WHAT CAME OF EXPLORING.
“GOOD morning, Dad.” Norah came out upon the wide portico of the hotel;
a cool, fresh vision in a white linen frock.
“Good morning, my girl,” said her father. There was a line between his
brows. “Have you seen the boys?”
“No—aren’t they down yet?”
“I don’t know where they are,” David Linton said. “They don’t seem to be
in the hotel.”
“Oh, they’re bathing!” said Norah, with comfortable certainty. “It’s
such a hot morning—I wanted ever so much to go myself, only I woke so
disgracefully late.”
“No, they’re not bathing. I’ve been down, and there was no sign of them.
I suppose they have gone out somewhere. They might at least get back in
time for breakfast.”
“They won’t be long, you may be sure,” Norah answered. “I never saw such
hungry boys! Let’s go in, Daddy; it’s late, and you ought to have your
breakfast. The boys will turn up before we are half done.”
“Oh, I suppose they’re all right!” her father said, leading the way to
their table. “They are quite big enough to look after themselves at any
rate; if they miss breakfast it’s their own look-out.”
“Jim won’t miss breakfast,” said Jim’s sister. “What he has may be
queer, but he’ll have something. I expect they’ve gone for a tram ride
or a rickshaw trip, Daddy, and it has taken longer than they expected;
if they find themselves too far from home when they get hungry, they’ll
buy something.”
“I suppose so.” Mr. Linton beckoned to a waiter. “Tell the young
gentlemen, if you see them, that we’re at breakfast.”
“Yes, sar,” said the waiter, a tall and immaculate Indian, in white
clothes and a scarlet sash. He departed, to return presently.
“Young gen’lemen gone out, sar. Very early—before light. Not yet
returned.”
“It’s very annoying,” Mr. Linton said, as the waiter withdrew. He
laughed a little. “Jim has spoiled me, I suppose; he so rarely does
anything eccentric that when he does, I feel injured.”
Norah answered his smile.
“Jim’s awfully dependable,” she said, with the quaint gravity which was
wont to make Wally declare that she mistook herself for Jim’s aunt.
“He’ll stroll in presently, Daddy, looking nice and calm, just as usual.
They must have gone out exploring; the time here is so short, and it’s
their first foreign land, so they want to see all they can.”
“Well, we don’t waste much time,” said Mr. Linton, still unappeased.
“No. But I expect they want to run free a bit. You know boys can’t want
a girl with them all the time,” said Norah, sagely.
“I have not observed,” said her father, “that having you with them has
made much difference to Jim and Wally’s fun in the past.”
“They’re awfully good about it,” Norah answered. “But I know other
girls’ brothers object; most of them say they can’t be bothered with
girls. Of course, Jim and I grew up mates, and that makes all the
difference; I don’t really think he minds. But in a strange place they
may want to go exploring, and a girl might be in the way.”
“Oh, possibly! All the same, I don’t know that I’m very keen on their
getting too far off the beaten track, in a place like this—full of all
sorts of natives. However, worrying does no good, and I suppose they’ll
stroll in presently.” Mr. Linton applied himself to his breakfast. “This
South African fish has a queer name, but it’s good, Norah; I’ll have
some more.”
They looked up eagerly as each newcomer entered the dining-room.
Breakfast was going on in the lazy, haphazard manner common to all
hotels on Sunday. People strolled in at long intervals; mostly
brown-faced people from up country, in summer raiment—linen and silk
suits, and muslin frocks. Even in November Durban was very hot. But,
though they spun out the meal to the greatest possible length, breakfast
ended without any sign of the absentees. Mr. Linton went out on the
verandah at last, and lit his pipe, while Norah cast fruitless glances
up and down the white road, and across the terraces to the beach.
“Well, you say I mustn’t worry, but I should like to have your
permission to be annoyed!” Mr. Linton said, when the pipe was
satisfactorily working. “I want to go out, not to hang round the hotel.
And what are we to do about those young rascals?”
“I don’t know,” Norah answered, doubtfully. “It is funny, isn’t it, Dad?
I’m perfectly certain they are all right—but it’s so unlike Jim.” She
hesitated. “We can’t go and find them—that’s certain; and Jim would be
wild if we waited for him, and missed anything. I think we’d better go
by ourselves.”
“So do I,” returned her father. “We’ll leave word that we’ll be in to
luncheon, and if they come while we’re out they can amuse themselves;
they are sure to want a bathe. Run and get your hat, lassie.” They went
off presently, a rather forlorn looking pair.
It was about that time that Jim, in the darkness of the shed where he
had been flung, stirred, and opened his eyes. His head throbbed
furiously, and when he tried to sit up he found himself suddenly glad to
lie back again. For a little while he remained still, trying to remember
what had happened to him—with vague recollections that seemed to wander
between a savage black face and an earthquake. He was not very sure
about either.
A rustle in the straw close by startled him—and in a flash he
remembered Wally, and forgot his aching bones. An instinct of prudence
kept him from speaking. Slowly he raised himself on one arm, and felt in
the darkness until he found a face, half-buried in straw. Wally stirred
again.
“That you, old man?” he whispered weakly.
“Ss-h,” Jim cautioned. “Are you hurt?”
“I—don’t know,” Wally said, feebly. “I ache a heap—and my head’s
queer.”
Jim set his teeth and managed to sit up. His head swam violently, and
for a moment he wrestled with nausea; then he managed to steady himself,
and began to feel Wally gently.
“Wish I dared strike a match,” he muttered, “but my hand is too
shaky—and in this straw. Wal, you’ve no bones broken, old man, I
think.”
“I don’t think so,” Wally answered. “Let’s wriggle.” He did so, and it
evidently hurt him, for Jim heard the swift intake of his breath. “No,
I’m all right,” he said. “How about you?”
“Oh—battered a bit!” said Jim, to whom memory was returning slowly.
“Can I help you up, do you think? Great Cæsar, how this place smells!”
He worked an arm under Wally, and helped him to a sitting position—an
effort which nearly lost consciousness for them both. They found the
wall near, and leaned back against it thankfully, until giddiness
subsided. Jim made further discoveries.
“My watch has gone,” he announced. “Nice people! Likewise my
money—likewise my coat. How about you?”
“A clean sweep, I think,” Wally said, faintly. “I don’t seem to have
anything but my shirt and trousers.”
“That was their game, I expect,” Jim said. “Steady, old man, you’re
slipping—slip this way, and lean against my shoulder. They’ve taken all
they could get, and I expect they’ve cleared out.”
“You don’t think they’ll have ideas about ransom?” Wally hazarded.
“Not vermin like those—and in a city. No, I’ll bet they’re making for
Zululand or wherever they belong, by this time. Eh, but I was a fool!”
said Jim, bitterly. “And I thought I knew how to look after myself!”
Wally groaned in sympathy.
“Well, they fell on us like a cyclone,” he said. “I don’t seem to
remember anything beyond an appalling bang on my head and falling on top
of you. The beggars got me from behind.”
“Mine began in front—but it was so sudden,” Jim said. “He looked such a
sleepy, tired lout—one never dreamed of suspecting danger. Well, it
will teach us a bit of sense. The question is, what are we going to do?”
“Do you think we’re locked in?”
“Very probably, but before I see, I’m going to get my muscles in
something like working order,” Jim said. “Try moving a bit and rubbing
your arms and legs—don’t stand up yet, or your head will swim.”
“It’s got a lump on it the size of a golf-ball,” said Wally, feeling his
pate respectfully. “By Jove, I am stiff!”
“My face is as stiff as the rest of me,” Jim answered. “Feels like much
dried gore. Well, thank goodness they didn’t break any bones.”
The boys rubbed energetically for a while, a process involving severe
pain, since they encountered bruises at every touch. It did them good,
however, and after a little time Jim was able to stagger to his feet,
and to help Wally up.
“I don’t suppose we could put up much of a fight,” he said. “But we may
not have to fight at all—they can’t get any more from us. Let’s see if
we’re locked in.”
They felt carefully round the walls of the malodorous building,
stumbling in the filthy straw which covered the floor. Jim’s fingers,
groping in the darkness, at length discovered a latch; but the door
refused to yield. They experimented noiselessly at first and then, made
bold by indignation, shook it violently—without result.
“It’s a stable, evidently,” Jim said. “This door’s in two halves, and
the top one is the one that is jammed—the lower half is pretty rickety.
Well, if any one is about, we’ll get visited—and if we don’t get the
door open we’ll certainly smother. Let’s try kicking it together, Wal.”
They kicked, with what strength was left them; and at the third
onslaught a panel of the shaky door started outwards, letting in a gush
of fresh air and light:
“Hurrah!” said Jim. “We’ll probably have the neighbourhood here in a
minute, so we may as well go on kicking. Can you manage it?”
“Rather!” Wally panted. They attacked the next panel with fury. It fell
out in a moment, leaving a hole wide enough to crawl through.
“No one in sight,” said Jim, putting out his head. “My word, the air is
good. Come on, old man, I’m going to chance it.”
“Take care you don’t get another bang on the head,” Wally warned,
watching his chum squeeze through the narrow space, and realising how
helpless he would be in case of an attack. It was with immense relief
that he saw Jim safely through, and, stooping, watched him scramble to
his feet.
“No one in sight,” Jim said. “Everything silent. Can you get through,
Wal?”
“Oh, yes!” said Wally, trying to steady his swimming head. He crawled
through the hole, finding Jim’s arm waiting to aid him to his feet. For
a moment they blinked at each other in the strong sunlight. Then, weak
and aching as they were, they burst out laughing.
“Great Scott, Jimmy, you do look lovely!” Wally gasped. “Am I like
that?”
“I don’t know how I look, but I’m ready to swear that you’re worse!” Jim
answered. “They were certainly thorough, those Zulu gentlemen!”
They had been thorough. The immaculate lads who had strolled out of the
hotel in the morning were tattered scarecrows, clad in shirt and
trousers only—and those garments torn, and filthy from the straw on
which they had been thrown. Nothing whatever of personal property
remained to them. They were ghastly pale, their faces streaked with
blood which had flowed freely from cuts and wounds, and had mingled with
dirt into a remarkable colour scheme. Jim, in addition, possessed a pair
of black eyes that could scarcely have been surpassed in richness of
hue; while any German duelling student would have envied the cut which
seamed Wally’s cheek.
“Even a native policeman would arrest us at sight as rogues and
vagabonds,” Wally said. “Can’t we clean up a bit?”
“Don’t know,” Jim answered. “Let’s see.”
There was no sign of any occupant in the dingy hovel across the yard.
The boys peeped fruitlessly through a shuttered window, tried the door,
and found it locked, and could find no trace of either the rickshaw
which had brought them there or the mule they had seen in the first
stable. It was evident that the Zulus, after securing their booty, had
hastily decamped. Further search, however, revealed a tap, dripping in a
corner. They drank from it thirstily, and bathed their heads and faces
for some time, with the aid of fragments torn from their tattered silk
shirts.
“You look as if you had once been respectable,” Wally remarked. “At
least you would, but for your black eyes. I know I’m hopeless, so you
needn’t bother to say anything!” He dabbed at his cheek, which washing
had induced to bleed again.
“You’ve improved tremendously,” Jim said. “Cold water is certainly not
much good for dirt of this degree of grubbiness, but we don’t look quite
such banditti as we did. How do you feel?”
“Better—only top-heavy and stiff. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m much the same—with a champion head ache; about the first I
ever had, I think!” Jim answered. “Do you feel up to walking?”
“I wouldn’t choose it for pleasure,” said Wally, his old smile sitting
oddly on his white face. “But I can manage it all right. What shall we
do?”
“I think the only thing is to get back to the hotel,” Jim answered. “I
thought of going to the ship for fresh clothes, but all our keys are at
the hotel. No policeman would listen to us for a moment, looking like
this; we’ll be lucky if we don’t get run in by the first we meet. It’s
an abominably long way for you, old man—sure you can manage it?”
“Rather!” Wally said, cheerily. “We’ll prop each other up. Come along.”
They went out into the street. A few brown children were playing in the
dust, and looked at them curiously, and some loutish Kaffir boys of
fifteen or sixteen jeered at them from a verandah; but the houses were
all shut, to keep out the heat, and they encountered very few
passers-by—all natives, who showed little curiosity. The sun blazed
fiercely on their bare heads; there was no shade in the street, and
already they were again painfully thirsty. Wally staggered frequently
from weakness, and was glad of Jim’s arm—though he put so little weight
upon it that Jim abused him roundly. They made their painful way back
towards the city.
“I’d be almost glad to meet a policeman,” Jim said, at last. “We’ll
never walk all that way; you’re done now, old chap.”
“Not me!” Wally gasped. “Come on.”
They turned into a wider thoroughfare. It was nearing noon; Durban was
waking up. Along the street, on his way to the principal square of the
city, came trotting a very smart rickshaw boy—a vision of scarlet and
white, and nodding plumes and towering bullock-horns. Jim looked at him
hungrily.
“There’s the very fellow we had yesterday,” he said. “I suppose he’d
howl if we tried to stop him.”
He gave an involuntary hail, and the Zulu, amazed at the crisp tone of
command, stopped dead, looking at them doubtfully.
“What you want?” he said.
“Your rickshaw,” Jim answered. “Hotel King George.” He dragged Wally
forward.
The Zulu grinned widely.
“Not much!” he said. “Got money?”
“At the hotel—not here.”
Something was puzzling the rickshaw “boy.” He looked questioningly from
one to another of the white-faced lads. They were scarecrows—but he
knew enough of the tourists he dragged round Durban to be certain that
these belonged to the race that employed him. Jim’s disfigured face was
full of authority. Wally, beyond any mere speech, leaned against the
rickshaw, gripping the rail.
“You been hurt?” the “boy” ventured.
Jim explained curtly. There had been a fight, they had been robbed. They
must get to the Hotel King George for clothes and money; moreover, this
rickshaw must take them. “We had you yesterday,” Jim finished. “From the
Point.”
Light suddenly flashed into the Zulu’s eyes.
“Blue Funnel ship?” he exclaimed.
Jim nodded. “Four of us. Will you take us? We’ll give you five
shillings.”
The Zulu nodded so alarmingly that it seemed certain that his head-dress
would fall off.
“Me take you,” he said. “Get in.” He came to help to get Wally into the
seat. Jim climbed in thankfully.
“Go by back streets,” he commanded.
So it was that Norah, standing disconsolately on the hotel verandah, saw
a strange rickshaw-load approaching—and after a hurried glance, fled to
meet it.
“Jim—are you much hurt?”
“I’m all right—Wally’s about done,” Jim said. “Pay this chap, Norah;
we’re going in by the back way. You’d better come too, to lend an air of
respectability.”
Norah ran beside the rickshaw, choking back further questions. In the
back yard of the hotel she encountered the manager, and a brief word of
explanation brought help from half a dozen quarters.
“That chap has done us a mighty good turn,” Jim said, indicating the
Zulu. “Give him ten shillings—I promised him five. You tell dad—we’ve
been in a scrimmage, but there’s no need to worry—none whatever.” A
sudden giddiness came over him, and two waiters caught him swiftly and
bore him off in Wally’s wake. Norah, half-sobbing, heard him feebly
informing them that he was never better able to walk.
An hour later the boys held a reception in their room. Hot baths and
strong soap had done wonders for them, and the doctor Mr. Linton had
insisted on summoning had declared that they had sustained no serious
damage. A few strips of sticking-plaster adorned them, and Jim’s
blackened eyes lent him a curiously sinister aspect.
“I never thought bed could feel so good,” Wally declared.
“Bed is good,” said Jim, from across the room—“but bath was better.
What did that Zulu who brought us home say to you, Norah?”
“He was too overcome by his half-sovereign to say much at all,” Norah
answered. “And as it was mainly Zulu-talk, I didn’t gather a great deal
of what he did say.” She twinkled. “I think he meant to assure me that
you were a great chief—no matter how grubby you looked. And as he has
done nothing ever since but parade up and down the road in front of the
hotel, I believe he means to attach himself to us permanently.”
“Tell him, if you see him, that we’ll have him again to-morrow,” Jim
said. “He’s a good chap.”
“I don’t think you will do much rickshaw driving to-morrow,” Mr. Linton
said.
“Won’t we!” said the patients, in chorus; and Jim laughed.
“I’m awfully sorry we made such asses of ourselves, and worried you,
Dad,” he said. “But it’s bad enough to waste one shore day; we’ll be fit
as fiddles to-morrow, and ready for anything—if you don’t mind going
about with two battle-scarred objects.”
David Linton smiled a little grimly.
“There’s only one thing I should really mind,” he said—“and that would
be to let you out again alone!”
[Illustration: “Jim set his teeth and managed to sit up.”]
_From Billabong to London_] [_Page_ 214