Africa, West -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
They laid the skin out on the trampled maidenhair, and contemplated it
with silent satisfaction. In the course of their inspection they both
arrived at the head at the same moment. The two holes in the hide, just
above the eyes, came under their notice at the same moment, and they
turned and smiled gravely at each other, thinking the same thought--the
sort of thought that Englishmen rarely put into intelligible English.
“I'm glad we did that,” said Guy Oscard at length, suddenly. “Whatever
comes of this expedition of ours--if we fight like hell, as we probably
shall, before it is finished--if we hate each other ever afterwards,
that skin ought to remind us that we are much of a muchness.”
It might have been put into better English; it might almost have sounded
like poetry had Guy Oscard been possessed of the poetic soul. But this,
fortunately, was not his; and all that might have been said was left to
the imagination of Meredith. What he really felt was that there need
be no rivalry, and that he for one had no thought of such; that in the
quest which they were about to undertake there need be no question of
first and last; that they were merely two men, good or bad, competent or
incompetent, but through all equal.
Neither of them suspected that the friendship thus strangely inaugurated
at the rifle's mouth was to run through a longer period than the few
months required to reach the plateau--that it was, in fact, to extend
through that long expedition over a strange country that we call Life,
and that it was to stand the greatest test that friendship has to meet
with here on earth.
It was almost dark when at last they turned to go, Jack Meredith
carrying the skin over his shoulder and leading the way. There was no
opportunity for conversation, as their progress was necessarily very
difficult. Only by the prattle of the stream were they able to make sure
of keeping in the right direction. Each had a thousand questions to
ask the other. They were total strangers; but it is not, one finds, by
conversation that men get to know each other. A common danger, a common
pleasure, a common pursuit--these are the touches of Nature by which men
are drawn together into the kinship of mutual esteem.
Once they gained the banks of the Ogowe their progress was quicker, and
by nine o'clock they reached the camp at Msala. Victor Durnovo was still
at work superintending the discharge of the baggage and stores from
the large trading-canoes. They heard the shouting and chattering before
coming in sight of the camp, and one voice raised angrily above the
others.
“Is that Durnovo's voice?” asked Meredith.
“Yes,” answered his companion curtly.
It was a new voice which Meredith had not heard before. When they
shouted to announce their arrival it was suddenly hushed, and presently
Durnovo came forward to greet them.
Meredith hardly knew him, he was so much stronger and healthier in
appearance. Durnovo shook hands heartily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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