Jasper County Democrat, Volume 22, Number 89, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 February 1920 — WHITE MAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WHITE MAN

By George Agnew Chamberlain

Author of “Home.” "Through Stained Clmb.” “Jahn Bogardua.” etc.

। SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I.—Andrea Pellor, handsome ■laughter of Lord Pellor, Impecunious aristocrat, is doomed to marry an lllitprate but wealthy mlddle-agea diamond In Ine owner. She disconsolately wanders from her hotel in South Africa and discovers an aviator about to fly from the beach. Impulsively, of course imagining Ehat the trip will be merely a pleasant excursion, and a welcome relief from thoughts of her impending loveless marriage, she begs to be taken for a flight, although she does not know him. He somewhat unwillingly agrees, and they start. CHAPTER ll.—When she realizes.her Unknown aviator is not going bacwAnidrea in desperation tries to choke him ■with one of her stockings. He thwarts tier and they sail on into the very heart es Africa. Landing in an immense craal, Andrea finds the natives all bow In worship to her mysterious companion. She Is given a slave boy, "Bathtub,” and the White Man sets about building a hut for her. CHAPTER lll.—Andrea is given a glimpse of the home which Is to be hers. End wonders at its completeness. White Man Invites her to dinner that evening, and In spite of the fact that he has refused to take her back to civilization Andrea accepts his invitation, but he continues deaf to her pleading that he restore her to her friends. -CHAPTER IV.—Andrea is awakened from sound sleep next morning by loud pounding on her doorway and Is told to prepare for a day’s hunt with White Man. 'She thoroughly enjoys the exciting trip and begins to understand more of he •’host’s” character and the reason for his apparently ruthless slaughtering of animals. He Is providing for the force of blacks he employs and who look to him for sustenance. CHAPTER V.—Andrea, worrying over her deplorable lack of change of clothing, is surprised and delighted when a trunk, loaded with everything In the way of jclothlng dear to the feminine heart, is dropped at her doorway by stalwart na--I fives and she is told by white Man that they are hers. White Man by a skillful shot saves her from the attack of a • sable bull and she Is fast becoming reconciled to her fate after eight days in the craal. CHAPTER Vl.—On another expedition the donkey on which Andrea Is mounted runs away with her and she is for a moment made ridiculous. White Man explains the African method of wife purchase, "obolo.’” She is horrified. Afterward she listens to the report of native runners that a herd of elephants is in L the district and is invited to the hunt by risWhlte Man. They start down a croco-fdlle-lnfested stream for the scene of the hunt He looked up and added with pardonable pride: “And that, too, is how I knew where to get him running—the other way. I made up my mind where to shoot before he was there.” They went to survey the second beast He was quite dead; one long tusk gleaming white, an ivory island In a lake of bright blood. "Come away,” said M’sungo quickly. He led her to the shade of one of the big trees where Marguerite, newly arrived, was already drowsing and dreaming happily of all the evil in the world. Around the nearby elephant, the natives swarmed like maggots. “Bathtubl” shouted M’sungo. “Chocula!” Bathtub turned lingeringly from the carcass, rushed over, dropped the lunch box at M’sungo’s feet and plunged back again. “We’ll have to forgive him,” said M’sungo, sitting down and proceeding to open the tin and lay out Andrea’s lunch for her. “The elephant—especially a dead one —holds a place in the native cosmos that no white man has ever quite sucteeded in grasping. All those ’boys’ are quite mad. I’ve seen one sever his thumb from his body when he was Uke that and never notice it till he reeled from loss of blood.” Andrea shivered but M’sungo did pot notice it “They believe,” he continued, “that the meat of elephant is a (compound of the flesh of all animals hhd that by eating it they acquire all leading attributes—the courage of the Hon, the slyness of the jackal, the gorging capacity of the snake, the eyeeight of the hawk by day and of the felines by night, the industry of the lint and the homing Instinct of the bee. You see the line? It’s endless; fend just because they have more than a smattering of the qualities they seek, the superstition will never die.” He stopped to give Andrea a drink pf water and to feed her a first sandWich. “And that isn’t the only thing that never dies,” he went on, his eyes narrowing to a peculiar look she had never seen in them before, such a look as one is apt to connect only with mystics, fanatics, ardent believers, and thoroughly out of keeping with the conception of the White Man she had builded for herself. “Why, White Man!” she cried, “what do you mean? What’s come (over you?” He looked away and then back at her. “Well,” he said, a quizzical gleam • (creeping into his eyes, “who’s afraid? Why shouldn’t I tell once more a thing that’s been Written a hundred times by greater adepts than I and never believed? It’s this, Andrea Pellor. Don’t set yourself too high above the native and his worship of the greatest of beasts, for he knows what you can’t even believe and that is that elephants are killed, they never die. In all the Centuries that blacks, Arabs and whites have nadded the-myriad trails

of Africa, no man has ever seen or heard of an elephant dying from old age or any other natural cause.” His eyes hardened on her face. “You see?" he whispered. “You can’t believe it Elephants never die.” Leading the march home over the back trail, M’sungo set a pace that kept Marguerite at a jogging trot. Andrea protested but to no avail. • M’sungo, comfortably smoking pipe after pipe, had withdrawn into one of those male havens of the mind that remains marvelously untroubled by the tongues of women. Andrea sulked. When they arrived at the river, there being but three natives in their reduced following, M’sungo promptly took his place as one of the four pall* bearers to Marguerite. There was something about being carried even in part by a white man that seemed to appeal to the old rogue’s sense of humor.. He threw up his barrel-long head and brayed an accompaniment to his triumphal progress into the scow. No sooner was he deposited than M’sungo seized his tail and bore down on it with all his weight The music suddenly ceased. But Andrea’s clear laughter still rang out. “Oh,” she cried when she could speak, “he is clever. I didn’t realize how ridiculous you were until he laughedl” She let herself go again. M’sungo glared at her. “And you were brutal,” she continued. “You pulled his tail.” “I pulled his tail to make him shut up,” said M’sungo. "I wish—’’ he paused. “Say it” cried Andrea. “You wish you could make me shut up. Well, you can’t. Tm going to laugh all I like. Listen!* She opened wide her mouth for a stage “Ha! Ha! Ha!” but it never got out. M’sungo threw his arms around her and snatched her to him. His lips came closer and closer to hers. In his eyes was an exasperated twinkle. “Please don’t,” he begged. Andrea glanced down her nose at his lips, saw that they had halted In their advance on hers and decided to struggle free from his embrace. “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked argumentatively. “What Is there about this muggy old river that has you—has you bluffed?” “A lot of things," began M’sungo, his eyes shifting. Andrea watched him shrewdly. “Tell me, White Man," she concluded “what Is the one reason?” She saw a doubt and then a sudden decision come into, his face. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you tonight.’ 1 They reached the home craal at the setting of the sun. In rapid succession came tea, a hot bath, fresh clothes and dinner. With the first puff at hei cigarette Andrea settled back in her chair and said, “Now.” The man did not pretend to be at a loss for her meaning. He nodded, lit his cigar and sat down. “All- right," he said, ‘TH trust you. Here’d the cat out of the bag. I’m not the only wh:te man in this bit of country. There’s another who came in across the wilderness and has his camp about forty miles up the river. His business and mine have one thing and one thing only, thank God, in common. They are both clandestine. As it happens, I don’t think he knows or cares what I’m up to, but I know all about him, because on those rare occasions when he comes down the river he is invariably roaring drunk. His tongut never stops.” “Does he —ever?” asked Andrea. “You mean does he stop here?" She nodded.

“Yes, he does,” said M’sungo. “1 wish he didn’t, but he always does.” “And what had you Intended to de with me on his first visit?” she asked “Well,” said M’sungo, his brows puckering, “I’ve had in mind to tel you all about it jqst as I’m doing, anc trust von. Bus if it hadn’t come U that, I was going to gag you and lock you up.” “Oh, were you?” said Andrea, her eyes narrowing. “Let me tell you at once that I do not consider myself under parole. I don’t mean by that that Pm going to sit on the river bank waiting for this man to come along, but when he comes I would be a fool to miss the chance of telling him just what my situation is. He might not be able to get me out, but at least I would no longer be totally in your power. If my disappearance should be completed there would be a credible witness to the incredible fact that I bad really been here.” A dark flush spread over M’sungo’s face. “At the risk of further arousing your curiosity,” he said, “let me asspre you that you are a thousand times safer in my sole power than in that of one or a dozen MacClosters.” “Is that his name—MacCloster?” asked Andrea coldly. M’sungo nodded. “And what is his reprehensible business?” “I can’t conceive why I should tell you. One can’t spread that sort of thing without harming one’s self.” “So you don’t trust me, after all,** said Andrea. “It isn’t.a question of trusting,” replied M’sungo. “It’s a question of whether it ever pays to tell tales out of school.” “4nd you don’t think you are justified in telling me this man’s business just as a warning?” “You mean,” said M’sungo, “so that you can believe me when I tell you it would be a disaster should he catch a glimpse of you? In other words, yon want to be persuaded that Tm telling the truth.” “Not at all," said Andrea. “You’re fishing for trouble. I mean—just a warning.” “Well, if you mean Just that" said

M’sungo, “it is quite unnecessary, for the man is his own warning. Only see him before he sees you and I won’t have to gag you, / won’t have to lock you up. I may, however, have to put the tracker on your trail into the bush.” “You think there is a man living I would run from?” said Andrea. “You don’t know me.” “Perhaps you wouldn’t,” said M’sungo, “but in the case of MacCloster, it would be because you couldn’t on account of jelly in the knees.” “Oh I" cried Andrea. “Now you have done it. Now I want to see him.” “Andrea Pellor,” said M’sungo quietly, “please believe me when I tell you that you don’t. Pm hoping the old devil won’t go on a tear while you’re here, but if he does and if he comes, just remember what I tell you. Rather than have MacCloster see you and touch you, I would gladly cut your throat” “Why mine?” asked Andrea. “It would have impressed me a lot more if you’d said your own. Perhaps you realized that I couldn’t quite believe that.” “Now you’re trying to quarrel,” said the white man coolly. “Aren’t you sleepy?" “No.”

He yawned. “That’s nice of you,” said Andrea. “And siqce you’re interested, I might as well ask a few more quetslons. What were you doing on that d beach with your airplane, anyway? Will that be telling tales out of school?” He looked relieved. “Not at all. I’d got off my third steamer load and I suddenly had news that pdt It up to me to change th* captain’s sailing orders before he passed beyond the reach of wireless. There wasn’t time for anything but the old flying boat so I ran her out and jogged down the coast. I wasn’t on that ‘d ’ beach more than thirty minutes, all told.” “Thirty minutes," murmured Andrea. “Who would have thought that one little half-hour could ever matter?” He looked at her muslpgly. “It doesn’t pay to tell you things,” he said. “We get along better just living.” “I wonder how you know!” said Andrea. “You’ve told me such a lot, haven’t you? Where did you learn to fly?” Her question seemed to send a shock through him, but he met her eyes squarely and said nothing. Andrea waited a full minute, then she began: “Who are you? What’s your name? Where did you come from? Do you always take an airplane along? Are you an amateur? If you’re not, why do you shrivel every time I say flying machine? Why do you?" She pounded the table. The. Irian’s face paled and went whiter at each of her questions, but he held his tongue, and his silence maddened her. Without taking her angry eyes off his face she swept two coffee cups, two saucers and two liqueur glasses to the ground with a crash. Nothing could have served better to break the tension. The man smiled. “That was great,” he said pleasantly. “You’re like me—when in doubt, do something. Well,” he continued In his lighter tone, “I can answer the spirit of all your questions and I will answer them because I don’t want you ever to ask them again. Stubborn pride is the root of the whole mystery. During the first year of the war I was a flyer for the allies. I waS on the way to a big name when my nerve went back on me. I couldn’t believe it I came down here and brought a machine with me, working on my old theory of contrasts. You saw how I flew—how I landed. You took me for an amateur. That’s all. Please leave it. It’s the flaw in my philosophy, the inevitable fly in the clear amber of a reasonably bappy life.” He snapped his cigar away, sending after it a long last puff of smoke. Andrea no longer watched him. Her eyes fixed on the dying glow of the cigar butt. “I ewe you several apologies,” she said, quietly, “but I’m not to blame. I couldn’t have guessed. I can understand some of what you feel

because Tie beard at several cases

... .» like yours—poor devils that look young and well but find terror in the unjust eyes of a world critical of slackers. But there was one —I remember his name. Robert Oddman Trevor, a Canadian.” That was a name that M’sungo knew best of all names in the world. It was his own. But even if Andrea had been watching him it is doubtful if she would have read correctly the sudden tensity that shot through his frame. He turned on her a slanting glance. “What about Trevor V he asked coolly. “It was he that really made a flyer out of my brother Harry," said Andrea. “Harry was attached to the medical board that handled the case and he said that when the ranking M. O. passed sentence in the nicest way he could, but told Trevor he’d have to take a long holiday and that he would never fly again, because he had lost his nerve, Trevor turned a bit white, stood very straight and said, ‘You Ue I”’ “D fool,” commented M’sungo. “Perhaps,” conceded Andrea. “But there must have been something is the way he did it that was deeper than the words, because aU those officers were ready on the spot to swear that what they had heard was, ‘thank you, sir,’ and Harry—- WeU, Harry has turned out a wonder, and he says It’s because he always goes up on the honor of Trevor, the nerviest man that ever flew.” i Andrea looked at her companion and caught on hie face a light of exaltation. “Why," she cried, outraged, “you haven’t been listening I" “Oh, yes I have,” he answered promptly, coming back to earth. “Every word. Good for Harry.” Andrea studied his fac4, the shadow of a question in her own. “By the way,” she said, “you are an American?” “Sure thing,” he answered, meeting her eyes squarely. .“Trevor was a Britisher, of course. But Canadians and Americans are a lot alike, aren’t they?” He contemplated his answer with a quirk of humor on his Ups. “Nqw-a-days,” he said finally, “there’s no reason why we should blush over saying •yes’ to that!” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“Who Are You?"