Kitabı oku: «The Outspan: Tales of South Africa», sayfa 5

“Yes; I’m afraid he was an old thief,” said Nairn. “The raw Swazie would think nothing of a twenty or thirty mile jaunt to return it; but these witch-doctors are mostly old Basuto ruffians, steeped in guile. They have few scruples when there is a prospect of profit.”

“On my word,” laughed Heron, “I don’t know what you may not know about us with agencies like this, and a whole nation making a confidante of you! What a rum life you do lead!”

Nairn looked at him curiously, and remarking dryly that they were a very peculiar people, rose from his seat, and made it clear that he thought it time for bed. He showed them to his own room, where an extra bed had been fixed up, and wishing them “Good-night,” left them.

Quoth Geddy:

“I didn’t like to ask him where he would sleep if we took his room, as one feels bound to do in common civility. I’d have got another of those gentle cold-blooded sneers for my pains. You know, old chap, with all due respect – and all that sort of thing – for our host, he’s beastly uncivil the moment you ask questions. It’s a regular case of scratch the Russian and you find the Tartar.”

“Yes; you’re right. Although it seems a bit ungrateful to say so, I’m dashed if I’d care to have much to do with him. Did you see him shut up when I remarked about his living a queer life? Gad! his lips closed up until they fitted like the valves of an oyster. He’s as suspicious as the devil!”

“I say, look here – a photo! Just look, man! ‘Harrison Nairn’ on the back of it! Quite a decent-looking chap. Heron, I wonder who she is?”

“God knows! I don’t!”

“Someone else’s, you can bet, or he wouldn’t lie so low, eh?”

“H’m! looks devilish like it.”

“I say, Heron.”

“What?”

“I wonder what he’d say if he heard us, eh?”

“Shut up, man; go to sleep!”

“I say! The ideal white man – ‘a possible enemy and a certain nuisance.’”

“For Heaven’s sake, man, shut up! They’ll hear you sniggering. Good-night!”

Two

It was a dark night and still – the stillness that often precedes a thunderstorm. The clouds were banked up thick, and only here and there on the outer fringes, where cuts in the hills gave a glimpse nearer the horizon, was there a faint lighting of the gloomy canopy.

Low’s Creek runs through one of Nature’s perfect amphitheatres and finds its outlet at the Poort. If that were blocked, there would be a lake many hundred feet deep; but as it is not blocked, there is only a very clear, sparkling stream rippling over stony bottoms, or swirling under the overhanging thorns and fig-trees – the one constant babbler on such nights as this. The road through this valley is not over-good at the best of times, and it is something worse than bad on a really dark night – which was exactly what the driver of the spider-and-four thought as he pulled up with his near fore-wheel foul of a dead tree-stump. There was no damage done, for the horses were pleased to take the sudden check as an excuse, if not indeed a hint, to stop; and when by the light of matches the size of the obstacle was determined, and means were found to free the wheel, the driver said, “Come!” and the horses toiled on again up the hill towards the Neck. Every now and then, as they climbed slowly up, the ladies – there were two ladies in the spider – would point out the camp-fires of the prospectors at various heights and distances on the tops or slopes of the surrounding hills, and their companion would tell them which was French Bob’s, and which the Cascade, and point out, high and far, the famous Kimberley Imperial; and the Hottentot driver would peer out in front, silently intent upon the road.

Toiling, swaying, and straining, they at last reached the Neck, and gave the horses a blow. Behind them, or rather below them, black as the bottomless pit, lay the valley out of which they had risen. In front lay the broader, shallower, furrowed basin, through which the road winds, cross-cut by Honeybird and Fig-tree Creeks; and beyond Avoca, where the waters meet, they could see, through the gap of the Queen’s River Poort, the lightning playing in the distance – silent, clear, and not too vivid.

Down the easy slope the horses trotted out freely, swinging their heads and snorting as the faint, cool breeze, the sure precursor of the storm, fanned and freshened them. On they went gaily for a couple of miles till the deep, dry donga was reached, where the road dips down suddenly into a black, murky, impenetrable darkness. Above, the trees on either side of the high banks intertwine their branches; beneath, the soft dead leaves lie upon a sandy bottom, and the road is flanked by jungle, pure and simple. It is like a tunnel. It is not possible to leave it except at the ends.

The driver gave the leaders their heads, and trusted to their knowing that he couldn’t see, whilst they might. The heavy grating of the brake, hard pressed, sounded loud on the night air as the leaders disappeared into the dark trough. Down went the trap and horses with a diver’s plunge at first, and then more steadily and slowly they neared the bottom; but before it was reached, the leaders shied violently to the off, the spider swung down the slope, slid a little, poised for a moment on two wheels, and turned slowly over on its side on the bed of leaves and sand. The horses, with their heads jammed in the bush, were effectually stopped.

The ladies did not scream!

It seems wrong – unnatural; but they did not. Urgent need and sudden danger, as they overwhelm and stupefy some, so do they brace and brighten others; and when one of the horses whinnied in a friendly way, it seemed odd that it should be a girl’s voice that exclaimed quickly:

“Listen! they’re not frightened. It must be another horse!”

“Are you hurt?” “Where are you?” and, “Are you all right?” were exchanged in the darkness; and then someone struck a match, and, making a dark lantern of his hat, threw the light on the late occupants of the spider.

The girls were dusty, pale, and frightened, and the men looked anxious. The Hottentot driver was swearing to himself in a discontented undertone, and endeavouring concurrently to loosen the wheelers’ harness.

“I am the culprit,” said the man with the light. “I can only say I am very delighted that no one is hurt, and awfully sorry that I gave you such a fright. I’m sure I never meant it. I did not know there was a soul within miles until the sound of your brake frightened my horse into backing into the bush here. The brute wouldn’t budge, so I sat still, hoping that you would pass without seeing me.”

“Oh, it really doesn’t matter in the least!” came from one of the girls, as the match died out. “You don’t know how relieved, how grateful we are to you for not being a lion or a highwayman.”

The driver Piet had rummaged out a stump of candle, and lighted it. It flickered uncertainly on the capsized spider, on the scattered cushions and shawls, on the faces of the two young girls and their companion, and faintly lighted up the lank form and the dark bearded face of the enemy.

“I thought I knew your voice, Heron!” said the latter quietly.

“Nairn! By all that’s great and wonderful! What on earth were you – ”

“Well, I wasn’t waylaying you with evil intent, and I do hope that the ladies – ”

“Oh, I forgot. My sisters,” said Heron, with an explanatory wave. “Girls, this is Mr Nairn, a friend of mine. Very much in disguise, you must admit, Nairn!”

“Indeed I do. I confess, I repent, and I beg for mercy; and, to give practical proof of my sincerity, let me help you. Come on, Heron; let’s right the trap first.”

No damage had been done to the trap, and the three men soon succeeded in getting it on its wheels again. The boy drove through the donga and up the other bank without further difficulty, the others preferring to walk; but out there, when he had room to move round his team, the driver found that the off-leader had gashed his shoulder badly in the bush, and would have to be turned out.

Heron’s heart sank, for it would be a serious matter to attempt the four drifts of the Queen’s River in a heavy spider with only a pair. He looked at the overcast sky, and turned in despair to Nairn, who had remained with the ladies, and knew nothing of the injury to the horse.

“Nairn, you know the road best. Is there any place where we can stay the night? We can’t tackle the rivers. One of the leaders has cut his shoulder badly and won’t face the harness. We must put up somewhere for the night!”

“There’s Clothier’s,” the other answered; “but I’m afraid that won’t do – a grass hut, and sardines, gin, and rough customers. Charlie Brandt’s – ditto! There’s the Queen of Sheba’s at Eureka City; but, then, you’d never reach there alive – at night. Let’s see! No; there’s no fit place between this and Barberton.”

“There!” said Heron, “we’ll spend a pleasant night in the veld, rain and all. I wish we’d come on a bit further with the waggons. It will be rough on you girls.”

But they did not seem dismayed at the prospect; in fact, they considered it a romantic sort of picnic adventure. Heron, who had had malarial fever, took no count of the romance.

While the matter was being discussed, Nairn went forward and carefully examined the injured horse. Heron had decided to outspan where they were, under a big Dingaan apricot-tree, and the ladies were busy making plans for the disposal of cushions, wraps, and rugs to fend off the coming rain.

“That horse will be worse to-morrow than he is to-night. He won’t be well for weeks,” said Nairn coolly. “How do you propose getting on at all, even if you do stay here to-night? What do you gain by the delay?”

Heron was somewhat taken aback.

“Well,” he answered, “we gain the daylight, anyway; that’s something.”

“Something – yes; but daylight won’t take you through the rivers with one pair of horses. They’ll be pretty fall, too, after to-night’s rain.”

“That’s true,” said Heron gloomily; “and it’s raining like old Harry now up at the headwaters. Look at the lightning over the Kaap Valley!”

They looked, and the quick play of the distant flashes left no room for doubt. Then Nairn spoke again – without impulse, without enthusiasm, but deliberately, as though he had considered the matter and reluctantly but finally made his decision.

“You will have to put my horse in place of the injured one, and go on to-night. I can walk.”

He did not affect that the idea was the happy thought of the moment, or that it was from all points of view a good one. He seemed from his tone to be making the best of a bad job, and Heron saw that so distinctly that he could only stammer out weakly:

“Oh, really, it’s awfully good of you, but we couldn’t allow you to walk.”

But the taller of the two girls came to her brother’s assistance.

“I think it’s a capital idea! Don’t you see, Jack, Mr Nairn wants ‘to give a practical proof of his sincerity’?”

The lazy, mischievous imitation of Nairn’s tone and manner in quoting his own words brought a hearty laugh from the others against Nairn, for he had “given himself away”; and once or twice as they were changing horses and preparing to start, Nairn found himself looking curiously at the girl who had “let him down.”

They were nearly ready to start when she came over to him, and said:

“You are not going to walk. You will come with us, won’t you?”

He shook his head.

“My way is not your way, Miss Heron.”

“No, no; you express it wrongly. My way is your way. We have room for you and you must come.”

“But I have just come from Barberton, and I live in – in the Swazie country.” And his voice dropped to nothing on the last words.

“Now, Mr Nairn, I know you are afraid of overcrowding us. You have to come for your horse, so that excuse won’t do; and since you compel me to tell the whole truth, Jack says you know the road best, and we want you to come because we are just a tiny little bit afraid of those horrid rivers. Now I’ve told you.”

Nairn submitted; but as they drove along in the dark more than once the thought occurred that even the best of women will stoop to the most unfair means to gain their points.

After many years it was all fresh to him again.

They spun along the smooth soft road, slowing up in places for the dongas – those deeply-worn furrows in Nature’s face, the result of many a heavy storm. They passed the huge old fig-tree standing sentinel where the waters meet, and crossed the Fig-tree Creek, which, to the experienced ear of the men, had a fuller and angrier tone than was its wont. They passed “Clothier’s” in silence. To the girls the grass shanty leaking candle-light at every pore in its misshapen sides, the shouts of laughter, the half-heard songs, the glimpse of the interior as they passed the door, showing the rough gin-case counter, backed by shelves laden with “square face,” and the bare-armed, bearded man craning over to dodge the glare of guttering candles and see who or what was passing by – all made a picture unique and indelible.

They wound slowly round the bend and over the big smooth rocks down to the Fourth Drift.

The water ran silently over the sandy bottom, and when the horses were in breast-high and their movements no longer caused a splash, the absolute stillness begat a feeling of awe and fear of the black-looking water that is so silent, so strong, and so treacherous.

To everyone there comes a sense of strain relieved and spirits reviving on coming through a bad river, and to the young girls, whose first experience it was, the splashing of the leaders’ feet in shallow water, and the rising up the sandy bank, brought an ecstasy of relief.

Driving up the valley of the Lampogwana, Nairn and Heron cheered them with tales of the gold-fields and of the country, and ignored the river and the coming storm; but the steep rush into the Third Drift, and the tossing and jolting over the boulders, and the angry racing of the water and the more distinct roll of the thunder, were features in a first experience which were not to be talked away, and if Nairn felt his conversational powers disparaged by very evident non-attention, perhaps this was compensated for by occasional graspings of his arm – mute appeals for protection which men take as compliments.

Going slowly down the cutting to the Second Drift, the course of the river was shown up by the lightning, and one bluish gleam in particular lit up the scene with such unsurpassable vividness that long after all was black again the eye retained a view of dark water in swirls and curves of wonderful grace, of foam-crested breakers and jets of spray, of swaying shrubs and bent, quivering reeds.

Nairn recalled another such night when his horse, which had paused to sniff before facing the flood, jerked his head up with a snort as a blinding flash had shown him a white face for an instant above the water. The fixed stare that the dead eyes gave him lingered long after succeeding flashes had shown an unbroken surface of river again. But he did not speak of this.

They drove slowly over the little flat through which the river ran, and as that was barely covered by the flood they knew that the river was just passable for the spider, but it meant getting a wetting as it was dangerously near flood mark.

Piet pulled up. The ladies and the baases, he said, could take the footpath along the mountains over the krantzes and avoid the two drifts. It was only four miles to the next hotel. He would like to outspan and stay where he was – the river was too full, and the next drift would be worse still. The river was coming down.

But Heron was obstinate, and Nairn, who knew the footpath past the Golden Valley, knew it to be an impossible alternative for ladies, at night; so Heron called out: “Kate, you grip the rail, and Nairn will look after you! You hang on to me, Nell!” They went in, and the water washed on to the seats, and the spider swayed to the stream; but the horses headed up bravely, and buoying on the waters, or sousing underneath, half swimming and half wading, they pulled through.

“Hold up, Nell! hold up, little woman! Don’t cry now, we’re as safe as houses!” was what Nairn heard from the opposite seat.

What happened beside him was that his companion’s grasp loosened on the rail, and as the spider rose up the soft, sandy bank, she slid back against him with her weight on the arm he had passed behind her as protection, and her cheek against his shoulder.

When they pulled up on the level road again, while her sister was laughing off her tears, Kate pulled herself together with an effort, and said, with a half-sobbing laugh:

“I was very fri – frightened that time. I – I think I should have fallen out but for you.”

Then the storm broke over them, and the rain came down in blinding torrents, and the horses, ducking and swaying before it, moved slowly on. Flash after flash lit up the hills above and the river below as they toiled along where the road was cut out of the precipitous hillside. Every furrow was a stream, every gutter a watercourse; the water seemed to gush from the very earth; the river itself was a seething mud-red torrent.

The First Drift, which, as they were coming up stream, was their last, is broader, and not as deep as the others; but in those days it was full of boulders, and the water raced down in three separate channels, although the surface showed but one broad stream. The drift is now higher up, where the bed is even, and the current is not so strong. They have also a wire rope across, and a ferry-boat; but it was not so in ’87. They have done a good deal to improve things, but still the river is king, and asserts itself upon occasion; as when it took a thousand tons of solid masonry from the Cerro de Pasco dam a hundred yards below this drift, and carried samples of dressed stone and Portland cement to the barbel and crocodiles of Ingwenye Umkulu, thirty miles away; or when, later still, it rose in protest against the impudence of man, and swept battery houses off like corks, and flung the huge girders of the railway-bridge from its path, and tossed fifty-ton boulders like pebbles into the Oriental water-race, seventy feet above the river’s bed.

They crossed the first channel safely; and they even got through the second and worst. The little Hottentot Piet sat tight, and handled his team with the most perfect skill. At times it seemed impossible that horses or trap could withstand the surging mass of water that piled up against them; but they did. A cheering word or a timely touch of the whip seemed once or twice to avert catastrophe.

Nairn’s horse had made a perfect leader, and faced the water like a steamboat; but the other seemed to be losing heart, and but for Piet’s whip would have headed down-stream in the second channel.

They were into the third channel, and were going slowly and steadily through, when one front wheel came block up against a boulder, and the near leader again headed down. Whip, voice and rein failed, and as Piet made one more determined effort, something gave, and he dropped back in his seat, calling out:

“Baas, baas, the rein’s broken!”

Nairn jumped up instantly, but the frightened girl clung to him, crying out:

“Oh, don’t leave me! Mr Nairn, for the love of God, don’t leave us!”

Her one hand grasped the collar of his coat, the other held his right hand. He loosened her grasp, and holding both her hands tightly, forced her back into the seat.

“Hold that!” he said, placing her one hand on the rail, and stooping until his face almost touched hers. “Sit still, and wait for me. I won’t desert you!”

Vaulting over into the driver’s seat, he seized the sjambok and jumped into the river. The near leader, free of the check of the rein, was giving before the stream, and had turned fairly down the river. Nairn was swept off his feet in an instant, but, anticipating this, he had grasped the wheeler’s near trace, and was able to work his way forward until he was abreast of the swerving leader. Keeping with his right hand a firm grasp of the lower trace, he shouted to the quaking animal, and struck it sharply on the neck and jaw with the sjambok. The suddenness of the attack startled the horse, and he plunged up stream again. At the same moment Piet’s whip whistled overhead, and his voice rang out; the other three horses strained together, and the spider rose over the stone, and, lurching and bumping, came through the third channel.

The excited animals rushed the last narrow strip of water, and Nairn, stumbling over rocks as best he could, was dragged with them, until, losing his hold and his footing with the last plunge of the horses, he was hurled forward on his head as they reached the bank. One of the horses trampled him, and two of the wheels went over his chest. The little Hottentot saw it all, and before the others knew anything, he had jumped off, leaving the horses to pull up as they were accustomed to on the bank, and grabbed Nairn by the arm just as he began to swing into the current and float down-stream.

The Bungalow was perched on the hillside, and overlooked the camp. The thatched roof and wide veranda made it cool and pleasant, and the view across the great valley of De Kaap was grand.

Nairn’s head was still bandaged, and he was propped up on a cushioned lounge, unable to stir.

The French window of the room opened out upon the stoep, and from the couch itself Nairn could overlook the camp and see the bold parapets of the Devil’s Kantoor five-and-twenty miles across the valley.

Nairn moved his head slowly and painfully as he heard a light footstep upon the stoep. Miss Heron walked in with a cup of something in one hand, and with the other grasping the folds of her riding-habit.

“Well, how is the head?” she asked, putting down the cup and busying herself at once, fixing the cushions more comfortably, and moistening the lint and bandage over his temples. “Better, aren’t you? See, I’ve brought you something cool and nice to drink. It will freshen you up again. Try some!”

Nairn closed his eyes, and half turned his head away, ignoring the offer.

“You are going out again, riding?” he queried, in an uncivil tone.

“Yes; as far as the river, to see how it looks in daylight, and in its better mood. They say it is beginning to fall; but it is banks over still. They say that the morning after we crossed, Welsh, whose house is on the rise above the drift, got out of bed into two feet of water. He says he felt it in bed, but thought it was only the roof leaking again. I wish you could come with us – but you will soon, won’t you?”

“No; I’ve stayed too long already,” was the surly answer, and Nairn turned his face further towards the wall.

“To-morrow we shall be able to move you out on to the stoep, and perhaps you will let me read to you there? It won’t seem so lonely and dismal then,” said Miss Kate, gently ignoring Nairn’s tone.

“Thank you!” he answered tartly; “I don’t mind being alone. I like it!”

She had got to know his humours, and so, standing back a little where he could not watch her face, and keeping the laughter out of her voice, she said: “Oh!”

“Perhaps the others are ready,” he remarked after a pause. “I am keeping you from your ride.”

“I don’t think so. They promised to call for me here.”

“Don’t wait on my account, please. I don’t mind being alone.”

“So you said before. If you object to my sitting here, of course I can wait on the stoep. I thought perhaps you liked me to be here.”

Miss Kate switched gently at her foot, but did not move from her seat, and Nairn played a tattoo upon the woodwork of the lounge. He broke the silence with an impatient sigh and, after another pause, his companion remarked airily to the opposite wall:

“I wonder why sick people are called patients?”

Nairn twitched visibly, but offered no explanation, and there was another silence. Presently the girl observed genially:

“You remember, Mr Nairn, while we were driving along that night, you were telling us about the training of horses? You remember, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Nairn grumpily.

“You remember,” resumed the girl, smiling sweetly – “you remember telling us that you considered the various types of animals higher or lower according to their susceptibility to kindness and gentle treatment – that the horse, for instance, stands higher than the mule or the donkey. Now,” said she, turning to him with laughing eyes but earnest mien, “I wanted to ask you which of those two is the one upon which patience and kindness and good temper are most wasted.”

“You mean, whether I am a mule or an ass?”

Nairn looked round, vainly endeavouring not to smile.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Miss Kate, laughing and moving to the door; “I’m afraid the poor old head is very bad to-day! Here are the others. I must go. Good-bye.”

“Did you mean that I– ”

“Say good-bye at once, or I’ll sit down again and refuse to leave.”

“I won’t! Tell me, did – ”

“Good-bye, Ursa Major with the sore head, and don’t ask questions.”

The girl curtseyed to him in the doorway as she left, and Nairn turned his face to the wall again with a groan.

A girl knows when a man’s eyes follow her about the room, and she knows why – long before the man does. But the man finds it out soon enough.

Nairn pushed away the books and papers. They had no charm for him, and, as he could not sleep, he fell presently to tracing the design of the wallpaper and counting how many varieties or bunches of flowers went to make up the general pattern. He detected small irregularities in the joinings, and they annoyed him. So he turned round and stared at the ceiling; but he had studied that before, and he knew which board contained the most knots, and how many boards had apparently been cut from the same log. There were two boards which were twins; so exactly did they match, they must have been parted by but one saw-cut; and he speculated if there could be any sort of intelligence in them that could be roused to wonder or gratitude that they, cut in Norway from one stately old pine, should pass through many hands and yet find a resting-place side by side ten thousand miles away in the gold-fields of the Transvaal.

Nairn’s eyelids drooped heavily. One sleepy chuckle escaped him at his own quaint conceit, as he wondered whether the ceiling boards considered the flooring boards beneath them, and if they ever put on side on that account; and the smile of lazy content remained long after he was fast asleep.

It was the scent of flowers that roused him. Violets! And he had not smelt them for twelve years!

Miss Kate was sitting there looking at him, and, but for the scent of the flowers and the slanting sunbeams, he might have thought she had never left.

“Does the big bear like flowers?”

He was too contented to do more than smile. “And he won’t eat me now?”

“When Beauty picked the flowers, what did the Beast do?”

Kate looked up with a shade of alarm. She was not quite sure where analogies might lead them – they get to mean so much.

“Well, well,” she laughed, “who would have suspected you of a leaning towards fairy tales? Why don’t you ask if I enjoyed my ride?”

“Well, did you?”

“Listen to him! Well, did I? Oh,” said Miss Kate, pushing back her chair with a sigh of mock despair, “you’ll never learn! It is not in you to be ordinarily civil. Now listen, and I’ll teach you; and now repeat after me: ‘I hope – ’”

“I hope – ”

“No, no! You must hope with greater warmth. Say, ‘I hope you have enjoyed – ’”

“I hope you have enjoyed – ”

“‘Your ride immensely!’”

“Your ride immensely!”

“That’s better. And ‘I’m very glad indeed – ’”

“And I’m very glad indeed – ”

“‘That you went out.’”

“No, I’m hanged if I’ll say that!”

“Mister Nairn!”

“No; I don’t care what you say! I won’t say that! I’m not going to perjure myself.”

“You must say it!”

“Not if I die for it!”

“You won’t say it to oblige me?”

“N-no.”

There was a curious pause. Kate looked down, saying softly:

“Well, if you won’t do the first thing I have ever asked you, I suppose I’d better go.”

Women, not excepting the very best, are often most unfair, and sometimes even mean. Why change in a breath from chaff to deadly earnest, and wring a man’s heart out with half a look and a catch in the voice? Nairn succumbed.

“No, don’t go. I’ll say it.”

“Well?”

“But I’ve forgotten the words.”

“No; you can’t have forgotten so quickly. Say, ‘I’m very glad indeed that you went out.’”

“I’m very glad indeed that – ”

“Go on!”

“That – that you’ve come back.”

“I can see that you want to drive me away.”

“No, don’t – don’t go! ‘That you went out.’ Heaven forgive me! There, are you satisfied?”

“Yes, I’m satisfied now. I hate to give in – especially to a man.”

“And to a woman?”

“Oh, I never give in to a woman. Women are so obstinate, and they’re always wrong! What are you laughing at? Oh, well, I’m not like a woman now. I’m – you know what I mean – I’m stating the case. Besides, I meant other women.”

“Now, if I tell you something, you won’t laugh at me and point the finger of scorn and press the heel of triumph?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Well, then, I am glad that you went out, and I was a bear to grudge it to you. And you – you have been far too good to me – far too good.”

“No, no – indeed no! You are my charge, and I am your nurse. And, remember, had it not been for us you would not have been hurt. Had it not been for you we should not have been here. We brought you to death’s door, and you saved us. I – I was only teasing you. I never meant – ”

“Kate, child, Kate!”

“Hush! No, no – not now. Here is George. Good-night.”

Yes, truly! The – man – finds – it – out – soon – enough!

In the morning Nairn and his horse were gone, and there was not a vestige of a trace to show how, why, or where! It was several days later that Geddy, who had been away for some weeks, dined at Heron’s, and, as they were sitting on the stoep smoking and chatting, remarked:

“By the way, fancy whom I met on the way in! Our old friend Induna Nairn, looking ghastly, poor devil! Said he’d had a spill crossing a river or something. Surlier than ever. Glared at me with positive hatred when I asked him where he was going to to escape civilisation, and said, ‘Zambesi, or hell.’ I could make nothing of him. Can’t stand chaff, you know; never could. But I heard all about him from old Tom Callan – ‘Hot Tom,’ you know.”