Such days too - and such nights! They had carried him
sometimes in a dead stupor, sometimes a raving madman, along a wild
bush-track across rivers and swamps into the town of Garba, where
years ago a Congo trader, who had made a fortune, had built a little
white-washed hospital ! He was safe now, but surely never a man
before had walked so near the "Valley of the Shadow of Death." A
single moment's vigilance relaxed, a blanket displaced, a dose of
brandy forgotten, and Trent might have walked this life a
multi-millionaire, a peer, a little god amongst his fellows, freed
for ever from all anxiety. But Francis was tended as never a man
was tended before. Trent himself had done his share of the carrying,
ever keeping his eyes fixed upon the death-lit face of their burden,
every ready to fight off the progress of the fever and ague, as the
twitching lips or shivering limbs gave warning of a change. For
fourteen days he had not slept; until they had reached Garba his
clothes had never been changed since they had started upon their
perilous journey. As he rode into Attra he reeled a little in his
saddle, and he walked into the office of the Agent more like a ghost
than a man.
Two men, Cathcart and his assistant, who was only a boy, were
lounging in low chairs.
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