"Do you feel like paying Bob Kingsland a visit, Ridgeley?"
"Rather. Does he live near here, then?"
"A few miles off. In fact, this outspan is almost on his farm. Doorn
Draai, it's called. We've come along very well, and the grazing here is
first rate. It won't hurt the oxen to have a day's rest and a real good
fill up. We'll have breakfast early and ride over. We are likely to
find some of them at home, anyway."
"That'll be first rate!" said Gerard, with genuine pleasure. And then
he set to work to serve out rations to the leaders and drivers, each of
whom received a measure of maize-meal, which, going into a common stock,
was stirred up in a three-legged pot and soon reduced to porridge, for
on such fare do the natives of Natal wax fat and strong. Afterwards he
got out a clean basin and kneaded up _roster-koekjes_, a species of
damper-cake, and put them to bake on the ashes for their own breakfast,
while Dawes superintended the cooking of a savoury game stew, compounded
of partridges, ringdoves, and a plover or two, which they had shot the
day before while coming along.
"We don't live so badly, even on the road, eh, Ridgeley?" said Dawes, as
they sat doing ample justice to this, and to the steaming cups of strong
black coffee wherewith it was washed down.
"No, indeed," assented Gerard, briskly, beginning on half a partridge.
"Shall we take a gun along this morning?"
"We might. Don't know that it's worth while, though. By the way,
Kingsland's a widower, and his pretty daughter keeps house for him.
Don't you go and fall in love with her--in view of the time our trip is
likely to last."
For reply Gerard laughed light-heartedly. It was not likely, he
thought, remembering that pair of blue eyes in the buggy.
After breakfast they saddled up the horses, and Dawes having given
Sintoba some final instructions, they started. The ride was a pleasant
enough one, though somewhat hot. Their way lay mostly at the bottom of
a long winding valley with great bush-clad slopes shooting up on either
hand, and the sunny air was alive with the piping whistle of spreuws and
the cooing of innumerable ringdoves.
"There's the house," said Dawes, as a curl of blue smoke rose from the
bush-clad hillside about a mile ahead. "And--there's Kingsland
himself," he added, as a shout from a little way off their road drew
their attention to a horseman who was riding towards them.
"Hallo, John Dawes!" cried the latter, as he joined them. "Where have
you dropped from now--and who have you got with you? Why, it's young
Ridgeley. Well, Ridgeley, I'm glad to see you, my boy. What have you
been doing with yourself all this time? By-the-by, didn't you get my
letter?"
"Letter? No," echoed Gerard, in some astonishment.
"Why, I wrote to you at Anstey's about a fortnight ago. Found out you
were there through the papers. That affair with the Zulu and the Umgeni
Fall went the round of the papers. Didn't you see it?"
"No," answered Gerard, still lost in astonishment. "I'm very sorry. I
don't know what you must have thought of me, Mr Kingsland, but--I never
had that letter. It must have come after I left, and--the fact is,
Anstey and I didn't part on very good terms."
"So? The paragraph said you were in his employ. Couldn't you get on
with him, or wasn't the work to your taste?"
"Anstey swindled him out of every shilling he had," put in Dawes, seeing
Gerard hesitate and look a trifle embarrassed. "Biggest blackguard in
this colony, is Anstey."
"So?" said Mr Kingsland again. "Well, we must hear all about your
experiences by-and-by, Ridgeley. Here we are at the house now--and
here's my little housekeeper come to see who I'm bringing home to
dinner," he added lovingly, as the figure of a girl appeared at the door
and came down the steps to meet them. "Ridgeley, this is my daughter
May," he went on, when they had dismounted. "May, you've heard me talk
of this young man--we were shipmates on board the _Amatikulu_. Why,
what's the matter?"
For Gerard was staring in astonishment, and the girl's blue eyes were
opening wide with the same emotion, while a slight colour came into her
face. And in those blue eyes Gerard recognised the identical pair which
had beamed approval on the deft manner in which he had reduced the odds
against the sorely beset Zulu.
"Why, we've met before, father, only we didn't know who we were then,"
she answered. "How do you do, Mr Ridgeley? Welcome to Doorn Draai."
Gerard, in a sort of waking dream, took the hand extended to him--in no
wise the sharer of the girl's quiet self-possession. To think that the
owner of those blue eyes which had been in his thoughts a great deal
since that chance meeting, should turn out to be old Kingsland's
daughter! And again, the fact that they had dwelt in his thoughts was,
considering his age, enough to play havoc with his composure on finding
himself thus suddenly and unexpectedly face to face with their owner.
"Met before, have you?" echoed Mr Kingsland, in some surprise.
"Why, of course we have," said a male voice in the background. "How
d'you do, Mr Ridgeley!"
And Gerard found himself shaking hands with the other occupant of the
buggy on that memorable evening.
"Been keeping up your boxing since then, eh?" laughed Tom Kingsland.
"Why, governor, this is the man who floored those two niggers so neatly.
I told you about it, you remember, when we were coming back from
Maritzburg."
"Ah, to be sure, to be sure. He can take care of himself anywhere now,
I should think," said the older man, kindly.
And Gerard, though somewhat shy and embarrassed at finding himself a
sort of point of general observation, could not resist a feeling of
elation over the consciousness that he stood well in the opinion of his
new friends.
Then, after a brief rest, during which Dawes and Mr Kingsland put away
a glass of grog together and smoked a pipe or two, they set out for a
look round. And then for the first time Gerard was able to take in the
place--for at the time of his arrival he had had no eyes for anything
but one of its inhabitants. The house, a roomy, one-storeyed building,
with a _stoep_ and verandah, stood against the slope of the hill. A
little distance off stood the sheep and cattle-kraals, and the huts of
the native servants. Below, on the bank of a small watercourse, was a
large bit of enclosed and cultivated land, and beside this a fruit
orchard.
"I'm afraid it's a little late for fruit," said Tom Kingsland, as they
strolled through the latter. "There are still a few peaches left,
though, and any amount of figs."
"You can't grow peaches and grapes like this out-of-doors in England?"
said May. "I suppose you hardly ever see such a thing there except
under glass."
"Oh yes--on walls," said Gerard.
And then, as they wandered on beneath the pleasant shade of the
over-arching fig trees, and down by a quince hedge spangled with yellow
fruit, or again emerged upon a water-hole where a colony of finks dashed
hither and thither chattering in alarm, while their globular nests,
hanging like oranges from the boughs above the water, swung and jerked
at a rate which promised badly for the eggs they might contain--the girl
plied him with all manner of questions about England and the life there.
And, lo, when they had laughed over each other's mistakes and
misconceptions with regard to their respective countries, it seemed as
if they had known each other all their lives. Certain it was that to
Gerard that walk seemed the most delicious he had ever taken. But it
could not last for ever, and so they had to return to the house and to
dinner.
There they found Mr Kingsland's other son, who was duly introduced to
Gerard. Arthur Kingsland was very like his brother Tom, and both were
fine specimens of young colonial manhood. They could ride anything,
follow spoor, hit any mark at most astonishing ranges, and were afraid
of nothing. The reputation of Gerard's feats, which had already reached
them, was a sure passport to their favour, and accordingly they soon
became the very best of friends.
"Heard anything more about the Zulu question, Arthur?" said Mr
Kingsland during dinner to his youngest son, who had been out on
horseback since daybreak.
"Only the usual lie--Cetywayo is going to sweep in and eat us all up at
a minute's notice. Another yarn is that he's going to drive all the
Boers out of the disputed territory."
"It's just possible there may be some disturbance there," said Mr
Kingsland. "Still, Cetywayo is much too shrewd a man to declare regular
war against the Transvaal."
"Well, our route lies right through that same disputed territory," said
Dawes. "What do you think, Ridgeley? Like to get into a scrimmage with
a Zulu _impi_?"
"Mr Ridgeley is pretty good at fighting Kafirs, I should say," put in
May, slyly, before he had time to reply.
"Oh, I'm afraid I shan't hear the end of that little difference in a
hurry," said Gerard, laughing ruefully. "I rather wish I had left
Sobuza to fight his own battles."
"How can you say that?" said May. "Are you so utterly devoid of
imagination? Why, you rescued the man twice on the same day! That
means that he is to have some influence on your fortunes. You are going
up into the Zulu country now. You are sure to see him again."
"Maybe only to get an assegai put into him if he does," cut in Tom.
"Isn't there a proverb, that if you save a fellow's life he's bound to
play you a shady trick?"
"Be quiet, you wet blanket," retorted the girl. "I foresee different
things. I foresee that the Zulu will in some way or other turn up
again, and that he will have an influence in Mr Ridgeley's destinies."
How true this was fated to prove it was little that either of them
thought at the time.
The afternoon was spent very much as had been the morning, strolling
around looking about the farm, for it was a slack time just then and
there was not much doing. Towards sundown Tom Kingsland suggested they
should go down to a water-hole and try for a shot at a duck, an idea
which Gerard cordially endorsed, and in the sequel greatly distinguished
himself, considering his want of practice with the gun, for the pair of
ducks which they brought home represented one apiece. And then, in the
evening, while Mr Kingsland and Dawes smoked their pipes on the
_stoep_, the young people gathered round the piano, and Gerard thought
he had never heard anything so entrancingly delicious in his life as
May's fresh clear voice lifted up in song. Then--all too soon for him--
had come bedtime, and in the morning an early start to rejoin the
waggons.
Before Gerard turned in Mr Kingsland followed him to his room for a few
words.
"Well, Ridgeley, so you're going to make another start, this time as an
up-country trader. You've had a few ups and downs already, it appears;
and maybe there'll come a time when you'll thank your stars you have."
"I do that already, Mr Kingsland, for otherwise I should never have
found myself launched on this undertaking. What a good fellow Dawes
is!"
"He is--he is. But what I was going to say is this. It'll do you no
harm to get an insight into waggon travel and _veldt_ life, and the
native trade and the natives themselves. But a sensible fellow like you
must see that that sort of thing isn't going to last a man _all_ his
life; and, indeed, it oughtn't to. It isn't good for any man to become
a confirmed wanderer, a sort of rolling stone. So don't let this trip
unsettle you, or turn your mind from the idea of going in for hard and
regular work. Turn it to the best possible account you can while you're
on it, but make up your mind that it isn't going to last, and that when
you come back your plan is to settle down to regular work. You are made
of far better stuff than to slide into the mere knockabout, harum-scarum
adventurer, as some of these up-country going chaps are only too ready
to do, especially when they begin young. So keep that before your mind
is my advice to you. And now I dare say you're wondering whether you
are ever going to get to bed, or whether a certain prosy old fellow
intends to keep preaching to you quite all night. So, good night, my
lad. I won't say goodbye, for we shall most of us be up before you
start. Good night; I need hardly say I wish you every success."