All Frontiers Are Jealous

 

A few months ago there appeared in the London Times a financial notice. The bankers saw nothing unusual about it. The public paid it little heed. Investors shied. A few brokers smiled. Only a few knew the undiluted hell which backed those dry, crisp lines.

 

SUDAN RAILWAY

 

TRIED AGAIN

 

Colonel Malone Asks Aid in

 

Long-Abandoned Project

 

Mombasa, Kenya, EEA, March 6 (RS)—Rumors of yet another effort to link the Uganda Railway with the Anglo-Egyptian Railroad were confirmed here by Colonel B. A. Malone, well-known promoter.

 

Investors will remember the disaster of former ventures when all attempts to survey the line failed.

 

Colonel Malone, according to his statement, will utilize a short franchise granted him to survey the line. He will attempt to float a loan on the London market.

 

The only memorandum made concerning this item was handed out to outer-office clerks and read, “No matter what price offered, we are not to be bothered with SR bonds.”

 

However, down in Mombasa and shortly in Nairobi, Colonel Malone grew expansive and hopeful as always. Optimism sprouted from him like green bamboo shoots. He had won and lost half a dozen fortunes but no incident in his life had ever dimmed his winning, if gold-plated smile.

 

Railroads made money. Colonel Malone made railroads. He had shot his quota of lions at Tsavo. He had sunk his pick into the clay of Tanganyika. He could wave his hand at a map and truthfully say that the thing would be a blank if he hadn’t helped matters with railroads.

 

And, that hot and depressing afternoon, when he alighted at Nairobi in company with a weather-beaten young giant, he ran true to form by saying:

 

“When I first saw this place, Dan, it was ten mud huts and a sheet-iron shed. Look at it now! Modern. Electric lights! Streets. A post office! We did that with the Uganda Railway. She’s a beaut, isn’t she, what?”

 

Dan Courtney glanced at the stubby, wood-burning engine which was panting wearily after its run. He listened for a moment to the yapping roar of the natives in third class.

 

“Yeah,” said Dan Courtney, “she’s a beaut.”

 

“And the first thing you know,” said Colonel Malone, “the fetid green of jungle and the golden sands of desert will be caressed with the steel highway into the north. Think of it, Dan!”

 

“Yeah,” said Dan. He raised his khaki sun hat and mopped at his brow and gazed longingly down the blazing street at a veranda which looked cool. 

 

“In chains,” whispered Malone, ecstatically. “Like a mighty beast, the Dark Continent growls and snarls at us, but within the decade the last link between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean will be welded. Progress, Dan, what?”

 

“Yeah. But I’m not in the market for stock in it. Let’s get us a drink of lemon pop or something.”

 

Malone’s smile grew sad. “You’ve no imagination, Dan. No imagination. But then . . . no American ever had an imagination. Leave that and empire to the British, what?”

 

“Lemonade,” persisted the weathered giant. “I got to work the rest of the day.”

 

“Look here,” said Malone, “you’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

 

Dan looked down at the heat waves which shivered off the concrete around his scorched boots and grinned.

 

“You’re not going to back out, are you? Look here, Dan, you can’t do that! Just because those damned Dinkas murdered Stephans and slaughtered Lawry’s men. . . . You wouldn’t let that stop you, would you, Dan?”

 

“Who said anything about quitting? A job is a job. I’ve got to stretch a line from Lake Salisbury and the Uganda to the Anglo-Egyptian at Sennar across the Sudan. I’ve got to review Lawry’s work and confirm his passes and grades and take a blank out of the map in the Dinka country. For that I get three hundred bucks a month and five hundred in stock. It’s a job. Let’s find some lemonade.”

 

They turned toward the street, starting to thrust their way through the press of natives about the station. But they did not get very far. Two white men of burly build stood in the way and seemed to have heard Dan’s last remark. One was short and wide, the other was tall and wide. This last had a narrow head on which two very small, pointed ears were set. One of these ears was half gone. The smaller one’s nose took up twice as much territory as it should have and his eyes took up only half their allotted space.

 

“If it ain’t Malone,” said the bigger man.

 

The colonel’s pleasant expression hardened like concrete. “Hello, Gotch-ear. I see the local authorities are asleep as usual.”

 

“He kids all the time just like that, Bart,” said Gotch-ear to his short friend. “Did I hear Salisbury to Sennar, Malone?”

 

“That missing chunk don’t seem to hurt your hearing any,” growled the colonel.

 

“This tall boy making a safari up by Alak?” persisted Gotch-ear.

 

“I’ll take a safari over your frame if you don’t get out of my way,” snapped the colonel.

 

“You wouldn’t be thinking of tagging us, would you, big guy?”

 

“I pick clean trail when I travel, whatever-the-hell-your-name-is,” said Dan.

 

“A Yank,” said Gotch-ear. “Listen, big guy, keep your eye on your transit up north. I don’t take nothin’ from punks, see? And if this is one of your sneaks, Malone, we’ll send you back your pal’s head in a big wicker basket.”

 

Gotch-ear and Bart moved off into the swarm of natives and were lost. Dan, with a singleness of purpose which was very characteristic of him, headed for the veranda and the cold drink.

 

“I fired him off the South African road,” explained Malone. “He was stealing supplies and selling them. Wonder what the hell he’s doing in Nairobi.”

 

“From his looks, it isn’t legal,” said Dan. “He’s jittery.”

 

“Must be important. Gotch-ear’s got a nose for money. Wonder why he made a point of heading you off.”

 

“Jittery, that’s all,” said Dan. “Forget it. Northern Uganda is big enough for a dozen Gotch-ears.”

 

“I wonder if he’s being paid to block this road,” puzzled Malone, trying to keep up with Dan’s long stride and half running to do it in spite of the heat.

 

“Nuts,” said Dan. “All you need is this survey, the franchise and the cash. You’ll have the first two and you’ll get the third, won’t you?”

 

“The cash?” blinked Malone. “Oh . . . oh yes, of course. Sure I’ll get it. I’ll float a bond issue on the London market. Sure, that’s easy. They’ll snap up the SR paper like it was printed on platinum.”

 

A tall and dignified native stepped out from the questionable shade of a warehouse and accosted Dan with great ceremony.

 

“You look well, bwana.”

 

“Hello, Petey,” said Dan. “Been having good luck?”

 

“No, bwana.”

 

“Maybe I’ll change it for you. Scout out and round up the boys you wired me you had. We scurry out of here this afternoon.”

 

“Yes, bwana,” said Petey, withdrawing with another bow.

 

Dan slid into a chair beside a veranda table, pulled off his helmet and fanned lazily at his moist face.

 

“As soon as I get the equipment together,” said Dan, presently, “I’ll take that train to the end of the line at Soroti. I want to be well into the country when the rains start.”

 

“You bet you do,” said Malone. “You’ve got eight months to run the line and that’s not half enough time. My. . . er . . . ah . . . franchise runs out at that time, you know.”

 

“The bonus of two grand still sticks?”

 

“Of course. Africa . . .”

 

Dan didn’t listen to the colonel. His attention had been distracted by a very soft and lovely voice at the next table. He squared around slightly, and instantly the lazy boredom froze on his face.

 

He did not know the girl, but he knew he would very shortly. He had never seen his destiny so plain before him.