removed the cap from the canteen.

  Then very slowly, he raised the canteen, tipped it, and let a little of the contents drip out.

  The baby instinctively opened its mouth to catch the dripping liquid. Hal poured the coffee down its throat The baby choked and sputtered, then opened its mouth to get more. The rest of the coffee went down the hatch.

  Would it kill or cure? The young baboon closed its eyes, then began to twist and cry. The mother was making threatening sounds, other baboons were snarling, and Hal, looking about, could see nothing but row upon row of great yellow teeth crowding in on him.

  Hal laid down the canteen. The small baboon suddenly squirmed out of its mother’s arms and lay face down on the ground, panting and wheezing. Hal watched every move in an agony of suspense. If the little beast died, he would die too.

  Spasms shook the small body, at first in rapid order, then farther and farther apart. Finally the baby lay without movement.

  Hal reached beneath and squeezed the baby’s belly, hard. Greenish-yellow curds came in a flood from the youngster’s mouth. Hal squeezed again and again, until nothing more came out.