A FIGHT AND A SHOT
Early the next morning I sought for Ralph to speak to him on the matter
of his marriage, which, to tell truth, I longed to see safely
accomplished. But I could not find him anywhere, or learn where he had
gone, though one of the slaves told me that they had seen him mount his
horse at the stable.
I went down to the cattle kraal to look if he were there, and as I
returned, I saw Sihamba seated by the door of her hut engaged in
combing her hair and powdering it with the shining blue dust.
“Greeting, Mother of Swallow,” she said. “Whom do you seek?”
“You know well,” I answered.
“Yes, I know well. At the break of dawn he rode over yonder rise.”
“Why?” I asked.
“How can I tell why? But Swart Piet lives out yonder.”
“Had he his gun with him?” I asked again and anxiously.
“No, there was nothing but a sjambock, a very thick sjambock, in his
hand.”
Then I went back to the house with a heavy heart, for I was sure that
Ralph had gone to seek Piet van Vooren, though I said nothing of it to
the others. So it proved indeed. Ralph had sworn to Suzanne that he
would not try to kill Piet, but here his oath ended, and therefore he
felt himself free to beat him if he could find him, for he was
altogether mad with hate of the man. Now he knew that when he was at
home it was Swart Piet’s habit to ride of a morning, accompanied by one
Kaffir only, to visit a certain valley where he kept a large number of
sheep. Thither Ralph made his way, and when he reached the place he saw
that, although it was time for them to be feeding, the sheep were still
in their kraal, baa-ing, stamping, and trying to climb the gate, for
they were hungry to get at the green grass.
“So,” thought Ralph, “Swart Piet means to count the flock out himself
this morning. He will be here presently.”
Half an hour afterwards he came sure enough, and with him the one
Kaffir as was usual. Then the bars of the gate were let down, and the
sheep suffered to escape through them, Swart Piet standing upon one
side and the Kaffir upon the other, to take tale of their number. When
all the sheep were out, and one of the herds had been brought before
him and beaten by the Kaffir, because some lambs were missing, Swart
Piet turned to ride homewards, and in a little gorge near by came face
to face with Ralph, who was waiting for him. Now he started and looked
to see if he could escape, but there was no way of doing it without
shame, so he rode forward and bid Ralph good-day boldly, asking him if
he had ever seen a finer flock of sheep.
“I did not come here to talk of sheep,” answered Ralph, eyeing him.
“Is it of a lamb, then, that you come to talk, Heer Kenzie, a ewe lamb,
the only one of your flock?” sneered Piet, for he had a gun in his hand
and he saw that Ralph had none.
“Aye,” said Ralph, “it is of a white ewe lamb whose fleece has been
soiled by a bastard thief who would have stolen her,” and he looked at
him.
“I understand,” said Piet coldly, for he was a bold man; “and now, Heer
Kenzie, you had best let me ride by.”
“Why should I let you ride by when I have come out to seek you?”
“For a very good reason, Heer Kenzie; because I have a gun in my hand
and you have none, and if you do not clear the road presently it may go
off.”
“A good reason, indeed,” said Ralph, “and one of which I admit the
weight,” and he drew to one side of the path as though to let Piet
pass, which he began to do holding the muzzle of the gun in a line with
the other’s head. Ralph sat upon his horse staring moodily at the
ground, as though he was trying to make up his mind to say something or
other, but all the time he was watching out of the corner of his quick
eye. Just as Swart Piet drew past him, and was shaking the reins to put
his horse to a canter, Ralph slid from the saddle, and springing upon
him like light, he slipped his strong arm round him and dragged him
backwards to the ground over the crupper of the horse. As Piet fell he
stretched out his hands to grip the saddle and save himself, so that
the gun which he carried resting on his knees dropped upon the grass.
Ralph seized it and fired it into the air; then he turned to face his
enemy, who by this time had found his feet.
“Now we are more equally matched, myn Heer van Vooren,” he said, “and
can talk further about that ewe lamb, the only one of the flock. Nay,
you need not look for the Kaffir to help you, for he has run after your
horse, and at the best he will hardly dare to thrust himself between
two angry white men. Come, let us talk, myn Heer.”
Black Piet made no answer, so for a while the two stood facing each
other, and they were a strange pair, as different as the light from the
darkness. Ralph fair-haired, grey-eyed, stern-faced, with thin
nostrils, that quivered like those of a well-bred horse,
narrow-flanked, broad-chested, though somewhat slight of limb and body,
for he was but young, and had scarcely come to a man’s weight, but
lithe and wiry as a tiger. Piet taller and more massive, for he had the
age of him by five years, with round Kaffir eyes, black and cruel,
coarse black hair that grew low upon his brow, full red lips, the lower
drooping so that the large white teeth and a line of gums could be seen
within. Great-limbed he was also, firm-footed and bull-strengthed,
showing in his face the cruelty and the cunning of a black race,
mingled with the mind and mastery of the white; an evil and a terrible
man, knowing no lord save his own passions, and no religion but black
witchcraft and vile superstition; a foe to be feared indeed, but one
who loved better to stab in the dark than to strike in the open day.
“Well, myn Heer van Vooren,” mocked Ralph, “you could fling your arms
about a helpless girl and put her to shame before the eyes of men, now
do the same by me if you can,” and he took one step towards him.
“What is this monkey’s chatter?” asked Piet, in his slow voice. “Is it
because I gave the girl a kiss that you would fix a quarrel upon me?
Have you not done as much yourself many times, and for a less stake
than the life of one who has been doomed to die?”
“If I have kissed her,” answered Ralph, “it is with her consent, and
because she will be my wife; but you worked upon her pity to put her to
shame and now you shall pay the price of it. Do you see that whip?” and
he nodded toward the sjambock that was lying on the grass. “Let him who
proves the best man use it upon the other.”
“Will be your wife——” sneered Piet, “the wife of the English castaway!
She might have been, but now she never shall, unless she cares to wed a
carcase cut into rimpis. You want a flogging, and you shall have it,
yes, to the death, but Suzanne shall be—not your wife but——”
He got no further, for at that moment Ralph sprang at him like a wild
cat, stopping his foul mouth with a fearful blow upon the lips. Then
there followed a dreadful struggle between these two. Black Piet rushed
again and again, striving to clasp his antagonist in his great arms and
crush him, whereas Ralph, who, like all Englishmen, loved to use his
fists, and knew that he was no match for Piet in strength, sought to
avoid him and plant blow after blow upon his face and body. This,
indeed, he did with such success that soon the Boer was covered with
blood and bruises. Again and again he charged at him, roaring with pain
and rage, and again and again Ralph first struck and then slipped to
one side.
At length Piet’s turn came, for Ralph in leaping back caught his foot
against a stone and stumbled, and before he could recover himself the
iron arms were round his middle, and they were wrestling for the
mastery.
Still, at the first it was Ralph who had the best of it, for he was
skilful at the game, and before Swart Piet could put out his full
strength he tripped him so that he fell heavily upon his back, Ralph
still locked in his arms. But he could not keep him there, for the Boer
was the stronger; moreover, as they fought they had worked their way up
the steep side of the kloof so that the ground was against him. Thus it
came about that soon they began to roll down hill fixed to each other
as though by ropes, and gathering speed at every turn. Doubtless, the
end of this would have been Ralph’s defeat, and perhaps his death, for
I think that, furious as he was, Black Piet would certainly have killed
him had he found himself the master. But it chanced that his hand was
stayed, and thus. Near the bottom of the slope lay a sharp stone, and
as they rolled in their fierce struggle, Piet’s head struck against
this stone so that for a few moments he was rendered helpless. Feeling
the grip of his arms loosen, Ralph freed himself, and running to the
sjambock snatched it from the ground. Now Piet sat up and stared at him
stupidly, but he made no effort to renew the fight, whereon Ralph
gasped:
“I promised you a flogging, but since it is chance that has conquered
you more than I, I will take no advantage of it, save this——” and he
struck him once or twice across the face with the whip, but not so as
to draw blood, and added, “Now, at least, I am free from a certain
promise that I made—that I would not kill you—and should you attempt
further harm or insult towards Suzanne Botmar, kill you I will, Piet
van Vooren.”
At first Swart Piet did not seem to feel the blows, but presently he
awoke, as it were, and touched his cheeks where the sjambock had struck
him as though to assure himself that he was not dreaming some evil
dream. Then he spoke in a hollow, unnatural voice. “You have won for
this time, Ralph Kenzie,” he said, “or, rather, Fate fighting for you
has won. But it would have been better for you and your dear also, if
you had never struck those blows, for I tell you, Ralph Kenzie, that as
your whip touched me something broke in my brain, and now I think that
I am mad.”
“Mad or bad, it is all one to me,” replied Ralph. “You have had your
warning, and you had best keep sane enough to remember it.” Then
turning he went to his horse, which was standing close by, mounted and
rode away, the other answering him nothing.
Still Ralph did not get home without another adventure, for when he had
gone a little way he came to a stream that ran from a hillside which
was thick with trees, and here he stopped to doctor his hurts and
bruises, since he did not wish to appear at the house covered with
blood. Now this was a foolish enough thing to do, seeing the sort of
man with whom he had to deal, and that there was bush where anyone
could hide to within a hundred and twenty yards of his washing place.
So it proved indeed, for just as Ralph had mounted his horse and was
about to ride on, he felt a sharp stinging pain across his shoulders,
as though someone had hit him on the back with a stick, and heard the
sound of a gunshot fired from the cover of the bush, for there above
the green leaves hung a cloud of smoke.
“That is Swart Piet who has crept round to cut me off,” Ralph thought
to himself, and for a moment was minded to ride to the smoke to seek
him. Then he remembered that he had no gun, and that that of his enemy
might be loaded again before he found him, and judged it wisest to
canter into the open plain and so homewards. Of the hurt which he had
taken from the bullet he thought little, yet when he reached the house
it was seen that his escape had been narrow indeed, for the great ball
had cut through his clothes beneath his shoulders, so that they hung
down leaving his back naked. Also it had furrowed the skin, causing the
blood to flow copiously, and making so horrible a sight of him that
Suzanne nearly fainted when she saw it. For my part I made certain that
the lad was shot through the body, although, as it turned out, in a
week, except for some soreness he was as well as ever.
Now this matter caused no little stir among us, and Jan was so angry
that, without saying a word to anyone, he mounted his horse and, taking
some armed servants with him, set out to seek Black Piet, but not to
find him, for the man had gone, nobody knew whither. Indeed this was as
well, or so we thought at the time, for though Jan is slow to move,
when once he is moved he is a very angry man, and I am sure that if he
had met Piet van Vooren that day the grasses would have been richer by
the blood of one or both of them. But he did not meet him and so the
thing passed over, for afterwards we remembered that Ralph had been the
aggressor, since no one would take count of this story of the kissing
of a girl, and also that there was no proof at all that it was Piet who
had attempted his life, as that shot might have been fired by anyone.
Now from this day forward Suzanne went in terror of Swart Piet, and
whenever Ralph rode, he rode armed, for though it was said that he had
gone on one of his long journeys trading among the Kaffirs, both of
them guessed that they had not seen the last of Van Vooren. Jan and I
were afraid also, for we knew the terrible nature of the man and of his
father before him, and that they came of a family which never forgot a
quarrel or left a desire ungratified.
About fourteen days after Ralph had been shot at and wounded, a Kaffir
brought a letter for Jan, which, on being opened, proved to have been
written by Swart Piet, or on his behalf, since his name was set at the
bottom of it. It read thus:—
“To the Heer Jan Botmar,
“Well-beloved Heer, this is to tell you that your daughter, Suzanne,
holds my heart, and that I desire to make her my wife. As it is not
convenient for me to come to see you at present, I write to ask you
that you will consent to our betrothal. I will make a rich woman of her
as I can easily satisfy you, and you will find it better to have me as
a dear son-in-law and friend than as a stranger and an enemy, for I am
a good friend and a bad enemy. I know there has been some talk of love
between Suzanne and the English foundling at your place; but I can
overlook that, although you may tell the lad that if he is impertinent
to me again as he was the other day, he will not for the second time
get off with a whipping only. Be so good as to give your answer to the
bearer, who will pass it on to those that can find me, for I am
travelling about on business, and do not know where I shall be from day
to day. Give also my love to Suzanne, your daughter, and tell her that
I think often of the time when she shall be my wife.
“I am, well-beloved Heer, your friend,
“Piet van Vooren.”
Now, when Ralph had finished reading this letter aloud, for it had been
given to him as the best scholar among us, you might have thought there
were four crazy people in the room, so great was our rage. Jan and
Ralph said little indeed, although they looked white and strange with
anger, and Suzanne not over much, for it was I who talked for all of
them.
“What is your answer, girl?” asked her father presently with an angry
laugh.
“Tell the Heer Piet van Vooren,” she replied, smiling faintly, “that if
ever his lips should touch my face again it will be only when that face
is cold in death. Oh! Ralph,” she cried, turning to him suddenly and
laying her hand upon his breast, “it may be that this man will bring
trouble and separation on us; indeed, my heart warns me of it, but,
whatever chances, remember my words, dead I may be, but faithful I
shall be—yes, to death and through death.”
“Son, take pen and write,” said Jan before Ralph could answer. So Ralph
wrote down these words as Jan told them to him:
“Piet van Vooren,
“Sooner would I lay my only child out for burial in the grave than lead
her to the house of a coloured man, a consorter with witch-doctors and
black women and a would-be murderer. That is my answer, and I add this
to it. Set no foot within a mile of my house, for here we shoot
straighter than you do, and if we find you on this place, by the help
of God we will put a bullet through your carcase.”
At the foot of this writing, which he would not suffer to be altered,
Jan printed his name in big letters; then he went out to seek the
messenger, whom he found talking to Sihamba, and having given him the
paper bade him begone swiftly to wherever it was he came from. The man,
who was a strong red-coloured savage, marked with a white scar across
the left cheek, and naked except for his moocha and the kaross rolled
up upon his shoulders, took the letter, hid it in his bundle, and went.
Jan also turned to go, but I who had followed him and was watching him,
although he did not know it, saw him hesitate and stop.
“Sihamba,” he said, “why were you talking to that man?”
“Because it is my business to know of things, Father of Swallow, and I
wished to learn whence he came.”
“Did you tell you then?”
“Not altogether, for someone whom he fears has laid a weight upon his
tongue, but I learned that he lives at a kraal far away in the
mountains, and that this kraal is owned by a white man who keeps wives
and cattle at it, although he is not there himself just now. The rest I
hope to hear when Swart Piet sends him back again, for I have given the
man a medicine to cure his child, who is sick, and he will be grateful
to me.”
“How do you know that Swart Piet sent the man?” asked Jan.
She laughed and said: “Surely that was easy to guess; it is my business
to twine little threads into a rope.”
Again he turned to go and again came back to speak to her.
“Sihamba,” he said, “I have seen you talking to that man before. I
remember the scar upon his face.”
“The scar upon his face you may remember,” she answered, “but you have
not seen us talking together, for until this hour we never met.”
“I can swear it,” he said angrily. “I remember the straw hat, the shape
of the man’s bundle, the line where the shadow fell upon his foot, and
the tic-bird that came and sat near you. I remember it all.”
“Surely, Father of Swallow,” Sihamba replied, eyeing him oddly, “you
talk of what you have just seen.”
“No, no,” he said, “I saw it years ago.”
“Where?” she asked, staring at him.
He started and uttered some quick words. “I know now,” he said. “I saw
it in your eyes the other day.”
“Yes,” she answered quietly, “I think that, if anywhere, you saw it in
my eyes, since the coming of this messenger is the first of all the
great things that are to happen to the Swallow and to those who live in
her nest. I do not know the things; still, it may happen that another
who has Vision may see them in the glass of my eyes.”