ON THE ROAD
John and Jess had finished their meal, and were about to leave the
table, when suddenly the door opened, and who should appear at it but
Frank Muller himself! Mistake was impossible; there he stood, stroking
his long golden beard, as big, as handsome, and, to Jess’s mind, as
evil-looking as ever. The cold eyes fell upon John with a glance of
recognition, and something like a smile began to play around the
corners of the finely cut cruel mouth. Suddenly, however, his gaze lit
upon the two Boers, one of whom was picking his teeth with a steel fork
and the other lighting his pipe within a few inches of Jess’s head, and
instantly his face grew stern and angry.
“Did I not tell you two men,” he said, “that you were not to eat with
the prisoners?”—this word struck awkwardly on Jess’s ear. “I told you
that they were to be treated with all respect, and here I find you
sprawling over the table and smoking in their faces. Be off with you!”
The smooth-faced man with the tusk rose at once with a sigh, put down
the steel fork with which he had been operating, and departed,
recognising that _Meinheer_ Muller was not a commanding officer to be
trifled with, but his companion, the Vilderbeeste, demurred. “What,” he
said, tossing his head so as to throw the long black hair out of his
eyes, “am I not fit to sit at meat with a couple of accursed English—a
_rooibaatje_ and a woman? If I had my way he should clean my boots and
she should cut up my tobacco;” and he grinned at the notion till
eyebrows, whiskers, and moustache nearly met round his nose, causing
him to look for all the world like a hairy-faced baboon.
Frank Muller made no answer in words. He simply took one step forward,
pounced upon his insubordinate follower, and with a single swing of his
athletic frame sent him flying headlong through the door, so that this
free and independent burgher lit upon his head in the passage, smashing
his pipe and considerably damaging his best feature—his nose. “There,”
said Muller, shutting the door after him, “that is the only way to deal
with such a fellow. And now let me bid you good-day, Miss Jess,” and he
extended his hand, which Jess took, rather coldly it must be owned.
“It has given me great pleasure to be able to do you this little
service,” he added politely. “I had considerable difficulty in
obtaining the pass from the General—indeed I was obliged to urge my
personal services before he would give it to me. But never mind that, I
got it, as you know, and it will be my care to escort you safely to
Mooifontein.”
Jess bowed, and Muller turned to John, who had risen from his chair and
was standing some two paces away, and addressed him. “Captain Niel,” he
said, “you and I have had some differences in the past. I hope that the
service I am doing you will prove that I, for one, bear no malice. I
will go farther. As I told you before, I was to blame in that affair in
the inn-yard at Wakkerstroom. Let us shake hands and end what we cannot
mend,” and he stepped forward and extended his hand.
Jess turned to see what would happen. She knew the whole story, and
hoped he would not take the man’s hand; next, remembering their
position, she hoped that he would.
John turned colour a little, then he drew himself up deliberately and
put his hand behind his back.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Muller,” he said, “but even in our present
position I cannot shake hands with you; you will know why.”
Jess saw a flush, bred of the furious passion which was his weak point,
spread itself over the Boer’s face.
“I do _not_ know, Captain Niel. Be so good as to explain.”
“Very well, I will,” said John calmly. “You tried to assassinate me.”
“What do you mean?” thundered Muller.
“What I say. You shot at me twice under pretence of firing at a buck.
Look here!”—and he took up his soft black hat, which he still
wore—“here is the mark of one of your bullets! I did not know about it
then; I do now, and I decline to shake hands with you.”
By this time Muller’s fury had got the better of him. “You shall answer
for that, you English liar!” he said, at the same time clapping his
hand to his belt, in which his hunting-knife was placed. Thus for a few
seconds they stood face to face. John never flinched or moved. There he
stood, quiet and strong as some old stubby tree, his plain honest face
and watchful eye affording a strange contrast to the beautiful but
demoniacal countenance of the great Dutchman. Presently he spoke in
measured tones.
“I have proved myself a better man than yourself once, Frank Muller,
and if necessary I will again, notwithstanding that knife of yours.
But, in the meantime, I wish to remind you that I have a pass signed by
your own General guaranteeing our safety. And now, Mr. Muller,” with a
flash of the blue eyes, “I am ready.” The Dutchman drew the knife, but
replaced it in its sheath. For a moment he was minded to end the matter
then and there, but suddenly, even in his rage, he remembered that
there was a witness.
“A pass from the General!” he said, forgetting his caution in his fury.
“Much good a pass from the General is likely to be to you. You are in
my power, man! If I choose to close my hand I can crush you. But
there—there,” he added, checking himself, “perhaps I ought to make
allowances. You are one of a defeated people, and no doubt are sore,
and say what you do not mean. Anyhow, there is an end of it, especially
in the presence of a lady. Some day we may be able to settle our
trouble like men, Captain Niel; till then, with your permission, we
will let it drop.”
“Quite so, Mr. Muller,” said John, “only you must not ask me to shake
hands with you.”
“Very good, Captain Niel; and now, if you will allow me, I will tell
the boy to get your horses in; we must be getting on if we are to reach
Heidelberg to-night.” And he bowed himself out, feeling that once more
his temper had endangered the success of his plans. “Curse the fellow!”
he said to himself: “he is what those English call a gentleman. It was
brave of him to refuse to take my hand when he is in my power.”
“John,” said Jess, as soon as the door had closed, “I am afraid of that
man. If I had understood that he had anything to do with the pass I
would not have taken it. I thought that the writing was familiar to me.
Oh dear! I wish we had stopped at Pretoria.”
“What can’t be cured must be endured,” said John again. “The only thing
to do is to make the best of it, and get on as we can. You will be all
right anyhow, but he hates me like poison. I suppose that it is on
account of Bessie.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Jess: “he is, or was, madly in love with
Bessie.”
“It is curious to think that a man like that can be in love,” remarked
John as he lit his pipe, “but it only shows what queer mixtures people
are. I say, Jess, if this fellow hates me so much, what made him give
me the pass, eh? What’s his game?”
Jess shook her head as she answered, “I don’t know, John; I don’t like
it.”
“I suppose he can’t mean to murder me; he did try it on once, you
know.”
“Oh no, John,” she answered with a sort of cry, “not that.”
“Well, I don’t know that it would matter much,” he said, with an
approach to cheerfulness which was rather a failure. “It would save one
a deal of worry, and only anticipate things a bit. But there, I
frightened you, and I dare say that, for the present at any rate, he is
an honest man, and has no intentions on my person. Look! there is Mouti
calling us. I wonder if those brutes have given him anything to eat!
We’ll secure the rest of this leg of mutton on chance. At any rate, Mr.
Frank Muller sha’n’t starve me to death,” and with a cheerful laugh he
left the room.
In a few minutes they were on their road again. As they started Frank
Muller came up, took off his hat, and informed them that probably he
would join them on the morrow below Heidelberg, in which town they
would find every preparation to enable them to spend the night
comfortably. If he did not join them it would be because he was
detained on duty. In that case the two men had his orders to escort
them safely to Mooifontein, and, he added significantly, “I do not
think that you will be troubled with any further impoliteness.”
In another moment he had galloped off on his great black horse, leaving
the pair considerably mystified and not a little relieved.
“Well,” said John, “at any rate that does not look like foul play,
unless, indeed, he has gone on to prepare a warm reception for us.”
Jess shrugged her shoulders, she could not understand it; and then they
settled themselves down to their long lonely drive. They had forty odd
miles to cover, but the guides, or rather the guard, would only consent
to their outspanning once, which they did on the open veldt a little
before sunset. At sundown they inspanned again, and started across the
darkening veldt. The road was in a shocking state, and until the moon
rose, which it did about nine o’clock, the journey was both difficult
and dangerous. After that things were a little better; and at last,
about eleven o’clock, they reached Heidelberg. The town seemed almost
deserted. Evidently the great body of the Boers were at the front, and
had only left a guard at their seat of government.
“Where are we to outspan?” asked John of the Unicorn, who was jogging
on alongside, apparently half asleep.
“At the hotel,” was the short reply, and thither they went. Thankful
enough they were to reach it, and to find, from the lights in the
windows, that people were still about.
Notwithstanding the awful jolting of the cart, Jess had been asleep for
the last two hours. Her arm was hooked round the back of the seat, and
her head rested against John’s great-coat, which he had fixed up in
such a way as to make a pillow. “Where are we?” she asked, waking up
with a start as the cart stopped. “I have had such a bad dream! I
dreamt that I was travelling through life, and that suddenly everything
stopped, and I was dead.”
“I don’t wonder at it,” laughed John; “the road for the last ten miles
has been as rough as anybody’s life. We are at the hotel. Here are the
boys to take the horses,” and he clambered stiffly out of the cart and
helped or rather lifted her down, for she was almost too cramped to
move.
Standing at the inn-door, holding a light above her head, they found a
pleasant-looking Englishwoman, who welcomed them heartily.
“Frank Muller was here three hours ago, and told me to expect you,” she
said; “and very glad I am to see an English face again, I can tell you.
My name is Gooch. Tell me, is my husband all right in Pretoria? He went
up there with his waggon just before the siege began, and I have not
heard a word from him since.”
“Yes,” said John, “he is all right. He was slightly wounded in the
shoulder a month ago, but he has quite recovered.”
“Oh, thank God!” said the poor woman, beginning to cry; “those devils
told me that he was dead—to torment me, I suppose. Come in, miss: there
is some hot supper ready when you have washed your hands. The boys will
see to the horses.”
Accordingly they entered, and were made as happy as a good supper, a
hearty welcome, and comfortable beds could make people in their
condition.
In the early morning one of their estimable escort sent in a message to
say that they were not to start before half-past ten, as the horses
required more rest, so they enjoyed some hours longer in bed than they
had expected, and anybody who has ever made a journey in a post-cart in
South Africa can understand the blessing thereof. At nine they
breakfasted, and as the clock struck half-past ten Mouti brought the
cart round, and with it came the two Boers.
“Well, Mrs. Gooch,” said John, “what do we owe you?”
“Nothing, Captain Niel, nothing. If you only knew what a weight you
have taken off my mind! Besides, we are quite ruined; the Boers have
looted all my husband’s cattle and horses, and until last week six of
them were quartered on me without paying a farthing, so it makes no
odds to me.”
“Never mind, Mrs. Gooch,” said John cheerfully, “the Government will
compensate you when this business is over, no doubt.”
Mrs. Gooch shook her head prophetically. “Never a halfpenny do I expect
to see,” she said. “If only I can get my husband back, and we can
escape out of this wicked place with our lives, I shall be thankful.
And look here, Captain Niel, I have put up a basketful of food—bread,
meat, and hard-boiled eggs, with a bottle of three-star brandy. It may
be useful to you and the young lady before you reach home. I don’t know
where you will sleep to-night, for the English are still holding
Standerton, so you won’t be able to stop there, and you can’t drive
right through. No, don’t thank me, I could not do less.
Good-bye—good-bye, miss; I hope you will get through all right. You had
better look out, though. Those two men you have with you are very bad
lots. I heard say, rightly or wrongly, that that fat-faced man with the
tooth shot two wounded soldiers through the head after the fight at
Bronker’s Spruit, and I know no good of the other. They were laughing
and talking together about you in the kitchen this morning; one of my
boys overheard them, and the Boer with the long hair said that, at any
rate, they would not be troubled with you after to-night. I don’t know
what he meant; perhaps they are going to change the escort; but I
thought that I had better tell you.”
John looked grave, and his suspicions re-arose, but at that moment one
of the men in question rode up and told him that he must start at once,
and so off they went.
This second day’s journey was in many respects a counterpart of the
first. The road was utterly deserted, and they saw neither Boer,
Englishman, nor Kafir upon it; nothing, indeed, except a few herds of
game grazing on the ridges. About two o’clock, however, just as they
had started after a short outspan, a little incident occurred. Suddenly
the Vilderbeeste’s horse put his foot into an ant-bear hole and fell
heavily, throwing his rider on to his head. He was up in a minute, but
his forehead had struck against the jawbone of a dead buck, and the
blood was pouring from it down his hairy face. His companion laughed
brutally at the accident, for there are some natures in the world to
which the sight of pain is irresistibly comical, but the injured man
cursed aloud, trying to staunch the flow with the lappet of his coat.
“_Waacht een beeche_,” said Jess, “there is some water in that pool,”
and telling John to pull up she sprang from the trap and led the man,
who was half-blinded with blood, to the spring. Here she made him kneel
down and bathed the wound, which was not a very deep one, till it
stopped bleeding, and then, having first placed a pad of cotton-wool,
some of which she happened to have in the cart, upon it, she bound her
handkerchief tightly round his head. The man, brute as he was, appeared
to be much touched at her kindness.
“Almighty,” he said, “but you have a kind heart and soft fingers; my
own wife could not have done it better; it is a pity that you are a
damned Englishwoman.”
Jess climbed back into the cart, making no reply, and they started on,
the Vilderbeeste looking more savage and unhuman than ever with the
discoloured handkerchief round his head, and his dense black beard and
hair mattered with gore which he would not take the trouble to wash out
of them.
After this nothing further occurred till, by the orders of their
escort, they outspanned, an hour or so before sunset, at a spot in the
veldt where a faint track forked from the Standerton road.