Chapter I

"I and my people will pay the Government's tax, we have our money here, we pay willingly and in full; but the Barushu will not pay, they will fight the Government."

Wrenshaw eyed the speaker angrily and replied: "The Barushu will pay. All will pay the Government tax and all will pay willingly and in full. Who are you to speak of fighting? Take your receipts and go. Tell all you meet by the way that the Barushu are paying the Government tax willingly and in full."

"I will tell them, Morena," said the old native Chief as he rose to go. But there was no conviction in his tone, though his attitude towards the white man was respectful.

Wrenshaw felt anxious. He had heard vague rumours that the Barushu, a large tribe living some twenty miles to the North, would refuse to pay the native tax. This would be awkward. It would have a bad effect on the rest of the tribes. He had been charged with preparing his district for the imposition of the tax. For two years he had worked hard and had then reported that all was in readiness to collect the tax for the first time. This was quite true of all the tribes of which he had control, save, perhaps, of the Barushu. They were a truculent people who had always threatened trouble, although they had never actually given any.

His two Native Commissioners, who were busy receiving tax-money from another Chief, were puzzled to find that there were many more people in this particular community than the census papers showed.

It was Wrenshaw who discovered the curious fraud which was being perpetrated by the Chief. It appeared that having met all demands of him, he deliberately invented names. When asked how it was that all these people had failed to have their names recorded on the census, he suggested that they must have been away from home at the time.

At last the truth came out.

"I pay willingly," said the old man; "willingly and in full, Morena. I have paid all the money I have to the Government because the Government asks for money. I am not a Barushu to refuse to pay. What does it matter how many people I have; does not the Government want money, and is it not right that I should give all I have to the Government?"

"Old man," said Wrenshaw kindly, "take back your money. The Barushu will certainly pay. If, when all have paid, the Government still wants money, I will ask you for it. For this time you have done enough; you have paid willingly and well."

Then, turning to his assistants, he directed them to cross out all the new and obviously fictitious names which they had just entered in the register and return the money paid in excess of the amount due. Later, and at their leisure, they could check the census, and if they found that any of the people really did exist, they could, of course, accept the money.

As he was speaking a cattle-trader hurried up, panting. "There is a rising!" he shouted; "the Barushu are up. They have killed my partner and taken my cattle. They have beaten the police and will soon be here. Quick! Form a laager and let's get into it!"

"Stop that, and go in there!" said Wrenshaw, pointing to his tent. To the officials who had been receiving the tax-money and issuing receipts he gave instructions to carry on.

Entering the tent Wrenshaw asked: "What's your name?"

"Wilkie."

"Have they killed your partner?"

"Yes."

"What did they kill him with?"

"I don't know; assegais, I suppose."

"Then you didn't see them kill him?"

"No."

"Is he dead?"

"I have told you that the Barushu are up, that they----"

Wrenshaw interrupted the man: "Did you see his dead body?"

"No."

"Then you don't know that he is dead. You say they have taken your cattle; how many?"

"A hundred and fifty head."

"Did they threaten to kill you?"

"No."

"Did you do anything to prevent the Barushu from taking your cattle?"

"How could I? I wasn't there."

"Who was in charge of the cattle?"

"My partner, Jones."

"One more question: who told you that the Barushu had beaten the police?"

"A native."

"Did he also tell you that the Barushu had risen?"

"Yes."

"And that your partner had been killed and your cattle taken away?"

"Well, not exactly; but----"

"You're a silly scaremonger, spreading a yarn like this, and a cur to boot for deserting your partner! Get out of my camp; get out quickly; go South, go anywhere. I don't care where you go so long as you do go!"

The man expostulated and threatened to report to Headquarters Wrenshaw's unmannered treatment of him. As the Commissioner took no more notice of him, he went off.

But Wrenshaw was scanning the road which led towards the seat of the alleged trouble. Presently he stepped back into his tent, picked up his field-glasses and, returning, focussed them on a distant point of the road.

What he saw perturbed him; he returned the glasses to his case and walked impatiently up and down before his tent. A runner was approaching, a Government messenger, he could tell that by his uniform. In his hand he bore a split reed with a letter slipped in it. His long Arab shirt was gathered up and tucked into his belt to give greater freedom in running.

The messenger came along at that steady jog trot which enables the native to cover such surprising distances in Africa. On nearing Wrenshaw he dropped into a walk, approached the white man, saluted and handed him the letter.

The envelope was addressed to the Commandant of the Police Force at Headquarters. Without hesitation the Commissioner tore it open and read as follows:

C.A.R. POLICE, MORA STATION.
"MONDAY, 26th JUNE, 19--.

SIR,

I have the honour to report that there is a native rising. This
p.m. I met a large crowd of them who behaved in such a queer way
that I thought it best to go back to camp, seeing that I had only
two police boys with me and they having no rifles and me only a few
rounds.

On the way back to camp I fell in with the trader Jones with a mob
of cattle, whose partner Wilkie has been killed by the natives and
he anxious to come into laager.

I am putting the camp in a state of defence with the help of the
said Jones and await orders.

Your obedient servant,
JOSEPH WILSON,
Sergeant in Charge.

So there was something in it after all. Wrenshaw went into his tent and wrote a reply to the Sergeant of Police:

To SERGEANT JOSEPH WILSON,

I have read your letter to the Commandant and will deal with it. Do
not worry overmuch about the rising, I will attend to that too.
Remain in camp or you might miss me, I am coming your way.

RICHARD WRENSHAW.

After a short consultation with his juniors Wrenshaw issued his orders.

He sent for his horse, told the interpreter to get his pony, and also to saddle-up and load a pack mule. The two Native Commissioners were to carry on as usual, accepting the tax from those who came to pay.

It was nearly midday. He had to cover twenty miles by sundown. This was easy enough for himself and his interpreter, but he would also take his gunbearer and his cook. He believed in being comfortable, and saw no reason for roughing it now. The two on foot would have to hurry.