I found No. 764, Trooper Hartley, W.J., in the horse lines, sitting
on a hay-bale perusing a letter which seemed to give him some
amusement. On seeing me he arose, clicked his spurs and saluted. I
returned the salute, graciously bidding him carry on. We go through
the motions of officer and man very punctiliously, William and I. In
other days, in other lands, our relative positions were easier.
The ceremonies over I sat down beside him on the hay-bale, and we
became Bill and Jim to each other.
"Did you ever run across Gustav Müller in the old days?" William
inquired, thumbing a fistful of dark Magliesburg tobacco into his
corn-cob incinerator. "'Mafoota,' the niggers called him, a beefy
man with an underdone complexion."
"Yes," I said, "he turned up in my district on the Wallaby in 1913 or
thereabouts, with nothing in the world but a topee, an army overcoat
and a box of parlour magic. Set up as a wizard in Chala's kraal.
Used to produce yards of ribbon out of the mouths of the afflicted,
and collapsible flower-pots out of their nostrils--casting out
devils, you understand. Was scratching together a very comfortable
practice; but he began to dabble in black politics, so I moved him
on. An entertaining old rogue; I don't know what became of him."
William winked at me through a cloud of blue tobacco smoke. "I do.
He went chasing a rainbow's end North of the Lakes, and I went along
with him. You see, Gustav's great-aunt Gretchen appeared to him in a
dream and told him there was alluvial gold in a certain river bed,
tons of it, easy washing, so we went after it. We didn't find it;
but that's neither here nor there; a man must take a chance now and
again, and this was the first time Gustav's great-aunt had let him
down. She'd given him the straight tip for two Melbourne Cups and a
Portugoose lottery in her time. Some girl, great-aunt Gretchen!
Anyway there was Gustav and me away up at the tail-end of Nowhere,
with the boys yapping for six months' back pay, and we couldn't have
bought a feed of hay for a nightmare between us. We just naturally
had to do something, so----"
"So you just naturally took to poaching ivory," said I. "I know you.
Go on."
William grinned. "Well, a man must live, you know. How'msodever we
struck a bonanza vein of _m'jufu_ right away and piled up the long
white nuggets in a way that would drive you to poetry. A Somali Arab
took the stuff from us on the spot, paying us in cattle at a
fifty-per-cent discount, which was reasonable enough, seeing that he
ran ninety per cent of the risks. Everything sailed along like a
beautiful dream. The elephants was that tame they'd eat out of your
hand, and you could stroll out and bowl over a dozen of the silly
blighters before breakfast if you felt in the mood. The police
hadn't got our address as yet. The only competitor that threatened
got buckshot in his breeches, which changed his mind and direction
for him very precipitous. The industry boomed and boomed.
"'Another year of this,' says I to myself, 'and I'll retire home and
grow roses, drive a pony-trap and be a churchwarden.'
"Then one day the Arab headman blows into camp, and squatting outside
our tent, commences to lamentate and pipe his eye in a way that would
make you think he'd ate a skinful of prickly pears.
"'What's biting you, Bluebell?' I asked.
"'_Allah akbar_! God is good but business is rotten,' says he, and
pitches a woeful yarn how that columns of Askaris was marching
thither and thence, poking their flat noses in where they wasn't
invited; Inglische gunboats were riding every wave, scaring seven
bells out of the coast dhows, and consequently commerce was sent to
blazes and a poor man couldn't get an honest living no-how. The long
and short of it was that ivory smuggling was off for the period of
the War.
"'What war, you scum?' says Gustav, pricking his freckled ears.
'Who's warring?'
"'The Inglische and Germans, of course,' says the Arab. 'Didn't the
B'wana know?'
"'No, the B'wana doesn't,' says I; 'our private Marconi outfit is
broke down owing to the monkeys swinging on the wires. Now trot
home, you barbarous ape, while me and my colleague throws a ray of
pure intellect on the problem. _Bassi_.'
"So he soon dismisses at the double and is seen no more in them
vicinities.
"'Well, partner,' says I to Gustav, 'this is a fair knock-out--what?'
"But Gustav, he grumbles something I couldn't catch and walks off
into the bush with his head down, afflicted with thought.
"He didn't come in for supper, so I scoffed his share and turned in.
"At moonrise I thought I heard a bull elephant trumpeting like he was
love-sick, but it wasn't. It was Gustav coming home singing the
_Wacht am Rhein_. He brings up opposite my bed.
"'Oh, give over and let the poor lions and leopards snatch some
sleep,' says I.
"'I was born in Shermany,' says he.
"'Don't let that keep you awake, ole man,' says I. 'What saith the
prophet? "If a cat kittens on a fish-plate they ain't necessarily
herrings."'
"'I'm a Sherman,' says he.
"'You've been so long with white men that nobody'd know it,' says I.
'Forget it, and I won't tell on you. Why, you ain't seen Shermany
these thirty years, and you wouldn't know a squarehead if you was to
trip over one. Go to bed, Mr. Caruso.'
"'Well, I'm going to be a mighty good Sherman now, to make up for
lost time,' says he grim-like, 'and in case you got any objections
I'll point out that you've the double express proximitous to your
stomach.'
"He had me bailed up all right. Arguments weren't no use with the
cuss. 'I'm a Sherman' was all he'd say; and next day we starts to
hoof it to Germany territory, me promenading in front calling Gustav
every name but his proper one, and him marching behind, prodding me
in the back with the blunderbuss. He disenjoyed that trip even more
than I did; he had to step behind me all day for fear I'd dodge him
into the bush; and he sat up all night for fear the boys would rescue
me. He got as red-eyed as a bear and his figure dropped off him in
bucketfuls.
"At the end of a month we crossed the border and hit the trail of the
Deutscher--burnt villages everywhere, with the mutilated bodies of
women and picaninnies lying about, stakes driven through 'em, Waugh!
"'Are you still a Sherman?' I asks; but Gustav says nothing; he'd
gone a bit white about the gills all the same. Then one morning we
tumbles into one of their columns and the game is up. I was given a
few swipes with a _kiboko_ for welcome and hauled before the
Commander, a little short cove with yellow hair, a hand-carved jaw
and spectacles. He diagnosed my case as serious, prescribed me some
more _kiboko_, and I was hove into a grass hut under guard, pending
the obsequies.
"The Officers called Gustav a good sport, gave him a six-by-four
cigar and took him off to dinner. I noticed he looked back at me
once or twice. So I sits down in the hut and meditates on some
persons' sense of humour, with a big Askari buck padding it up and
down outside, whiling away the sunny hours with a bit of
disembowelling practice on his bayonet.
"A couple of days flits by while the column is away spreading the
good word with fire and stake. Then on the third night I hears a
scuffle outside the hut, and the Askari comes somersaulting backwards
through the grass wall like as if an earthquake had butted him in the
brisket. He gave a couple of kicks and stretched out like as if he
was tired.
"'Whist! Is that you, Bill?' comes a whisper through the hole.
"'What's left of me,' says I. 'Who are you?'
"'Me--Gustav,' says the whisperer.
"'What's the antic this time? Capturing me again?' says I.
"'No, I'm rescuing you now,' says he.
"'The devil you are,' says I, and with that I glided out through the
hole and followed him on my stomach. A sentry gave tongue at the
scrub-edge, but Gustav rose up out of the grass and bumped him behind
the ear and we went on.
"'Well, you're a lovely quick-change artist, capturing a bloke one
moment and rescuing him the next,' says I presently. 'What's come
over you? Ain't you a Sherman no more?'
"Gustav groans as if his heart was broke. 'I've been away thirty
years. I didn't know they was like that; I'd forgotten. Oh, my
Gawd, what swine!' He spits like a man that has bit sour beer, and
we ran on again."
"Didn't they chase you?" I asked.
William nodded.
"But they couldn't catch two old bush-bucks like us, and the next day
we fell in with a British column that was out hunting them. 'Twas a
merry meeting. Gustav enlisted with the Britishers on the spot."
William tapped the travel-soiled letter in his hand. "This is from
him. He's down in Nairobi, wounded. He says he's sitting up taking
nourishment, and that great-aunt Gretchen has appeared to him again
and showed him a diamond pipe in the Khali Hari, which will require a
bit of looking into _après la guerre_--if there ever is any _après_."