"GOOD NIGHT, ZAVULA!"
Elvesdon was seated in his inner office, busied with his ordinary
routine work. It was afternoon and hot, and he had thrown off his coat
and waistcoat, and sat in his shirt and light duck trousers smoking a
pipe of excellent Magaliesberg. Court was over, he had disposed of the
few cases, mostly of a trumpery nature, before lunch, and now the office
work was not of a particularly engrossing character; wherefore perhaps
it was not strange that his thoughts should go back to his Sunday visit,
which, of course, spelt Edala Thornhill.
The worst of it was she had been occupying his thoughts of late, and
that even when he had seen her but once. Now he had seen her twice--had
spent a whole day in her society. And she was occupying his thoughts
more than ever. Yet--why?
He was not in his first youth, nor was she the first of the other sex he
had been interested in. He had had experiences, as a fine,
well-looking, well set up man of his stamp was bound to have had. Yet
the image of this girl had stamped itself upon his mind in a way that
the image of no one else had ever been able to do for years; since what
he pleasantly liked to term to himself--his salad days. And he did not
know what to make of this interest. It was not even budding love--he
told himself--only a strong interest in what seemed an interesting
character. Yet behind it was an unmistakable longing to see more of
her. The feeling rendered him vaguely uncomfortable.
He relit his pipe, and sat back to think. There came a tap at the door
and his clerk entered, bringing some official letters to be signed.
"Anything new. Prior?" he asked carelessly, when this process had been
accomplished.
"There is, sir. Teliso has come back, and there's been an infernal
rascally Ethiopian preacher stirring up Babatyana's location. He's gone
on to Nteseni's."
"I know. I captured that information from two fellows I was talking
with this morning. I'll see Teliso directly. But what can you do--at
this stage of affairs? I'm keeping my eyes open, but you mustn't be too
zealous in our Service, Prior, or you're bound to come out bottom dog.
The chap I want particularly looked after is this Manamandhla. He's a
crafty swine and not over here for any good. I had a talk with him the
other day and he's as slippery as the proverbial eel."
"Did you, sir? Well, I can tell you something about him. He's gone to
squat on old Thornhill's farm."
"To squat?"
"Yes, so they say. It seems fishy, to say the least of it."
"How so?"
"Why he's a biggish man over on the other side. What should he want to
come and squat here for?"
"What do you mean by `squatting,' Prior? I should say Thornhill was not
the sort of man to allow squatters on his place."
"Well, sir, that's what I've got at through the people. Anyway it
simplifies the watching part of the business, for we've got Manamandhla
bang under our noses."
Elvesdon sat meditatively, burning his middle finger into the bowl of
his lighted pipe. More and more was it brought home to him how anything
concerning the house of Thornhill spelt interest to him, even vivid
interest, he could not but own to himself. And Thornhill was rather a
mysterious personality, and his daughter even more out of the
commonplace. What did it all mean--what the very deuce did it all mean?
Then he said:
"I don't quite know what to make of it just now, Prior. Things are
shaping out. But you keep your ears open. You were born and bred on
this frontier, and you know these chaps and their ways a good deal
better than I do. You can grip things that I should probably miss
entirely. So don't let anything pass."
It was just by such frank and hearty appreciation of their capabilities
that Elvesdon endeared himself to his subordinates, hence this one's
dictum upon him to Thornhill on a former occasion.
"You may rely upon me, sir," answered Prior, intensely gratified. "I'll
do my very best--all along the line."
"And that will be a very good kind of best, Prior, judging from my short
experience of you. Hullo! Come in."
This in response to another knock at the door. It was opened and there
entered a native constable.
"_Nkose_! The chief has arrived. The chief, Zavula. He would have a
word with _Nkose_."
"Admit him," said Elvesdon, cramming a fresh fill into his pipe.
There was a sound of light footsteps, made by bare feet, outside, and
old Zavula appeared in the doorway. His right hand was uplifted, and he
poured forth words of _sibongo_ in the liquid Zulu. Elvesdon arose and
shook the old man by the hand. He was always especially courteous to
men of rank among the natives--a fact which they fully appreciated.
"Greeting, my father. I am glad to see you," he said. "Sit. Here is
snuff. It is a good accompaniment for a talk."
Zavula subsided on to the floor--a native of course would be supremely
uncomfortable on a chair. Prior, with ready tact, had withdrawn. There
were those who said that Elvesdon was too free and easy with natives,
that he allowed them too much equality. Well, he had never found his
official dignity suffer by the line he took, but that line he knew where
to draw, and occasionally did--with effect. But Zavula was one of
Nature's gentlemen.
The old chief, having spent two or three minutes filling up his nostrils
with snuff, began--
"It is good to see _Nkose_ again. I have seen him but once when he
first arrived here, and could see that the Government had sent us a
man--one who could understand us--and my heart felt good. Now I see him
again."
"Those who rule over the people are always welcome, my father," returned
Elvesdon. "What is the news?"
"News? _Au_! I know not, Ntwezi. Is this a time for news? Or a time
for quiet? I am old, very old, and my sons are in the land of the Great
Unknown. You, who are young, of the age they would be were they still
here, to you comes news from all the world."
The old man's eyes shone with a kindly twinkle. He had used Elvesdon's
native nickname--not in itself an uncomplimentary one--instead of the
respectful `_Nkose_' such as he should have used when addressing his
magistrate, yet the latter thoroughly appreciated the difference. There
was no fear of the old chief encroaching upon his official dignity by
this momentary lapse into speaking of him in the same breath as his dead
sons.
They talked a little on commonplaces--yet not altogether, for both were
fencing up to more serious import. Elvesdon, with his knowledge of
native ways, did not hurry his visitor. He knew, instinctively, that
the latter had come to see him on some subject of more or less
importance: how much so he had yet to learn. He noticed, too, that
Zavula had brought in with him a bundle--an ordinary looking bundle of
no size, done up in a dingy rag. His quick, deductive instinct had
taken this in, where most white men would have overlooked it
completely--especially if hide-bound by officialism. A chief of
Zavula's standing did not carry his own loads, however small.
Elvesdon's curiosity was aroused, and grew, with regard to that bundle.
It, now, Zavula proceeded to untie. From the wrapper he produced an
ordinary drinking bowl of black, porous clay. It was not a clean bowl
either for the inside showed thick smears of dried up _tywala_. This he
placed carefully upon the ground before him. Elvesdon watched this
development with growing curiosity.
"_Nkose_," said the old man, looking up. "Where is Udokotela?"
This, which was a mere corruption of the English word `doctor,' referred
to the District Surgeon.
"You will have far to go to find him, Zavula. Are you then sick?"
"_Whau_! My heart is sick, for there are some who think I have lived
too long. It may be that they are right. And--they are of my children
too."
There was infinite pathos in the tone, as the speaker dropped his glance
sorrowfully down to the object before him. Elvesdon's interest kindled
vividly. He began to see through the situation now.
"There is death in this," went on the old chief touching the bowl. "I
would like Udokotela to examine it."
"Leave it with me, Zavula, and I will take care that he does. It will
be safe here."
He unlocked a cupboard and stowed away the vessel carefully. "Now--who
is it that thinks their chief has lived too long, Zavula?"
"_Au_! That will become known. But the time is not yet. What I have
shown _Nkose_ is between him and Udokotela."
Elvesdon promised to respect his confidence and the old man got up to
leave. Would he not eat and drink? No. The sun would have dropped
before he reached his kraal, and he liked not being abroad in the dark
hours. Perhaps he was too old, he added with a whimsical smile.
Another day, when he should come over to hear the word of Udokotela as
to the hidden _muti_ then he would have more time.
Elvesdon and the clerk stood watching the forms of the old chief and his
one scarcely less aged attendant, as they receded up the valley.
"That's a grand old boy, Prior," said the former. "A dear old boy. If
we had a few more of his sort around here we needn't have bothered
ourselves about the lively times that any fool can see are sticking out
ahead of us."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The two old men held steadily on their way, walking with an ease and
elasticity that many a youth might have envied--over rough ground and
smooth--now and again sitting down to take snuff, which is far too
serious an operation to be performed during the process of locomotion.
As nearly as possible they travelled in a direct line, accomplishing
this by taking short cuts through the bush by tracks known to
themselves, but to a mounted man quite, impracticable, and so faint that
a white man would get hopelessly lost.
Following one of these, they were about to come out upon opener ground.
The sun had dropped, and in the black gloom of forest trees it would be
night in a very few minutes. In front however showed a temporary
lightening where the foliage thinned. Overhanging this opener ground
was a tumble of rocks and boulders rising to no great height.
"I would fain have been earlier, brother," murmured Zavula. "My eyes
are over old to see in the dark, and--"
He did not finish his words; instead he dropped to the earth, felled by
the murderous blow which had crashed upon his unsuspecting head from
behind. His companion sprang aside just in time to dodge a like blow
aimed at him, and raising his stick leaped furiously at the foremost
assailant, determined that one should die at any rate. It was a futile
resistance, for what could an old man with nothing but an ordinary stick
do against half a dozen armed miscreants. These sprang at him at once,
yet even then so energetic was his defence that they drew back for a
moment.
"Have done!" growled a voice from behind these. "Make an end. No--no
blood," as one fiend was poising an assegai for a throw. "Make an end,
fools, make an end."
"It is Nxala who hounds on these cowardly dogs," jeered this brave old
man, recognising the voice out of the darkness. "_Whau_! Nxala!"
It was his last utterance. A heavy knobstick, hurled with tremendous
force, struck him full between the eyes, and he, too, dropped.
The murderers were upon him at once, battering his skull to atoms with
their knobsticks, in the fury of their savagery forgetting their
instigator's warning as to the shedding of blood.
While this was happening old Zavula had half raised himself.
"Dog's son, Nxala," he exclaimed. "I have found my end. Thine shall be
the white man's rope."
These were his last words. The murderous fiends, springing upon him,
completed their atrocious work--this time effectually. A slight quiver,
and the old chief's body lay still and lifeless.
The tumble of rocks and stones contained, from the very nature of its
formation, several holes and caves, and to these now were the bodies
dragged. To fling them in, and cover the apertures with stones, was the
work of a very short time.
"_Hlala-gahle_, Zavula! Good night, Zavula!" cried Nxala, raising a
hand in mockery. "Rest peacefully. _Whau_! Our father has left us.
We will depart and cry the _sibongo_ to Babatyana the new chief."
"_Yeh-bo_! Babatyana the new chief."
And the cowardly murderers departed from the scene of their abominable
deed, and the darkness of black night fell suddenly upon the graves of
these two old men, thus barbarously and treacherously done to death;
heathen savages both, but estimable and useful according to their
lights. And it might well be that the mocking aspiration of the
cowardly instigator of their destruction was from that moment to be
fulfilled.