Postal delivery at Haakdoornfontein was, as an institution,
non-existent; and when old Hesketh desired communication with or from
the outside world he obtained it by dispatching a boy to the nearest
field-cornet's, some sixteen or seventeen miles away. This, for obvious
reasons, he did not do very often.
Harley Greenoak was seated on a stone, on the shaded side of the
shearing-house, thinking. The shade was almost too cool, for there was
a forecasting touch of crisp winter in the clear atmosphere and vivid
blue of the cloudless sky. He could see the long, gaunt figure of his
host, pottering about down at the lands, and every now and then from the
kitchen at the back of the house, there came to his ears the clear tones
of Hazel's voice endeavouring to convey instruction into the opaque mind
of the yellow-skinned cook. The sounds in no wise interrupted his train
of thought; rather they fitted in with it, for in it the utterer of them
bore her share.
From his pocket he drew forth a letter. This he spread out open before
him, and began to study, not for the first time. It had arrived the
previous evening, and was several days overdue, owing to Hesketh's
erratic postal provisions as set forward above. The writing was not
easily decipherable, and the contents, well--they were commonplace on
the surface, but beneath, to one well acquainted with the writer,
meaning enough could be read. Now Harley Greenoak and the Commandant of
the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police were very old friends indeed.
There was restlessness on and beyond the border. The Transkeian tribes
needed watching, and some careful handling, and the Police might have
work cut out for them. And, by-the-by, where was Greenoak now, and what
was he doing; because if nothing in particular, added the writer, why
shouldn't he come up to the border and stay with him a bit, and have
some talks over old times?
Such was the gist of the letter, but its recipient read deeper than
that. Few men understood natives and their ways more thoroughly than
himself, few men were as well known to and as thoroughly trusted by
them, and none better. He foresaw a possibility of usefulness, of great
usefulness; and when such was the case, it must be a very grave
impediment indeed that Harley Greenoak would allow to stand in his way.
Hazel Brandon had not exaggerated in her estimate of his character; and
time after time his natural gifts had found for him the opportunity of
being of service to his friends--often to the saving of life--and that
without hope or thought of reward. And here stood forth another such
opportunity; but--how would it fit in with the charge he had undertaken?
As it happened it would so fit in.
Every day of late he had been growing more anxious; every day he had
seen reason for desiring to get Dick Selmes away from Haakdoornfontein.
Every day seemed to draw the two young people together more and more.
This, under other circumstances would have been nothing but
satisfactory, but--what of his own responsibility towards the father of
his charge? If the affair was more than skin deep, if it had reached a
serious stage on both sides, why they could both very well afford to
wait; Dick until he had consulted his father, and so until his--
Greenoak's--charge was at an end. Then he could return, on his own
responsibility, and if he succeeded in winning this girl, why in the
thinker's estimation he would be very lucky, as we have said. That
would be the only straight and satisfactory solution of the difficulty,
decided Greenoak.
And towards such solution the Commandant's letter seemed now to open a
way. If he read Dick's character aright, the prospect of a certain
amount of adventure would irresistibly appeal. They would respond to
the invitation and join his old friend; and he would show his charge
some of the phases of border life, as in any case he had intended
eventually to do.
"Well, Mr Greenoak, and have you decided the knotty point yet? It must
be a very knotty one." And the speaker's winsome face, framed within an
ample and snowy _kapje_, sparkled with sheer light-heartedness.
"That's just what I believe I have done," he answered, looking up at
her. He had of course been aware of her approach, but he was one of
those who can concentrate their powers of thought independently of
external distractions.
"It must have been an extremely knotty one," she went on, her glance
resting on the sheet still grasped in the brown muscular hand, "because
for nearly an hour you might as well have been a statue."
"Does a statue fill and light a pipe two or three times an hour, Miss
Brandon?" he asked drily.
"You've got me there," she laughed. "But you were so absorbed that you
don't seem to have noticed that the shade has gone off this side of the
shed long ago. Why, the sun's coming down full upon you."
"Is it? Why, so it is," he said, rising. "I suppose I didn't notice it
because I'm so used to it. Lovely morning though."
"Isn't it? Well, I want you to do me a favour, Mr Greenoak. Will
you?"
"Certainly. I shall be delighted."
"But you don't know what it is yet."
"I know that you would not ask me, or anybody, to do what is absurd or
impossible."
"Thanks, that's quite pretty, really it is. I thought you up-country
men never went in for making compliments."
"Mayn't we tell the truth? That is only straightforwardness, you know."
"There is another compliment," laughed the girl. "Why, Mr Selmes
himself could hardly go on piling them up like that."
"Ah, he's young. They come more naturally from him, like the difference
between the roll of a well-greased waggon wheel and that of a creaking
one," rejoined Greenoak, with a good-natured smile.
"Now that's a delightfully quaint and characteristic simile," laughed
the girl. "I must really store it in mind for future use."
"Is it worth it? But aren't we getting a bit off the road? What is
this `favour'?"
"I want you to take me for a walk, if you have nothing better to do--or
think about," she added mischievously.
"If I were to say `How could I have?' you would tax me with making
compliments again, I suppose. But wouldn't you rather ride?"
"No. Sandy's a bit lame, and Bles is away down the kloof, and by the
time he was got up I should have lost all inclination to do either. And
there's no other horse on the place that'll stand a skirt. We'll take
the path by Goba's vee-kraal to Bromvogel Nek. There's a lovely view
from there, and this is just the day to sit and enjoy it."
"When will you be ready?"
"I'm ready now if you are. Are you? Well then, come along."
Hazel chatted briskly as they took their way along the winding and
somewhat stony bush-path, but her companion said little. He preferred
to hear her talk. There was that in the light-hearted gaiety of this
bright, sweet-natured child that appealed powerfully to the strong,
lonely, self-contained man, that almost made him sigh for his past
youth. He liked to hear her talk, and simply talk. That in itself was
a pleasure to him. At the same time he was wondering with what object
she had persuaded him to accompany her; the last thing in the world that
would have occurred to Harley Greenoak being that it was simply for the
pleasure of his own company. He supposed she wanted to talk about Dick
Selmes, to "draw" him perhaps, as to his charge's general character.
Well, if that were so, Dick should have a good one. And, as though to
fit in with the idea, at that moment, from the further side of the great
crater-like hollow that constituted the bulk of Hesketh's farm, there
rolled forth a distant and double report. Both stopped to gaze in the
direction of the sound.
"Wonder if Dick's getting any luck," said Greenoak. "It's astonishing
how his keenness in that direction has thawed off of late," he added
slily.
"Yes, it has," came the ready answer. "He's getting quite lazy. In
fact, I sent him out to hunt this morning, told him if he didn't bring
back a bush-buck ram I shouldn't speak to him until he did. He's much
too young to be hanging about the house all day."
With this sentiment Greenoak agreed, but--was that the speaker's only
object? Well, it would come out in time.
"For all that he's a thorough sportsman, and as nice a young fellow as
ever lived," he said.
But Hazel did not take this opening. She plunged into other topics as
they resumed their way; in none of which did the absent and venatorial
Dick by any chance come in.
They passed the vee-kraal, where a wheezy and decrepit cur came forth
and huskily vociferated at them--Hesketh would not allow any of his
"hands" to keep an able-bodied canine on the place--and the two wives of
the absent herd, profusely anointed with red clay, came out to greet
them and requisition tobacco. Greenoak gave them some, as they knew he
would.
"I suppose you can manage Kafirs thoroughly?" said Hazel as they walked
on.
"Well, I've had to do it all my life."
"Of course. What an idiotic question! Fancy my asking it _you_. But I
don't know whether I like them or not. I don't see much of them."
"No, I suppose there aren't many round your father's place. Mostly
Hottentots?"
"Yes. But I don't like them at all. By the way, Mr Greenoak, do you
think we are going to have a Kafir war? The newspapers all seem to say
we are. What is your opinion?"
"Newspapers must say something. I can't form any opinion--as _yet_. I
may be going up to the Transkei soon, and then I'll be in a better
position to do so."
"Soon? Then you won't be here much longer?"
Greenoak's quick ear caught a shade of disappointment in the tone,
almost of consternation. Then Dick's departure would cause a blank; for
of course she knew that the two were moving about together.
"You must remember we've been here a good while already," he answered,
"and there's such a thing as wearing out one's welcome. Besides, I want
to show the young one some further sides of the life of the country."
"No fear of your wearing out anything of the kind here," rejoined Hazel,
quickly. "As for the other consideration, well, that counts for
something, I suppose. Here we are."
Their uphill progress was at an end. They had reached a high, stony
neck, or saddle, between two great crags. In front the slope fell
abruptly away for over a thousand feet to a spread of rolling plains,
sparsely bushed, and extending for miles and miles. Here and there, at
long intervals, a thread of smoke, rising from homestead or native
kraal, ascended, but for an immensity of distance the expanse lay,
monotonous in its green-brown roll, intersected, in darker line, by the
willow-fringed banks of a nearly dry river-bed. Beyond, in the clear
atmosphere, seeming about twenty miles distant, though fully fifty, rose
mountain piles, flat-topped, in massive walls, or breaking off into
turreted cones. Northward others, more distant still, floating
apparently in mid-air, owing to the mirage-like effect of distance and
clearness, but everywhere a sense of grand, open, unbounded space. The
far-away bark of a dog, or the disturbed crowing of cock koorhaans, came
up out of the stillness. On the side from which they had ascended was
the vast, crater-like hollow, the tangle of rugged and bush-grown
kloofs, and slopes covered with forest trees rising to lap in wave-bound
verdure the grim iron faces of red rock walls and castellated crags. It
was a scene that in the balmy yet exhilarating air of the cloudless day
one could sit there and revel in for ever.
"You can almost see our place from here," said Hazel. "That kopje just
shuts it off, and you wouldn't think it was forty miles as the crow
flies. This is a favourite perch of mine. I often used to climb up
here."
"Did you drag your uncle up, too?"
"Oh yes. He'd ride though. But he doesn't care a rap for scenery.
He'd light his pipe, and in about ten minutes be fast asleep."
"I'll light mine, but I promise you I won't go to sleep."
"No, don't. You must talk to me instead. Tell me some of your
experiences. You must have had so many, and such wonderful ones."
Harley Greenoak laughed deprecatorily. This formula was so frequent
wherever he went that it had become stereotyped. As a rule it annoyed
him; now, however, it was hard to connect such a word with the owner of
that sparkling face, of the wide, lustrous, almost admiring eyes turned
upon his own.
"One can't spin yarns to order," he said. "If something suggests one,
out it comes--or doesn't."