"Why--it is. It's old Qubani," said Driffield.
"And who might old `Click'-ubani be?" asked Clare.
"He's a thundering big Matabele witch-doctor. Fancy the old boy rolling
up to see the fun. Wonder they let him in."
"It was thanks to you, Driffield," said a man who was within earshot.
"He was asking for you. Told them at the gate that you and Lamont had
invited him to come."
"Then he told a whacking big lie, at any rate as far as I am concerned.
Well, I suppose I must go and talk to him, and incidentally stand him
something. In my line it's everything to be well in with influential
natives."
"Can't you bring him here, Mr Driffield?" asked Clare. "I'd like to
talk to a Matabele chief--didn't you say he was a chief?"
"No; a witch-doctor, who, in his way, is often just as big a pot as a
chief--sometimes a bigger. You'd better come over with me and talk to
him, Miss Vidal; then, when you've had enough of him, you can go away,
whereas if I bring him here he may stick on for ever."
Old Qubani, who was squatting against the enclosure talking to a
roughish-looking white man, rose to his feet as he saw Driffield, and
with hand uplifted poured forth lavish _sibongo_. Then he turned to
Clare.
"_Nkosazana! Uhle! Amehlo kwezulu! Wou! Sipazi-pazi_!"
"What does he say?" she asked.
"He hails you as a princess, says that you are beautiful, and have eyes
like the heavens--and that you are dazzling. That's why he put his hand
over his eyes and looked down."
"Silly old man; he's quite poetical," she said, looking pleased all the
same.
"_Indhlovukazi_!"
"Now he's calling you a female elephant."
"Oh, the horrid old wretch. That is a come down, Mr Driffield."
"Yes, it sounds so, but it's a big word of _sibongo_, or praise, with
them."
"Oh well, then I must forgive him."
"_Intandokazi_!"
"What's that?" said Clare, but Driffield had cut short the old man's
rigmarole and was talking to him about something else. He did not care
to tell her that she was being hailed as his--Driffield's--principal--or
rather best-loved--wife. Two white men, standing near, and who
understood, turned away with a suppressed splutter.
There was the usual request for tobacco, and then, Qubani glancing
meaningly in the direction of the bar tent, remarked that he had
travelled far, and that the white man made better _tywala_ than the
Amandabeli, as, indeed, what could not the white men do.
"A bottle of Bass won't hurt him," declared Driffield, sending across
for it.
"Why does he wear that great thick cap?" said Clare. "He'd look much
better without it."
"This?" said the old man, putting his hand to the cap of red knitted
worsted, surmounted by a tuft, which adorned his head--as the remark was
translated to him. "_Whau_! I am old and the nights are not warm."
"Why, he's got on two," said Clare, as the movement, slightly displacing
the red cap, showed another underneath made of like material but white.
"Goodness! I wonder his head doesn't split."
"Native heads don't split in a hurry, Miss Vidal," said Orwell, the
Resident Magistrate, who had joined them in time to catch the remark.
"I don't believe I ought to speak to you, Mr Orwell--at any rate not
just yet. You had no business to win that tent-pegging. I had backed
Mr Lamont."
The Magistrate laughed.
"Let me tell you, Miss Vidal, that you had backed the right man then.
In fact it's inconceivable to me how he missed that last time, unless
the sense of his awful responsibility made him nervous. It would have
made me so."
Again, many a true word uttered in jest. The speaker little knew that
he had stated what was literally and exactly the case.
"Nonsense. I wonder where Mr Lamont has got to. He hasn't been near
me since."
"That I can quite believe. He's afraid. I know I should be."
"Nonsense again, Mr Orwell." And talking about other things they
turned away, quite forgetting the old witch-doctor. There was one,
however, who was not forgetting him--no, not by any means.
The while Jim Steele, the latest rejected of Clare, was very drunk in
the bar tent. When we say very drunk we don't mean to convey the idea
that he was incapable, or even unsteady on his pins to any appreciable
extent--but just nasty, quarrelsome, fighting drunk; and as he was a
big, powerful fellow, most of those standing about were rather civil to
him. Now Jim Steele was at bottom a good fellow rather than otherwise,
but his rejection by Clare Vidal he had taken to heart. He had also
taken to drink.
He had noticed Clare and Lamont together that day, and had more than
once scowled savagely at the pair. Moreover, he had heard that Clare
had backed Lamont--and had made others do so--in the tent-pegging, and
now he was bursting with rage and jealousy. It follows therefore that
this was an unfortunate moment for the object of his hatred to enter the
tent, and call for a whisky-and-soda. Upon him he wheeled round.
"You can't ride a damn!" he shouted.
"I never tried. I prefer to ride a horse," said Lamont, setting down
his glass.
"But you can't," jeered Steele. Then roused to the highest pitch of
fury by the other's coolness, he bellowed: "Look here. Can you fight,
eh? Can you? Because if so, come on."
Something akin to intense dismay came into Lamont's mind at this
development. That this drunken, aggressive idiot should have it in his
power to dig not only his own grave--that would have been a good
riddance--but all their graves, was a new and startling development in a
situation that was already sufficiently complicated. For apart from his
horror and repulsion at being perforce a party to a drunken brawl in the
bar tent--how was he going to impress Qubani, at the crucial moment,
with a bunged-up eye, perchance, or a bleeding nose. He would only look
ridiculous, not in the least impressive, and it was of vital importance
he should look impressive.
"Yes, I can," he answered shortly, "but I'm not going to--now."
A murmur of disgust arose from among some of the bystanders. Lamont had
funked again.
"Then you're a blanked coward," yelled Steele, and the murmurs deepened.
And yet--and yet--there was a look in Lamont's dark face which made
some of them pause, for it was not exactly the look of one who was
afraid, rather was it that of a man who was trying to restrain himself.
"I'm not going to now," he said shortly, "but I'll accommodate you where
and when you like, after the gymkhana's over. We can't start bruising
now, with a lot of ladies on the scene. Now, can we?"
The bystanders, thus appealed to, saw the sense of this. Besides, they
were not going to be done out of their fun this time. It was only fun
adjourned.
"No, no. That's quite right and reasonable. Jim, you can't kick up a
row here now. Take it out of him afterwards," were some of the cries
that arose.
"He won't be there. He'll scoot."
"Oh no, I won't," answered Lamont. "I'll be there,"--"if any of us
are," he added to himself grimly.
He finished his liquor and went outside. There was a lull in the
proceedings, and people were moving about and talking, pending the
distribution of the prizes.
"Greeting, Qubani. That is good. Last time we talked was `kwa
Zwabeka.'"
"_Ou_! Lamonti is my father," answered the old witch-doctor. Then,
having fired off a long string of _sibongo_, he concluded that the sun
was very hot, and it was long since he had drunk anything.
"That shall be presently when these are gone," said Lamont. "But
first--walk round with me, and I will show you where the horses race.
It is good to see the chief of all _izanusi_ again."
The old ruffian complied, nothing loth. He was thinking that the more
exuberant his friendliness the more completely would he lull all
suspicion among these fools of whites. He professed himself profoundly
interested in everything explained to him.
"I saw you ride, Lamonti," he said. "_Whau_! but you did pick up the
little bits of wood with the long spear. That was great--great. But
the other _Inkosi_ was greater."
"Yes, the other was greater, Qubani, but what made me miss that stroke
was joy at seeing my father, the greatest of all _izanusi_ in our
midst."
"_Whau_!"
"Mr Lamont, do come and help us with the prizes. They balloted for who
should distribute them, and Lucy was chosen. Do come and stand by us
and help. They are going to begin now."
"I'm most awfully sorry, Miss Vidal, but I can't just now."
"You won't?" said Clare curtly, for she was not accustomed to be
refused.
"I can't," he repeated. "Do believe I have a good reason--and don't
direct any attention to me just now. Believe me, a great deal hangs
upon it."
"Very well," she said, and left him, marvelling. It must be as he had
said--still that he should refuse to do something for her and prefer to
talk to this squalid old savage instead--why, it was incomprehensible.
"What is covered up on that waggon, _Nkose_!" said the witch-doctor,
pointing to a waggon which stood just inside the fence. Its position,
perhaps, directly facing the Ehlatini ridge, suggested an inspiration to
Lamont. He answered--
"_Izikwa-kwa_." [Maxim guns.]
"'M--'m! _Izikwa-kwa_?" hummed the other, wholly unable to suppress a
considerable start of surprise. Then, recovering himself, he grinned,
in bland incredulity.
"_Inkosi_ is joking," he said. "There is no war."
"Nevertheless those are _izikwa-kwa_, loaded and ready to pour forth a
storm of bullets for the rest of the day;" and the speaker devoutly
prayed that the bar-keeper might not send his boy to get out another
supply of soda-water bottles from beneath the sail and thus expose the
fraud.
"Come. We will go and see them receive the rewards, those who have won
them. But first I would have something to remember the chief of
_izanusi_ by. So sell me that red cap which is on thy head, Qubani,"
producing some silver.
"Now nay, my father, now nay, for the nights are cold and this red cap
is warm--ah! ah! warm. See, here is a fine horn snuff-box, be content
with that instead, as a gift."
"Here I hold the lives of twelve men--six on each side," answered
Lamont, showing him the butt of a revolver, in one of his side pockets.
"If I receive not that red cap this instant, the first life it shall
spill will be that of the chief of all _izanusi_."
Qubani grunted, then his hand went slowly to his head. It was a tense,
a nerve-racking moment. Would this savage, defying death, hurl the
blood-red symbol high in the air, or--
The two were alone together now, the whole assembly having gathered
round the prize tent. Lamont had drawn a revolver.
"Move not, save to hand me that cap," he said.
For a moment the savage hesitated. But the ring of steel pointing
straight at his chest, perhaps the awful and fell look on this man's
face, from which every drop of blood had vanished, and whose eyes were
glittering like those of a wild beast, decided him. His hand came
slowly down from his head, and the red cap was in Lamont's left hand.
Yes, it was a tense moment, and in the excitement of it Lamont had all
he could do to keep his nerves steady. With a mind characteristically
attuned to trifles at such a moment he found his attention partly shared
by such. Apart from the crowd a very pretty girl was rating a man, in
voluble English with a foreign accent, apparently for having paid too
much attention elsewhere during the day. He heard Jim Steele snarling
and cursing in the bar tent, and idly wondered if his language would
reach ears for which it was not fit. He felt an interest in Orwell's
dog, running about in search of its master--in short, a dozen other
trivialities raced through his brain. Then a loud cheer broke the
spell. The first prize had been distributed.
"This is not the unarmed gathering you would think, Qubani," he said,
speaking in quick low tones. "Each man--and there are nearly two
hundred of them--has his weapons all ready, and would have them in his
hand in far less time than it would take you to run--say from here to
Ehlatini."
"_Whou_!" ejaculated the witch-doctor, bringing his hand to his mouth.
"Moreover, all round Gandela there is laid that which would blow a whole
impi into the air did such walk over it. The whites know where it is,
but it would be very dangerous for strangers."
"Ha!"
Another cheer went up, as another prize was given away. Incidentally
Lamont thought how fortunate he had been in not winning the tent-pegging
competition, for he could not have received his prize by deputy, and it
was still important to keep a close watch on Qubani.
"And now, O great _isanusi_," he went on, "what would be thy fate did
those here know what my _muti_ has told me? No quick and easy death, I
fear."
A troubled and anxious look came into the old man's face.
"You are my father, Lamonti, but your talk is dark--very dark. _Ou_!
Yet though I understand it not, I will do all you wish."
"That will be wise. Now we will look at them receiving the rewards.
Come."
The prize tent was at the farther end of the enclosure and facing the
Ehlatini ridge, towards which the spectators' backs were, by the
position, of necessity turned. But Lamont, as he manoeuvred his
prisoner on to the fringe of the crowd, took care that his was not. He
noticed, moreover, a thread of smoke arising from the summit of the
ridge. Well, there was nothing very extraordinary about that--or--there
might have been.
"Throw up thy cap, Qubani," he said pleasantly, as another cheer broke
forth and some hats were thrown in the air. "Throw up thy cap, and
rejoice with us. Thy white cap."
The witch-doctor dared not refuse. With a broad grin, as though he were
entering into the fun of the thing, he threw into the air--_the white
signal_.
Again, and again, every time the cheering broke forth, Lamont
banteringly bade him throw it higher, promising much _tywala_ when the
proceedings were over, till finally many of the spectators turned their
attention to him and laughed like anything, cheering _him_. And one of
them remarked that it was worth coming for alone, just to see the old
boy flinging up his cap and hooraying like a white man and a brother.
They little knew, those light-hearted ones, that but for one man's nerve
and presence of mind the red signal would have gone up, and then--