A metallic ring on the stones behind him. Something lies gleaming on
the sun-baked slope of the hill. It is an assegai.
From the weapon, which has missed his body by about six inches, his
glance darts searchingly in the direction whence it came. All his
coolness has returned, and now his sole idea in life is the discovery of
his hidden assailant. Yet he is unarmed; it is highly probable that
there are more spears where the first came from; the spot is a lonely
one, and for all present purposes as far removed from human aid as the
centre of the Great Sahara.
"Ah, I thought as much. I see you, Mopela, you skulking vagabond. Come
down here, you dog, and I'll brain you."
For a head had appeared from behind a low rock some eighteen or twenty
yards from the speaker, and after watching him for a moment, half the
body of its owner followed. A strip of thick bush lay between him and
Claverton, who he guessed was unarmed, as no weapon was levelled at him.
"Whaow!" mocked the savage, as he poised another assegai. "Whaow!
Lenzimbi [Note 1]. Yesterday I; to-day, you. What do you say? Can
your fists reach me here? You are as good as dead, and then Mopela will
hang you to a tree by the hind leg, and in an hour the aasvogels will be
tearing away at your carcase;" and springing upon the rock he again
levelled his formidable spear.
Claverton never moved in his saddle, but sat confronting his deadly foe
as calmly as though he were asking the road; and there, above, stood the
athletic form of the huge barbarian, who, entirely naked, and smeared
from head to foot with red ochre, which glistened in the sun, looked a
very demon of the forest. He knew that the other's words were true, and
that the chances were a hundred to one that in five minutes he would be
a dead man. He was quite unarmed, and his adversary still had two
assegais. Yet he replied quite unconcernedly:
"You're a fool, Mopela. You can't hurt _me_, and, moreover, let me tell
you this--you're a damned bad shot."
His coolness rather disconcerted the other, who laughed mockingly.
"Can't I? Mopela's assegais are too sharp for Lenzimbi's `charm,' and
his God is asleep; _He_ can't help him. Look, I have two more assegais,
one for Lenzimbi, and one for his God. His God is asleep, I say."
"Is he? Look there!" exclaimed Claverton in a sharp, warning tone,
pointing behind the other. The superstitious Kafir turned his head, for
the moment completely thrown off his guard; quick as thought Claverton
slipped from the saddle, and, wrenching off one of the stirrups, dashed
into the bush and made straight for his enemy. He was just in time, for
the other, having recovered himself, launched an assegai with such
unerring effect as to graze the seat of the saddle; the horse, startled
by the unwonted proceedings, threw up his head, snorted and backed, and
finally trotted off by the way he had come. The Kafir, secure in his
point of vantage, awaited the onset, grasping his remaining assegai.
Claverton knew better than to hesitate, and, rushing at his adversary,
dealt him a violent blow on the leg with the stirrup-iron. Maddened by
the pain, Mopela sprang upon him with a wild beast's roar, but Claverton
was ready. Dropping the stirrup he clutched the other's wrists, and
they struggled like fiends. The athletic savage, twice the Englishman's
match for sheer muscular strength, strove with might and main to free
the hand which held his assegai; but the other, knowing full well that
his very life depended on his not doing so, held firm--firm as iron.
Their breath came in quick, short gasps, and every muscle was distended
and rigid. Then the savage, with a hyaena-like howl, opened his great
teeth and made a mighty snap at his antagonist's face, but Claverton
lowered his head and the other's teeth met in his slouch hat; then,
taking advantage of Mopela being off his guard, he drove his right knee
with all the force he could muster into the Kafir's stomach. The game
was now his own. His gigantic foe staggered back ten or a dozen yards,
then fell gasping for breath, and dropping his weapon as he rolled and
writhed among the bush below. With a fierce shout, Claverton seized the
spear and rushed upon his enemy, but it was too late. Mopela had had as
much as he could stomach in more ways than one, and hastened to make
himself scarce; moreover, the trampling of approaching hoofs was heard
and a horseman appeared, leading Claverton's defaulting steed.
"Hullo! What the very deuce is the row? Is that you, Claverton?"
"It is. Five minutes ago the chances in favour of the same being fact
were infinitesimal."
"Well, you _are_ a cool hand," began the new arrival, when a shout far
above them in the bush interrupted him and drew both their attention.
They looked up and beheld Mopela.
"Gough, have you got a revolver?" asked Claverton in quick, eager tones.
"He's a long way off, but I think I can pink him. No? Haven't you?
I'd give 50 pounds for a single shot at the beast." Then, raising his
voice: "Aha, Mopela, you dog; whose god is asleep now, eh? Come down
here again," he went on, jeeringly; "come down and have another
thrashing; I'll give you one--I alone. The other _Baas_ will see fair
play. You won't? You're not such a fool as I thought, then. Only,
look here, the next time I come across you, wherever it may be, I'll
kill you--kill you, by God. So keep out of my way."
The savage shook his hand towards the speaker with a menacing gesture.
"Whaow!" he called out. "The next time we meet Lenzimbi will sing to a
different tune. When the land is red with the blood of the _abelungu_
[whites], and their sheep and cattle are in our kraals, Lenzimbi shall
yet hang by the heels, and Mopela will, with his own hand, put out his
eyes with a red-hot firestick before he is roasted--Haow! Then the
warriors of the Amaxosa will have great sport in hunting out the last of
the whites from their hiding-places, and all the white men will be dead;
but there will be plenty of white women--ha! ha! ha!--plenty of white
women," went on the savage, in his great mocking tones. "And the dark
lily of Seringa Vale," (jerking his thumb in the direction of that
locality), "when Lenzimbi's body and spirit is burnt up in the slow
fire, she and Mopela will--Ha!" He disappeared suddenly, for with a
furious oath Claverton plunged into the bush in pursuit; but he might as
well have searched for the proverbial needle as for the crafty savage,
who simply dodged him in the thick covert, laughing in his sleeve the
while. In less than half an hour he returned to his wondering
companion.
"Where are you bound for, Gough?"
"Thorman's--I'm thinking of buying that horse of his."
"All right. I'll go part of the way with you and get back round by the
_vij-kraal_ [Note 2]. But let's pick up these carving-knives first."
He gathered up the three assegais, all well-made weapons with keen
blades and long, tapering handles; then, as they mounted and rode off,
he told his companion what had happened.
John Gough was a young man of about twenty-three, who had migrated to
the colony about a year before in search of employment. This he had
found in the capacity of tutor to Naylor's children--four healthy young
romps, as disinclined for their books as frontier children usually are.
He was of a quiet and retiring disposition, but a good fellow. For some
reason or another he rather disliked Claverton, but was too good-natured
to show it; and now, as they rode along in silence--for Claverton had
relapsed into a fit of taciturnity--he began to think he had done him an
injustice.
"Well, I think I shall turn here," said that worthy, when they had gone
a little way further. "Gough, I'm going to ask you to do me a favour."
"What is it?" inquired the other, somewhat surprised.
"To oblige me by not mentioning this little shindy to any one--will
you?"
"Yes, certainly, if you wish it," answered Gough, rather reluctantly.
He was disappointed as well as surprised; topics of conversation were
scarce, and such a jolly row as Claverton had just had would be nuts;
even as it was, he had been thinking how he would entertain the Thormans
with an account of it, and now it was to be kept dark. Well, Claverton
was a queer fellow, but it was his own business. So he gave the
required undertaking.
"Thanks; I knew you would. I don't fancy that scoundrel will come near
me again. Good-bye." They shook hands, and went their respective ways.
A few hundred yards further, and a blue smoke reek above the bush
betokened a dwelling. In an open space stood two huts, dome-shaped, and
constructed of thatch, and hard by, a thorn enclosure at that moment
full of sheep. This was one of the out-stations, where one of the
flocks was wont to be kept. A mangy and spindle-shanked cur rushed
yapping forth, roused by the tread of the horse's hoofs. A mighty crack
of the rider's whip, however, caused it to beat a precipitate retreat,
and also had the effect of bringing a head to the small, beehivelike
entrance of one of the huts. The head was promptly followed by its
owner, who stood up and saluted Claverton.
"Well, Umgiswe, it's some time since any of us have been down here to
count, so I'll do so now. Turn them out."
"Ewa 'nkos," (yes, chief), replied the Kafir, curiously eyeing the
assegais which the other carried; and opening the kraal he threw off his
red blanket and began driving out the sheep, while Claverton stood at
the gate and counted.
"Eighty-one--eighty-three--eighty-seven--ninety--ninety-two--
ninety-three--six hundred and ninety-three. Why, how's this, Umgiswe?
There are three missing?"
The old Kafir shrugged his shoulders and muttered something to the
effect that they had died in the _veldt_. Then he fumbled about with
the fastenings of the gate.
"Now, look here, Umgiswe! When sheep die they don't melt into air. If
these three are dead, I must see their skins. Do you hear? If they are
not dead they must be found. I shall come down to-morrow and count
again; then they must be here," said Claverton, decisively, looking the
man straight in the eyes.
He was a quick linguist, and, during the short time he had been on the
frontier, had mastered enough of the Kafir language in its tortuous
verbosity, combined with what he had picked up during his former sojourn
in the colony, to be able to converse with tolerable ease, an
acquirement which added in no small degree to his influence with the
natives, who always hold in greater respect a European who can discourse
with them in their own tongue.
"Ewa 'nkos," said the Kafir again. "They shall be found." Then he
asked for some tobacco.
"You shall have some, Umgiswe, you shall have some--when the three sheep
are found."
The man's countenance fell. Then he asked, quietly and respectfully
enough, where the assegais came from.
"I picked them up. Good spears, are they not? Do you know the owner,
Umgiswe? If you do, tell him to come and claim them, and the sooner he
comes the better." Then nodding in response to the other's farewell
greeting, Claverton touched his horse with the spur and struck into the
bush path. The Kafir stood gazing after him.
"He is a wizard; he knows everything," said Umgiswe to himself; and then
he turned away, intending to restore the two sheep he had hidden away so
securely till it should be safe to send them off to his kraal in the
Gaika location, there to swell the fruits of his pickings and stealings,
and planning how he could doctor up the skin of the one which he and a
boon companion had devoured two nights ago, so as to make it appear that
the animal had died a natural death.
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Note 1. One with the qualities of iron. Kafirs are fond of bestowing
nicknames, though frequently of a less complimentary nature than this.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 2. An outlying fold for flocks whose range is at a distance from
the homestead.