"So long, Miss Matterson. We'll bring back the spoil, never fear."
"Oh, great Caesar!" said Brian. "Why don't you blow a trumpet while
you're about it, Trask--or fire a few shots by way of letting the whole
countryside know we're on the move?"
Decidedly Brian was in a "commandeering" vein. But the reproof was
deserved.
Yes, it was exciting, that midnight going forth--exciting and enjoyable,
as we moved on through the gloom, now riding abreast and talking, though
in a low tone, as to the chances that lay before us, now falling into
single file as our way narrowed into a cattle track through the bush. A
brief off-saddle, then on again, and just as the first suspicion of dawn
appeared in the east we descended a steep rocky path into a river
valley. A Dutch farmhouse, rough of aspect, stood on an open space
beyond the drift, and hard by it a few tumble-down sheep kraals and two
or three native huts.
"That's all right," said Brian, having satisfied himself as to the
identity of three human figures engaged in converse in front of the
house. "Revell has been able to come. I was afraid Dumela wouldn't
find him at home."
We rode through the drift, which was very low at that time of year, and
as we dismounted I saw before me a swarthy Dutchman--who was the Stoffel
Pexter before alluded to; an Englishman, whose hair and beard simply
flamed at you, so fiery and red were both--this was Revell; the third, a
Kafir, being, in fact, old Dumela, our cattle herd.
"_Daag_, Matterson," began Pexter. "Are you on the spoor of your oxen?
One of my _zwaartgoed_ told me he'd seen them go through last night, so
they've got a good start. He says it isn't Kuliso's schepsels this
time--more likely Mpandhlile's."
"Likely. But let's have some coffee, Stoffel, for we've only half an
hour to off-saddle--not a minute more," returned Brian decisively.
"Awful good of you to turn out, Revell. Hardly expected to find you at
home."
"Man, that's nothing," said the other, whom I had met before, and who
albeit a bit rough was rather a good fellow. His weakness was an
intense susceptibility as to the "warmth" of his summit, and he had been
known to thrash more than one of his Kafirs to an unmerciful degree
simply by reason of overhearing the use among them of his native name,
"Ibomvu" (red). "Why, what'd we do in a country like this if we didn't
turn out and help each other? Eh, Holt?"
"That's so," I answered; and now we adjourned to the house where Stoffel
Pexter's _vrouw_ had laid out cups of scalding hot coffee and _koekjes_.
The worthy Boer was exceedingly cordial towards us, for the expedition
we were on appealed more than anything to his sympathies, and to those
of his class. The same thing might happen to himself at any time. The
Kafirs were thieving, murdering dogs in his estimation, not a shade
better than wild beasts--in short, our natural enemies. So he wished us
every success; and further, pressed upon us a bag of biltong, which he
thought might come in handy before we got back. And we thought so too.
We took up the spoor at the place where the stolen animals were seen to
cross the river. It was indeed as broad as a waggon road, as Brian had
predicted, even to a tyro such as myself, for the ground was studded
with fresh hoof marks; but the marauders were evidently old hands at the
game, for avoiding steep hills which might blow the animals, they had
made use of a narrow cattle track winding along through a deep rugged
ravine, but ever ascending. We, however, had managed to travel much
faster, and very soon halted to blow the horses on the heights
overlooking the river valley, where, like a toy house in the distance,
we could see the dwelling we had recently left. Here we came up with
Dumela, who had started on ahead, and had made the distance in most
excellent time.
Now we commanded a new view of country. Before us unfolded a panorama
of wide rolling plain and bushy kloof, stretching away to further
heights--dark, forest-clad and beautiful--but, on our then errand,
forbidding. At these Dumela gazed fixedly, as he said, in his
roundabout native way--
"Only if they are strong enough to keep it do those who steal an ox
flaunt its skin in everybody's face. It is there you will find the
oxen."
"How do you know that, Dumela?" said the irrepressible Trask, in Dutch,
when this had been translated to us. The Kafir grinned with, I thought,
a touch of contempt, and which wholly amused Brian, as he muttered to
himself--
"Some white people are like women--always asking things they ought to
know." But out loud he said: "Why should I deceive you? I have nothing
to gain by the oxen being stolen. They are my master's--that is,
_mine_; for they were under my care."
Dumela was to leave us here, but before he started upon his homeward
way, he said to Brian, "_Inkose_, you will find what you seek, but
whether you will obtain possession of it, I know not, for the people
over yonder are numerous and fierce and reckless, and they love not the
whites--wherefore keep your eyes open."
"That's the dickey part of the whole situation," said Brian, as we moved
forward. "If we come to blows and had a free hand, why we'd probably be
all right. As it is, it's like fighting with one hand tied behind you.
There's no actual war on--not yet--though if things go on much longer
like this there soon will be. If we start shooting to kill--or even
shooting at all--ten to one it means a Circuit Court trial; but if they
cut all our throats, not one of them'll be any the worse for it--for
even if the right men were ever dropped upon, it would be ruled that
they acted in self-defence, and that armed parties of farmers had no
right raiding into native locations."
"Quite right, Matterson," assented Revell. "They'd jaw about taking the
law into our own hands, and what did the Colony keep up an expensive
Police Force for, and so on. Fat lot you'd see of your oxen by the time
you put that machinery to work. Why, the Kafirs'd have scoffed the
whole span long before and started out to rake in more."
Now, all this was no more than the bare truth. The unrest and bold and
predatory propensities of our turbulent neighbours of late had been the
cause of a growing uneasiness on the frontier, and more than one armed
collision between settlers and the natives had occurred--arising out of
just such provocation as had brought us hither. One indeed, quite
recently, had been something of a _cause celebre_ in that to the frantic
indignation of the presiding judge a frontier jury had unhesitatingly
and obstinately refused to convict certain individuals of their own
class and colour who had used fire-arms with fatal effect, but beyond
all doubt in defence of their own lives.
"We may find ourselves in a rotten tight place, or we may not,"
pronounced Brian, when we had discussed the whole position fore and aft.
"If we do we must use judgment, and on no account loose off a shot
unless we are absolutely and unequivocally obliged. Is that understood,
you fellows?"
"Certainly," was the answer on the part of myself and Revell. But Trask
was not so unanimous.
"Do you mean to say, Matterson, that I'm to let a nigger cut my throat
before I pull trigger on him? Because if so, I'm lowed if I do, and
that's all about it," he said.