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  “No, we couldn't!” I said, and fell asleep.

  We spent the next day foot-slogging, and by mid-morning of the second day we had reached the outskirts of the Lado Enclave. We made camp early and fell to studying Captain Michael Holmes’ map, trying to figure out the quickest way to get to the nearest of the herds. Finally we bedded down, and were up about an hour before sunrise.

  We began finding piles of fresh elephant dung about noon, and within about two hours had snuck to within a quarter mile of a herd of maybe two hundred of the beasts. Herbie lay down on his belly, tested the wind with a handful of dry dirt, and began inching forward. I looked at him for a minute, then did the same.

  Since I was bigger than Herbie I began getting a little ahead of him, and I stopped when we were about eighty yards away from a huge bull with enormous tusks. Then, just as I was about to suggest that we were close enough for a shot, Herbie sank his teeth into the side of my neck.

  I let out a yell, and all hell broke loose. The elephants stood in a circle, trunks extended, trying to figure out where the noise had come from, and then three or four of them started running straight at us.

  I jumped up, more mad at Herbie than scared of the elephants, and pointed down at the little vampire, who was nibbling on my Achilles tendon.

  “He's the one!” I screamed at the oncoming elephants. “Just run right by me and flatten that little bloodsucker!”

  The elephants wheeled around like quarter horses and raced off in the other direction the second they saw and heard me, and a moment later there wasn't an animal to be seen anywhere, except for the one who was slowly getting up next to me.

  “I don't know what happened, Lucifer,” he said. “I've never done that in the daytime before.”

  “You damned fool!” I screamed. “You could have gotten us both killed!”

  He just hung his head and looked so sad that all the anger evaporated right out of me.

  “All right,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Just try to give me a little warning next time we're sneaking up on a herd of elephants, okay?”

  Well, the next time didn't come for almost a week, during which time Herbie tried marching to his different drummer more and more often, especially if I would nick myself while shaving. But finally one morning we found about a dozen young males and one real old one with huge tusks lolling in a small wooded glen.

  This time I made sure Herbie went ahead of me, and when he got within about forty yards of them he cut loose with a couple of shots and dropped the old tusker. I ran up to look at the corpse, and discovered that Herbie was nowhere to be seen.

  “Herbie!” I called.

  “Up here, Lucifer,” he replied, and I looked up and found him perched in a tree about twenty-five feet above the ground.

  “What are you doing up there?” I said.

  “There's always a chance that one of the others will come back,” he said, “and you've got all the rest of the bullets.”

  “That shows a lot of foresight,” I said.

  “Thank you, Lucifer.”

  “What am I supposed to do if one of them comes back?”

  He paused thoughtfully, then asked, “How good are you at climbing trees?”

  “Not very,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, do you know any real fast prayers?”

  “Knock off the comedy and come down here,” I said.

  “That wasn't a rhetorical question, Lucifer,” he said. “There's an elephant about fifty feet behind you, and he looks very unhappy.”

  Which was how I found out that I could climb trees after all.

  We stayed on our branches for an hour or two after the elephant had left, then climbed cautiously down and examined our ivory.

  “Looks like about one hundred and thirty pounds a tusk,” I said.

  “At least,” said Herbie. Then, “Lucifer, I've got a question.”

  “What is it, Herbie?”

  “How are we going to get the tusks off the elephant?”

  It was a right smart question at that. We spent the better part of the afternoon hunting up long sharp stones, and all of the next day chopping away at the tusks. Herbie got thirsty in his unique way toward late morning, and I damned near flattened his head with my stone, after which he was well behaved for the rest of the day. By nightfall we had managed to chop off the tusks, and not a moment too soon, since our elephant wasn't turning into any nosegay and the vultures were getting dangerously low in the sky.

  “Now what?” asked Herbie.

  “Now we carry them back to camp,” I said.

  “I don't know about you, Lucifer,” said Herbie, “but I don't think I can lift my tusk.”

  “Of course you can,” I said.

  “I only weigh about a hundred and ten pounds,” said Herbie.

  “Try dragging it,” I said.

  So he tried. He got it about forty feet away from the carcass and collapsed.

  “Okay,” I said. “I'll tell you what we'll do. Grab the front end of my tusk, I'll take the rear end, and we'll cart it to camp like that and then come back for the other one.”

  He agreed, and we started off through the bush. It was two hours later when we staggered into camp, and we decided not to go back for the other tusk until the next morning. Poor Herbie was so exhausted that he didn't even try to nab me in the neck that night before I tied him up, and I literally had to kick him awake the next morning. Then, stiff and sore and aching in every muscle, we set out for our other tusk.

  We never did find it. All them bushes and trees and rivers and trails got to looking alike, and after about seven or eight hours we had to admit we were as lost as two people were ever likely to get.

  We wandered for another day or two and couldn't even find our original camp. Finally, on our third day of searching, we came to a Wanderobo village, where we were given a red-carpet treatment and feted like visiting ambassadors.

  The chief was a nice old boy called Nmumba, and he had picked up a smattering of English from various hunters and traders over the years. He sat us by his campfire, surrounded us with his naked daughters, and served us a native brew that was even more potent than Kitunga's. Every now and then he'd make a joke. The way we knew this was he'd goose one of his daughters and she'd shriek like all get-out, and this was our signal to laugh.

  I was wondering what to do with Herbie, because it was getting near bedtime, and it somehow didn't seem proper to truss him up while we were in Nmumba's village. I mentioned this to him, and he looked downright serious as he answered me.

  “l really think you'd better tie me up tonight, Lucifer “, he said. “I've been getting the craving real bad. I suppose it's all them naked necks.”

  If you say so,” I said. “Also, I have a feeling that he'd be something less than a gentleman if he didn't offer us a couple of his daughters for the night.

  “I'll never be able to make it!” said Herbie. “I'm getting thirsty just thinking about them!”

  I made our excuses and took Herbie off to a hut where I tied him up to one of the support poles.

  “If he offers us his daughters, I'll accept both of them just as a matter of good manners,” I said as I was securing the knots. “But don't you worry none, Brother Herbie: It's my Christian duty to keep them away from you.”

  Which it was, and which I did.

  When I got up in the morning Nmumba decided to show me around the village, being careful to explain that it was only a temporary dwelling place since the Wanderobo are basically nomads, but that it was ours as long as his tribe remained there. Finally we walked over to a huge hut that had to be holding a good ten tons of ivory.

  “That's a mighty impressive-looking collection, Brother Nmumba,” I said, figuring out its worth down to the nearest shilling.

  He looked pleased as punch. “The Wanderobo are mighty hunters,” he said.

  “No question about that,” I replied. “Did you kill them all with spears?”

  “Yes,” said Nmumb
a proudly.

  “So tell me, Brother Nmumba,” I said, “if the hunting is so good here, why are you moving your people out of the Enclave?”

  “Need new juju man.”

  “You mean a witch doctor?”

  He nodded. “Our juju man died four moons ago, and we fear for our children's health.”

  “They all looked pretty healthy to me,” I said.

  “Our last juju man made strong juju,” said Nmumba. “But soon it will wear off, and we must find another before my people sicken and die.”

  “It's nothing catching, is it?” I asked, backing off a bit just out of good manners.

  “No. It is ... I have not words for it.”

  Well, we got to using sign language, and just the merest bit of Swahili I had picked up, and it turned out that this particular juju was a form of preventative medicine. I knew they didn't have no vaccinations out in the wilderness, so I questioned him about the nature of it.

  “Cut veins,” said Nmumba.

  “I'm not sure I follow you, Brother Nmumba,” I said.

  “Cut like so,” he said, pointing to a recently healed knife scar just between his earlobe and his jawbone. “Bad blood goes out. Devils go out.”

  “You mean the old juju man bled you?”

  He nodded. “Very strong medicine.”

  It wasn't the first time I'd heard of bleeding as a disease preventive. In fact, it had been all the rage in the courts of Europe for centuries. But it was kind of surprising to find it being practiced out here in the bush.

  And then I realized that it was more than surprising—it was Providential.

  “Brother Nmumba,” I said, “I think this may be your lucky day. My friend is a juju man, one of the greatest in all Africa.”

  “Too small,” said Nmumba doubtfully.

  “Big things come in small packages, Brother Nmumba,” I said. “Not only can Brother Herbie bleed your people, but he will take all the devils into his own body so they can never harm you again.”

  “Truly?” said Nmumba.

  “Do I look like the kind of man who would lie to you?” I said. “Brother Nmumba, you cut me to the quick!”

  Nmumba lowered his head in thought for a moment. “Would he agree to be our juju man?”

  “Nothing would please him more,” I said truthfully.

  “Good!” said Nmumba. “Then it is settled, and the Wanderobo can remain here for many moons.”

  “Well, there is one little problem,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “It would mean that my own people would be without a juju man, and in exchange for this they would probably want some compensation. Not for myself, you understand; I'm happy just to be able to do my good friend Nmumba a favor. But they will probably have to go out and hire another juju man.”

  He didn't understand many of the words, but the message came across loud and clear. We sat down for some hard bargaining, and half an hour later I had traded Herbie Miller to the Wanderobo for twelve thousand pounds of ivory and porters to carry it down to Mombasa for me.

  Which is how I made my first fortune, and how Herbie Miller became the happiest witch doctor on the entire Dark Continent.

  Chapter 4

  SLAVE TRADING

  It was with a certain feeling of quiet pride and accomplishment that I led my seventy porters eastward toward civilization, carrying a modest fortune of ivory on their broad, sweat-streaked backs. We marched for about three days, and headed north toward the Sudan just to make sure that we didn't bother any game wardens or British officers who might have been in the area, which is how I lost my fortune before I had a chance to build my tabernacle.

  One night we were lying down by the campfire, totally exhausted—them from toting all that ivory, and me from converting it into dollars inside my head—when a bunch of shots rang out and pretty soon we were surrounded by a dozen Arabs in full desert regalia. Now, I know that on the surface it seems kind of hard to envision twelve men surrounding seventy-one, but it's a lot easier than you might think when the twelve men have rifles and the seventy-one don't.

  Anyway, they motioned me to step aside, and herded the porters into a tight little circle, making them kneel down and raise their hands above their heads, a gesture I was not unacquainted with, but had previously seen only on Sunday mornings and in games of chance involving little white cubes with spots painted on them.

  “Not a bad haul,” said a familiar voice. “And ivory, too! Not bad at all, my friends.”

  Then a fat man in a soiled white suit stepped out of the shadows and nodded to me.

  “Dutchman!” I exclaimed.

  “Doctor Jones,” he replied with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise to see you once again, my good friend.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” I demanded.

  “I am afraid that you are responsible for my presence here, my dear Doctor Jones,” smiled the Dutchman, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his pudgy face.

  “Me?”

  “Indeed. You see, when Herr Von Horst made off with a certain shipment of, shall we say, perishable goods, purchasing them with funds that you freely gave to him, I found that I had to expand my primary business to make up for the income you had cost me. Regrettable, to be sure, but fitting in a way, would you not agree?”

  “I most certainly would not!” I snapped. “That ivory and them porters are mine! Though, of course, if you want to rent them from me once they deliver the tusks, I'm sure we can do a little business.”

  “Oh, no, my friend,” laughed the Dutchman. “I'm doing my business right now. You wouldn't happen to know your wrist and ankle sizes, would you?”

  “Surely you're not thinking about putting shackles and chains on a fellow white man, Brother Dutchman?” I said in horror.

  “What guarantee have I that you won't try to run away before we reach our destination?” he asked, putting a pudgy hand to his chin and eyeing me warily.

  “You've got my word as a Christian gentleman and a man of honor,” I replied.

  “Get the chains!” he called to one of his Arabs.

  “Brother Dutchman!” I cried. “It's inhuman to chain me like I was some black heathen on the way to market. Surely we can work out some accommodation that would be mutually acceptable.”

  “Oh, it's just for a little while, Doctor Jones,” he said. “Once we get into the desert, I'll be happy to release you.”

  “You will?”

  “Certainly. After all, I'll have the only water for hundreds of miles in any direction.”

  And so I was chained, hand and foot and neck, to my seventy porters. Out of deference to my race and my position, the Dutchman chained me first in line, which struck me as only just and fitting, until I figured out that the first man in line was also the first to step on snakes and scorpions and other foul denizens of the desert. And, of course, anytime one of the porters tripped or even slowed down, I usually found out about it in an exceptionally painful and undignified way.

  Then there was the matter of the ivory. The Dutchman didn't want to leave it behind, but it was kind of hard for the porters to carry, shackled up as they were, so we had to stop every half hour or so for them to shift the weight.

  Finally, on the second evening of my captivity, after our neck chains were unhooked for the night, I moseyed over to where the Dutchman was sitting alone by his fire.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked, sitting down next to him as gracefully as my chains would allow.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied, taking a swig from a half-empty flask of something that sure didn't smell much like water. “After all, how will it look to the hired help? I don't even let them share my fire or my liquid refreshments.”

  He gestured to the twelve rifle-toting Arabs, who were eyeing me with open hostility.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I try never to mix business with pleasure. If we got to talking and drinking and swapping lies, I'd feel absolutely miserable about what I'm
going to be doing to you in a week.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Yes, Doctor Jones. It would fair break my heart. On the whole, I think it would be best if you were to quickly take leave of me and return to your porters.”

  “Well, actually I didn't come over here to swap lies with you, Brother Dutchman,” I said.

  “Well, if we're speaking business, that's a whole different matter,” said the Dutchman, suddenly alert. He offered the flask to me. “Have a drink, Doctor Jones.”

  “Don't mind if I do,” I said, taking a long sip and then another. “How much ivory do you suppose I've got here with me, Brother Dutchman?”

  “None,” he replied with a smile. “But if I understand the thrust of your question, I've got about eighteen thousand dollars’ worth.”

  “There's a lot more where that came from,” I said softly, which was technically true, since it had originally come from elephants, and as far as I knew there wasn't any current and severe shortage of them.

  “You're suggesting that if I release you you'll lead me to all this ivory?” asked the Dutchman with a sly grin.

  I nodded, returning his grin.

  “Well, I do wish I could accommodate you, Doctor Jones,” he said, still smiling, “but the porters can hardly carry what we've got now. Besides, ivory is very difficult to sell in Egypt, whereas ... But I think you get the point.”

  “Say no more, Brother Dutchman,” I said confidently. “If it's more black heathen you want, I can round ’em up and have ’em here in no time.”

  “You still don't seem to understand,” said the Dutch man. “Everyone sells natives. Natives are a drug on the market. It is you, Doctor Jones, who constitutes the piece de resistance of my current consignment.”

  “Me?” I repeated.

  “You,” he said, nodding sadly. “And because I have nothing against you personally, other than the fact that you cost me a modest fortune back in Dar-es-Salaam, and are a scoundrel and liar to boot, I must confess to you that it grieves me more deeply than you can imagine to have to sell you to Ali ben Ishak, no matter how much he pays me.”

  “Ali ben Ishak?”

  He nodded again.