The Arbitrator

The deed had been done and no amount of undoing could repair the gaping hole in that which was his pride. He had been betrayed and he swore in his own blood vengeance and harm upon his arbitrator. Snobe Brooks was a man of astounding astuteness and great means beyond comprehension or measure. He had traveled the globe, spoke several different languages and was revered for his philanthropy, sportsmanship and bounding athleticism.
Even still Snobes found himself in the most precarious of circumstances unto which even he with all his attributes, intellect, cunning, wit and fortune could not be guarded. Snobes had been both cunningly duped and publicly humiliated. It was a trick he would never dare commit under any circumstance. Not even unto his worst enemy. Snobe's reputation was forever mared by the friend he once saved from death on a hunting expedition in the remote region of the Congo. It was a place that showed no mercy to those who dared take it upon themselves to travel there.
The sun was just about to set. The horizon was draped in purple, crimson, grey and black. Sounds of the coming night began to echo throughout the un welcoming terrain as the night lurked upon them. The expedition with yet still four days to trudge, Carlson an esteemed colleague and dearest of friends lay helpless on his back paralyzed from the waist down. So it had appeared. Carlson had been bitten by the most dangerous of creatures known to the region. The Condile Spider, a poisonous spider whose bite was much worse than that of a Scorpion or Viper by far. When bitten the spider burrows it's fangs into the victim's skin and secretes the deadliest of toxin beneath the surface as it seeps into the blood stream. Once in the bloodstream the toxin slowly dissolves the nervous system and blood cells within the victim. One single bite is enough to kill the most virile of men. Snobes commanded the guide to quickly forge ahead to survey the distance remaining and to find rescue. Becuase of their survival savvy and knowledge of the terrain, these men were hired for such expeditions, They would know what to do and where to hide should danger arise. The region was full of dangerous possibilities. All of which none of the men wanted to encounter. There were many caverns in the terrain for poachers or bushmen who laid in hidding to ambush a caravan. Not to mention the number of wild creatures that lurked about in the darkness, starving for food or the hunting pits dug out for trapping.
By now the guide was at least a day ahead or dead. Night had fallen as Carlson lay helpless under a pitch black blanket of sky. Snobes stayed by his side. There was nothing for the two to do but wait until day break. The night was too dark to dare proceed without daylight or a guide. Attempting to navigate the uncertainty of the night terrain was suicide. One could find themselves descending at any moment off the side of a cliff to sudden peril, trip into a poacher's pit or be eaten savagely by wild beasts.
The best thing to do was to wait. Snobes had only hoped that he had extracted enough of the toxin from Carlson to spare his life. Carlson laid pale, swollen about the face, foaming at the mouth as he convulsed and shivered. Snobes had witnessed this type of scenario before during a brief stint in the medical practice, where he then at that moment concluded the medical field was not for him. A man's limbs had been severed from his torso by trip wire. The victim unfortunately died.
Snobes broke the rubber handle from his safety kit and thrust it sideways into Carlson's mouth. He held Carlson down with both hands until the convulsions stopped.
Dawn was yet to break and still no report from the guide. Snode could only imagine what could possibly have detained his aide. There was no time to think on that. if Carlson was to survive the men had to move quickly before dusk had come again. Quickly thinking, Snobes tore the handles from his hunting sack and tied the two ends together to make a tourniquet to cut off the poison from spreading through Carlson's body. Snobes hoisted Carlson to his feet and draped the dead weight over his shoulder. At six foot two and two hundred pounds in approximate weight, Carlson was not a slight man by any means. Snobes harnessed the strength to drag the cumbersome weight of his dear friend onward. Snobes didn't have a clue as toward which direction they had come or should go. He could only hope that his instinct as always was accurate and he would get there quickly before it was too late.
The thought of watching his friend die in his arms engrossed him. Terror and panic over took him. Snobes could think of nothing else. Not his wealth, not his chalet, not his horses, not his intelligence, athleticism, charm or dashing good looks. At that moment all these things meant nothing and served him no purpose. Snobes for the first time in his life felt lost helpless and bewildered. ........To be continued.