Bones of the River Read Free Page A

the river, and was drowned.”
    “His leg being caught by the terrible ones,” suggested his nephew helpfully. “And, M’gula, I will sit in my father’s place and give justice. When Sandi comes, and hearing me speak cleverly, he shall say: ‘This son of Busubu is my chief.’”
    His proposal aroused no enthusiasm.
    “It is I who will sit in the place of my brother, for I am an old man, and old men are wise. And when Sandi comes I will speak for you both,” he added cunningly.
    And so it was arranged. M’gula sat on the stool of office on the thatched palaver house, and gave judgment and made speeches. One day he invited his two nephews to a great feast of fish and manioc . After the feast the young men were taken ill. They were buried in a middle island the next morning, and M’gula took their wives into his house. Bosambo, Paramount Chief of the Ochori, heard rumours, and sent a pigeon to Sanders a month or so later.
    “M’gula? Who the devil is M’gula?” demanded Hamilton.
    They were at breakfast in the big, airy dining-room of the residency. Sanders had read aloud a message that had come by pigeon post that morning.
    “My dear old Ham!” said Bones, who sat opposite to him, “my dear Captain and Honourable! Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know M’gula?”
    Lieutenant Tibbets sat with coffee cup poised, an expression of incredulity and wonder on his pink face. He spoke a little thickly.
    “I wish to heavens, Bones, you wouldn’t speak with your mouth full. Weren’t you taught manners as a boy?”
    Bones swallowed something rapidly and painfully. “You’ve made me swallow a plum-stone, cruel old prefect,” he said reproachfully. “But don’t get off M’gula. I don’t profess to know every jolly old indigenous native by sight, but I know M’gula – he’s the fisherman johnny: quite a lad… Isisi river. Am I right, excellency?”
    Sanders, lighting a black cheroot, shook his head. “You’re wrong. He’s a man of the Northern Ochori.”
    “When I said Isisi,” said Bones shamelessly, “I naturally meant the Ochori. I know his father. Jolly nice, amiable old rascal…”
    “I hanged his father ten years ago,” said the patient Sanders, “and I think that hanging runs in the family.”
    “lt does,” murmured Bones, unabashed. “Now that you come to mention him, sir, I remember him. M’gula, of course. Dear old Ham, I’m really surprised at your forgetting a fellow like M’gula!”
    “What has he been doing, sir?” asked Hamilton.
    “Poison – that is certain; probably a more picturesque murder, though I think that is going to be difficult to prove. Busubu, the little chief in that part of the country, has disappeared. I think he was a little mad. The last time I was through the country he was developing sleep sickness – the neck glands were typical, but I thought he’d last longer before the mad stage was reached.”
    He tapped his white teeth with the tip of his fingers – evidence of his uneasiness.
    “I’ve half a mind to send you up to the country, Bones – you could take the Wiggle and call in on Bosambo en route .”
    “Surely it is rather a simple matter to bring M’gula to trial?” asked Hamilton. “It isn’t unusual. A chief mysteriously disappears, a relative jumps into the vacant place…?”
    Sanders shook his head. “There is a curious feature about this crime – if it is a crime. Nobody can be found who can or will give evidence. Usually, even in a small village, you can collect a dozen stories that fit together. Bosambo says that two months ago M’gula made a journey to headquarters – I don’t remember his coming.”
    Something in Bones’ face attracted his superior’s attention.
    “Bones! You saw him?”
    “Did I, dear old Ham? I’m blessed if I remember. What with sitting up all night with your jolly old hens–”
    “You saw him, and I’ll bet your infernal passion for educating the unfortunate native is responsible. What