"You are in no hurry to go on, are you, Colvin?" said Stephanus De la
Rey, while they were at breakfast. "Because, if not, we might take guns
and go down to the _hoek_. It's swarming with duiker and blekbok."
"Haven't got my gun along, Stephanus, and Aasvogel won't stand fire."
The speaker deemed he had grim reason to know that, and exchanged a
glance with Aletta, who had looked up quickly, at the allusion.
"Oh, that is soon got over. You can have your pick of four horses that
will, and you can either take my shot-gun or one of the rifles. There
will be four of us--you and I and Cornelis and Adrian--and we can drive
out that _hoek_ thoroughly."
"I don't care to hunt to-day, Oom Stephanus," said Adrian. "I must get
back. I have many things to do at home."
Stephanus looked narrowly at his nephew, whose manner struck him as
strange. He had replied in Dutch, whereas the conversation hitherto had
been in English, but that might be due to his new-born and exuberant
patriotism.
"Of course, then, you must see to them, nephew," he said. "The reason
why so many of us don't get on is, that we are too fond of sitting on
the stoep and smoking our pipes." He himself and his son had been at
work in the "lands" and at the goatkraals ever since sunrise. At the
same time he was rather surprised at the refusal of his nephew, who was
a keen sportsman, and would have had a chance of testing his new rifle,
which had already been inspected and its points critically discussed.
But Adrian had an object in his refusal, and the name of that object was
Aletta. Hardly had the other three men got out of sight than he tried
to persuade the girl to take a turn in the garden with him. Ordinarily
she would have needed no persuasion, but to-day a sort of instinct
rendered the idea distasteful to her. But he waxed eloquent upon their
common topic--The Cause--and she yielded.
He told her about the delegate from Pretoria--"the Patriot," as he
reverentially termed him, and how that Olympian Jupiter had talked with
him--had it been the President himself he could hardly have felt more
proud. He told her how the seed had been sown on well-watered and
well-prepared ground, and she listened with real interest, for they had
an ideal in common, these two young people, and were both burning with a
lofty enthusiasm. Besides, the girl was really very fond of Adrian, who
was a fine, manly fellow. Now she predicted great things for him. He
would rise to be one of the most prominent men in the new Dutch South
Africa. There was no limit to the dazzling honours she beheld in store
for him.
Yes, the conspiracy was nearly complete. There was not a Dutchman
within a radius of fifty miles, he told her, who was not ready to rise,
who would not muster at the appointed time and place, rifle in hand, to
throw off the English yoke. Those cursed English! He trusted that
their future rulers would not allow one single Englishman to remain in
the country--no, not one. He hated them all.
This brought a meaning smile to Aletta's face. She remembered Adrian's
manner when he had first come upon her--and the Englishman--but an hour
or two before.
"But, Adrian," she said, "why are you so bitter against the English now?
You used not to be. Of course we must get the land back from them, but
we need not drive them all out. Some of the better ones might remain."
"There are no `better ones,'" he replied, vehemently.
"I would not say that. Our English neighbours round here, what few
there are, seem nice enough. There is Mrs Wenlock, for instance, and
Frank--I haven't seen the daughter yet. And then there is that Mr
Kershaw--he seems a particularly pleasant sort of man."
At this the resentful scowl on Adrian's face deepened. His strong hand
opened and shut once or twice as though gripping at somebody's throat.
"So you seemed to think when I came upon you this morning," he answered
in a sort of growl. Aletta started, and gazed at him in wide-eyed
astonishment.
"Why, Adrian, I never saw the man until last evening," she said, gently,
but conscious that the colour was flowing over her face in waves. For
the blunt retort had, as it were, in a flash opened her mind to herself,
and what she saw therein had frightened her.
"So? Then you have turned your time to very quick use," he answered.
Then, seeing her start away from him with a cold, yet hurt, look, his
tone changed entirely. "Forgive me, Aletta, darling. I am jealous, I
suppose, and, of course, a fool. But I love you. I always have since
we were children together. And I have been longing and longing for you
to come back, and have been counting the weeks to it. Ask Andrina if I
have not. Then when you do come back, and I see you for the first time,
it is with this Englishman. Forgive me if I have said anything to
offend you, Aletta, and say you will marry me. I love you so."
His tone was deep and soft and pleading, and the listener, stealing a
look at his face, could not but feel much moved. He was so intensely in
earnest. And he was a really fine-looking young fellow was this young
Dutchman, a lover of whom any girl might feel the reverse of ashamed.
As a matter of fact this one did so feel, and her voice was very soft as
she answered:
"Oh, Adrian, why did you ask me? I don't see how I can."
It was a pretty lame answer, and she felt it to be. He, for his part,
proceeded to improve the occasion and to urge his cause again and again
with all the arguments he could find. She, for hers, was dangerously
tempted to temporise, but by some merciful instinct rejected that refuge
for the weak. She answered him to the same effect as before, but this
time more clearly, more decidedly.
Then he began to press her for reasons. Why did she persist in refusing
him? He was well off, and could make her thoroughly comfortable. He
defied anyone to say a word against his character or life. He was sure
his uncle would approve, and so on. Then, waxing bitter, he hinted that
since she had been away at Cape Town she had forgotten her own people.
Only the English were good enough now.
Adrian had better have let that side alone. It spoiled the good effect
he was already producing in that it was first of all somewhat childish--
in the second place unjust.
"That is not true, Adrian," she answered gravely, but without anger,
"and you ought not to say it. I am of my own people as much as ever. I
have seen English people, too, whom I like and admire. Those of good
blood are second to no race in the world--for good blood is good blood
all the world over. But you ought not to say some of the things you
have been saying. You wound me and--insult me."
"So? I wound you and insult you? Forgive me, Aletta. I would not do
that for all the world. But look! As you say, you have only known this
Englishman since last evening. That is good. But the man who comes
between you and me--Englishman or who ever he is--had better take care,
great care, for it will mean life or death to him or to me. The time is
coming when every man's rifle will be his law--the avenger of his own
wrongs."
The tone was quiet now. There was that in it which was so earnest, so
free from vehemence as to redeem it from mere bounce or melodramatics.
Aletta, listening, was secretly impressed, and secretly more than
respected him.
"You would not do murder, surely, Adrian?" she said, the narrative she
had heard only that morning rising luridly before her mind.
"No, not murder, only justice. The time is coming when we can call upon
those who have wronged us to face us, man to man. That is not murder."
"N-no. But does it not strike you, Adrian, that you may be doing your
best to kill all the liking and regard I have always felt for you? And
are you not taking a great deal too much upon yourself?" Then, with a
considerable flash of spirit, "Who gave you any right to take possession
of me in this cool and calm manner? What right have you to tell me whom
I am not to be friendly with--yes, and even more, if I choose that it
shall be so? I think you are taking a great deal too much upon
yourself, and I tell you so. But there, do not let us quarrel," she
added, with sudden softening. "And I think it is time we returned to
the house."
"As you will, Aletta. But I could not help saying that I did, for I
mean it--every word of it. Of course we will not quarrel. How could I
quarrel with you?"
The tone was sad and grave, but there was a dignity about it that
appealed to Aletta. She did not fail to notice, either, that the other
had not come off badly under somewhat difficult and delicate
circumstances.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The while those upon slaughter intent were pursuing their way. Colvin
Kershaw was a very keen sportsman, and reckoned that life was never so
thoroughly well worth living as at moments like this--when mounted on a
good shooting-horse, an excellent gun in his hand, the whole day before
him, and, spreading around, as fine a bit of veldt for providing a mixed
bag as one could wish to range over--just rolling enough to be
picturesque--the Karroo bush and the mimosa, which grew in solitary
ragged clumps or lined along the river banks, affording plenty of cover
for birds or the smaller kind of buck. The sun flamed down from a blue
and cloudless vault, but without much power, for it was about midwinter,
and the atmosphere of the high veldt was clear and exhilarating to the
last degree.
Two Kafir boys had been sent round to the further side of the "camp,"
with instructions to lure thither and keep occupied such vicious male
ostriches as would otherwise have interfered with, and, so far as their
jurisdiction extended, entirely prevented sport; and the three horsemen
were riding abreast, fifty yards or so apart, at a slow foot's pace.
Behind them walked Gert, armed with a formidable thorn _tack_ in case
any of the aggressive bipeds should assail them in preference to being
fooled by the diversion aforesaid. But just before they took up their
positions, Cornelis being out of earshot, Stephanus remarked:
"I wonder what is the matter with Adrian, Colvin? I have never known
him not want to hunt before. He was looking very strange, too."
"He was," replied the other, who had his own ideas upon that head.
"So? you noticed it, then? Well, my notion is this," sinking his voice.
"Adrian is _slim_. I believe he remained at home only to have a quiet
talk with Aletta."
"Yes?"
"I think so. They were always devoted to each other as children and
then as they grew up together. I thought it good for her to go away and
see something of the world and of people, so I sent her to some
relatives of mine to Cape Town."
"She has done them credit I don't mind telling you, Stephanus, that even
the little I've seen of your eldest daughter justifies me in saying she
would show to advantage anywhere--_yes_, to the greatest advantage--in
London or anywhere you like."
"So?" said Stephanus, hugely delighted. "You think so, eh?"
"Think so? I'm sure of it," replied Colvin, whimsically thinking with
what whole-heartedness he was now eulogising one who that time yesterday
had existed in his mind as a plain, heavy-looking and absolutely
uninteresting girl. So libellous can be the photographer's art.
"I am delighted to hear you say so, Colvin. You are from England and
have seen a great deal of the world and ought to know. But I believe
you are right. Yes, I am sure you are right. Well, now, my idea is
that Adrian has remained behind to try his luck with Aletta."
"By Jove! Has he?" Then changing the quick tone of vivid interest into
which he had been momentarily betrayed, he went on tranquilly: "And do
you think he will succeed?"
"I cannot say. Aletta has seen a great many people, a great many men
down at the Cape. She may not care to marry a farmer. But she might do
worse than take Adrian. I have a great opinion of him. He is a fine
fellow and no fool. But she must please herself."
"Yes, but--are they not--er--rather nearly related?"
"I had thought of that side of it, too. It is a disadvantage. Look
out! There is a koorhaan running just on your left. He will be up in a
second."
Hardly were the words out than the bird rose, shrilling forth his loud,
alarmed cackle. Colvin dropped the bridle--his gun was at his shoulder.
Crack! and down came the noisy little bustard, shot fair and square
through the head. Two more rose, but out of range, and the air for the
next minute or two was noisy with their shoutings.
Colvin dismounted to pick up the bird, and as he did so up got another.
It was a long shot, but down came this bird also.
"Get there quick, man! He's running," cried Stephanus.
The warning was not unneeded. The bird seemed only winged and had the
grass been a little thicker would have escaped. As it was, it entailed
upon its destroyer a considerable chase before he eventually knocked it
out with a stone, and then only as it was about to disappear within an
impenetrable patch of prickly pear.
"Well, Stephanus, I believe I'm going to score off you both to-day,"
said Colvin, as he tied the birds on to the D of his saddle with a bit
of _riempje_. "Nothing like a shot-gun in this sort of veldt."
Boers, as a rule, seldom care for bird-shooting, looking upon it as
sport for children and Englishmen. Birds in their opinion are hardly
worth eating, guinea-fowl excepted. When these are required for table
purposes they obtain them by the simple process of creeping stealthily
up to their roost on a moonlight night, and raking the dark mass of
sleeping birds--visible against the sky on the bare or scanty-leaved
boughs--with a couple of charges of heavy shot Stephanus laughed
good-humouredly, and said they would find buck directly. Then they
would see who had the better weapon.
They had got into another enclosure, where the ground was more open.
Colvin had already bagged another koorhaan and a brace of partridges,
and so far was not ill-satisfied. Suddenly Cornelis was seen to
dismount. A buck was running across the open some three hundred yards
away. Bang! A great splash of dust nearly hid the animal for a moment.
A near thing, but yet not quite near enough. On it went, going like
the wind, now behind a clump of bushes now out again. Cornelis had
another cartridge in, and was kneeling down. A wire fence stretched
across the line of the fleeing animal, which would have to slacken speed
in order to get through this. Watching his moment, Cornelis let go.
The "klop" made by the bullet as it rushed through the poor little
beast--through ribs and heart--was audible to them there at upwards of
four hundred yards. It never moved afterwards.
"Oh, fine shot!" cried Colvin, with a grim afterthought to himself,
viewing it by the light of the failure of the Bloemfontein Conference.
"It's a duiker ram, Pa," sang out the young Dutchman. Then he shouted
to the Kafirs to bring it along, and the three moved onward. Soon
Colvin got his chance. A blekbok, started by the tread of Stephanus'
horse, raced right across him at about forty-five yards, broadside on.
Up went the gun, a second's aim, and the pretty little animal turned a
most beautiful somersault, and lay kicking convulsively, struck well
forward in the head.
"Well done, well done! _Maagtig kerel_! but you can do something with
shot!" cried Stephanus, approvingly.
Presently the metallic grating cackle of guinea-fowl was borne to their
ears. They were near the banks of the Sneeuw River, where the mimosa
cover and prickly pear _klompjes_ were a favourite haunt of those
splendid game birds. By dint of manoeuvring Colvin got right in among
them, their attention being diverted by the other horseman. Up rose
quite a number. Bang, bang! right and left, down they came. More rise.
Bang, bang! One miss, one more bird down. Then they get up, more and
more of them, by twos and threes, and by the time there are no more of
them, and Colvin has picked up eight birds and is beginning to search
for three more that have run, he is conscious that life can hold no
improvement on the sheer ecstasy of that moment.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then, when they return to the homestead in the roseate afterglow of
the pearly evening--and the spoils are spread out:
"Five bucks, and eighteen birds," cries Stephanus, counting the bag.
"Not so bad for a mixed shoot--and only one bird gun among us. Aletta,
this is an Englishman who can shoot."
Colvin is conscious of enjoying this small triumph, as the girl's bright
face is turned towards him approvingly, and she utters a laughing,
half-bantering congratulation.
"Where is Adrian?" he says, looking around.
"Adrian? Oh, he went long ago--soon after you did."
Keenly watching her face, while not appearing to, he does not fail to
notice the tinge of colour which comes into it as she answers. So
Adrian has been trying his luck then; but, has he succeeded? How shall
he find out? But why should he find out? What on earth can it matter
to him?
Yet throughout the evening the one question he is continually asking
himself, and trying to deduce an answer to, is--
Has he succeeded?