"You are welcome--on one condition."
"And that?"
"That you pledge me your word of honour--you are a gentleman, I see, and
will keep it--that you mention no word to any living soul, under any
circumstances whatever, that you have been here, or, in short, that you
have ever seen me in your life."
"Well, of course I will, if you wish it," answered the traveller, very
much mystified.
"But I do wish it," was the reply, given with some fierceness. "And you
will do it. Do you know that at a word from me you would never leave
this place alive? You would simply disappear."
Substantially the very words he had uttered to that other, who _had_
disappeared. There was a creepy suggestiveness about it all that made
him feel more than uncomfortable.
"You needn't threaten me," he rejoined, rather shortly. "If I pass you
my word, as you yourself have just said, I shall keep it."
"I know you will. And let me tell you that if you had been as some
others I know you would not be here at all. In fact, although you have
exactly seven bullets at your immediate disposal your friends would
never have seen or heard of you again."
The mystery deepened. The new arrival was conscious of a very uncanny,
not to say awe-inspiring effect in the piercing, unfriendly glance from
the other's eyes. The day had been a pretty eventful one and no
mistake.
"Look here," he answered, in a burst of frankness. "This world's a
devilish rum place, and I've lived long enough in it, and seen enough
devilish rum sides of it, to have learnt enough to respect other
people's secrets. So you may rely upon me when I give you the full
undertaking you ask for."
The other nodded, then uttered a loud hail, in response whereto a native
boy appeared, and having received a laconic direction soon reappeared,
together with a large bowl of native beer.
"This is the best I can offer you. I don't know if you've ever tried
it, but it's rather good, always provided it's fresh."
"Yes, I have once. Thanks awfully. Well, here's luck."
The effect on the wayfarer of this homely interchange of good-fellowship
was that it seemed to put him and his strange and rather sinister host
on a better footing. He took a big drink of the refreshing brew and set
down the bowl. Then he lighted his pipe.
He was almost growing confidential under the influence of rest and
refreshment. But it occurred to him that this strange being was
unusually reticent. For instance, he had not even asked him his name or
where he was from, or indeed anything. So taking his cue he confined
himself to generalities, and, except that the other was rather laconic,
some conversation became possible.
Finally supper appeared, in the shape of grilled beef on a woven grass
mat, together with some roasted mealies, and a renewed supply of
_tywala_. The new arrival did full justice to this, then suggested
going to see after his horse.
"Oh, your horse is being well taken care of," answered his host.
"However, come and see for yourself."
As they stood up outside the stranger noticed that his host was a tall
man, who, notwithstanding his apparent age, walked without a droop. At
a word from him the three big dogs, which had sprung up from somewhere
with a growl, slunk back again into silence. The horse was tied to a
pole inside the fence, and had evidently been eating his fill of
mealies.
"You'd better turn in in my hut. You'll find it a trifle more
comfortable, perhaps, than turning in with one of the Zulus, and there's
no spare hut."
"Why, thanks awfully. Of course I shall," was the hearty response.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stranger woke early, and all the events of the previous day came
back upon him. He was rid of an incubus, for which now, in the clear
broad light of a cloudless and sparkling day he felt unfeignedly
thankful, but his eccentric host--where was he? The mat on which he had
slept was unoccupied. Oh, well! The other had got up earlier, that was
all. He would follow suit.
Outside he found his host, in converse with a Zulu, not one of the three
men who had met him on his arrival.
"Good-morning. I wonder how my horse is to-day," he said.
"He's about all right. I've had him led up and down, and he doesn't
seem to show any limp. I'll send a man to guide you over the most
difficult part of the way after breakfast. You needn't mistrust him,
it's sufficient that you have been my guest."
It was all that the wayfarer could do to refrain from asking for his
host's identity, but something kept him from doing so; possibly he bore
in mind that his said host had refrained from questioning him as to his.
They talked on commonplaces. But after breakfast, when his horse was
saddled up and the guide stood waiting, his entertainer said--
"You didn't lose this yesterday, did you?" exhibiting a double-barrelled
shotgun.
He was conscious of a slight paling, but hoped it had not been observed.
Yet at the same time he was perfectly certain it had.
"No," he answered.
"Ah, well. Then I'd better take charge of it until the owner turns up.
And, remember, you have given me your word." And the straight,
piercing, compelling glance seemed to scorch.
"Why, of course I have, and you may rely upon my keeping it. Many
thanks for your opportune hospitality. Good-bye."
The hand which he had put forth was taken coldly, almost limply.
"Good-bye," was the listless answer; the speaker turning away
immediately, almost abruptly.