Killer's Kraal

On the top of the hill she unslung her bow and quiver, looking around
for a place to rest. She selected a spot where a mimosa grew out of a
grassy cleft and, with feline grace, stretched out flat on her belly
in the black pool of its shadow. With her chin cupped in her hand she
looked toward the first bend in the river.

The jungle was the same, standing dark and endless across the river.
The river was the same, sweeping its mass of reddish waters westward
toward Sao Vincente and its final tryst with the Father-of-all-Rivers,
as her people, the Abamas, called the Congo. Beyond the green expanse
of the jungle Tula Mbogo, the Buffalo Mountain, lifted its horned
peaks, and a cushion of white clouds made of it a seat for a lazy god.
Truly, the jungle and the river were as they must have been for a
thousand years. Only people changed, outwardly and inwardly, and these
subtle changes made them see things differently, even act foolishly.

It must be so. If it were otherwise she would not be here, daydreaming
beside the river. Why, when the drums had told her that Rick Thorne
was on the river, had she come so far to meet him? Why had she not
remained in her forest sanctuary and sent Ekoti, the Abama chief, to
turn him back? Such had been her first impulse but she had not obeyed
it. Why not?

Frowning, she communed with herself and soon found an answer less
disturbing in its implications. She was here because she knew that he
would not turn back at Ekoti's bidding. He was a reckless fool. He
might even venture to set foot on the forbidden trail to her
sanctuary, and pursue his folly to his death. Oh yes, it was because
she felt sorry for him. It was a great pity that one so young and
brave should waste his manhood in searching and straining for fruit
beyond his reach. Somehow he had to be made to understand that,
though her skin was white, she belonged to the jungle and the Abamas;
while he belonged to the mysterious world of white men which she had
never seen, and had no wish to see. He must be made to understand that
she was not for him. Her kiss was the kiss of death for any man who
dared to defy the strong taboo of her foster-mother, Ebid Ela--a taboo
made inviolate by a bristling boma of Abama spears.

So, here she was, listening to the drums--a pulsing now near and now
far, but always articulate, incredibly accurate. But nothing new, just
the gossip of the jungle. She let her mind idle. Her mood changed
again, and her thoughts became less definite and merged with the blue
haze. Across her line of vision birds flew with tails like a burst of
flame; others, over-balanced by huge red beaks, flapped awkwardly from
tree to tree. A tall, grey heron stood in the shallows and, when
gorged, rose heavily to light on a bough above her head--only to rise
again with a squawk of panic as Chim, her pet ape, sleeping on the
bough, suddenly awoke to scold the intruder.

As the blue-toned view faded, and the sun melted into the clouds and
brought them to a glow, the distance became more intimate, more
revealing. She was vaguely aware of the tension building up within
her.

It stirred up memories of her last meeting with Rick and suddenly she
was reliving it all again, every word, every gesture as if it had
happened yesterday. And with the vision came poignant yearnings which
half expressed themselves to her awareness, and then were overwhelmed
by the strong excitement which had been the core and magic of that
hour.

And suddenly she was afraid. For her there was danger in this meeting.
He would not listen to her. No! He would look at her with that
disconcerting gleam in his eyes. He would smile that slow slow smile,
and he would dare--. She would not stay! She would send Ekoti. She
sprang to her feet.

And just then the booming notes of a drum broke the silence--"Boom-
tack-tack-boom! Tack-tack-boom-tack--"

The Jungle Queen stood tense, listening, her expression changing
rapidly from concentrated interest to annoyance, and finally to settle
into one of profound puzzlement. She never failed to locate a drum by
its tone, but the voice of this one was as elusive as the code was
strange to her ears.