The result of the trial was as great a surprise for Lawless as it had
been for Theodore Smythe. Lawless had ridden into Stellenbosch daily
for the paper, and had scanned the columns eagerly for any mention of
the case. On the day that he read of Van Bleit's acquittal he sent off
the telegram, the receipt of which had decided Van Bleit on a change of
air.
He had ridden into town alone; Tottie, who usually accompanied him, had
remained at home to attend, as she informed him, to the ravages her
wardrobe had sustained through the hard wear of the veld. When Lawless
got back he flung the paper in through the open doorway and rode on to
the stable, where he off-saddled, and then returned to the house.
Tottie, when he entered, was seated at the table in her favourite
attitude, with her elbows upon it and her chin in her hands, devouring
the paper with avidity. She looked up as his tall figure blocked the
doorway and laughed.
"He's got the devil's own luck," she said. "But this is all right for
you, old man."
Lawless walked up to the table.
"I've sent off a wire asking him here," he said.
She laughed again.
"You don't lose time... And what's to become of me? Plainly, you
wouldn't expose me to such a risk as that."
"I shall banish you to the hut we looked at on our arrival. It's
quarter of a mile away, and the bush just behind it. You'll sleep there
and spend your days in the bush."
"What a lively programme!" she ejaculated.
"Fairly dull--yes." He went nearer to her and laid a hand on her
shoulder. "I'm not going to pretend that you'll get much joy of it," he
said. "But you wanted to help me."
She looked up and nodded.
"Yes, I wanted to help... If I had to spend my nights as well as my
days in the bush, I'd do it."
His hand gripped her shoulder till it hurt.
"You're the right stuff," he said,--"the best stuff. You and I together
will pull this off."
That night was destined to be a night of surprises. Hardly had they
supped, while they yet lingered at the table discussing their plans, a
sound broke suddenly upon the silence, a sound so unusual that Lawless
stopped abruptly in the middle of his talk, and Tottie's head went up
with a jerk like the head of a wild thing scenting danger. And so they
remained for a while listening in attitudes of strained attention. The
sounds were unmistakably made by the heavy creaking wheels of a waggon
travelling towards them across the veld. Tottie looked at her companion
inquiringly.
"It's a surprise party, baas," she said. "They've seen our light and
are for outspanning."
For answer Lawless pushed back his chair, and, rising, started to clear
away the evidence of the _tete-a-tete_ meal. She helped him swiftly and
in silence, pausing every now and again to listen to the sounds that
were gradually getting nearer, growing momentarily louder and more
distinctive. The cracking of a whip was heard, and above it the noise
of men's voices raised in a rollicking song.
"Get into the bedroom," Lawless commanded. "You must make your escape
by the window, and sleep in the hut."
"But--strangers!" she protested. "Why shouldn't I participate in the
fun?"
"We can't run the risk," he said.--"No! You make yourself scarce, and
leave this to me. Strangers or no, they're rowdy... I would rather
have no woman in this."
She demurred still, foreseeing a merry evening, and not relishing the
part allotted to her; but he carried his point; and reluctantly she went
into the bedroom and fastened the door upon herself. He waited until
she was secure from observation, then he opened the outer door and stood
in the lighted aperture, looking into the night.
"Hallo!" shouted a voice in English out of the darkness.
"Hallo!" he answered back.
A young man came forward, swinging a lantern in his hand.
"We're outspanning here," he said. "I never expected such luck as that
this place was occupied. A fire is all we need. We carry provisions
with us."
"Come in and welcome," Lawless answered. "How many of you are there?
Whatever accommodation I have is at your service."
"We are five," the other answered. "They're unharnessing the mules. We
lost our driver at the last uitspan." He lifted his lantern and looked
about him. "This is a slice of luck. For two nights we've been jolly
near frozen, sleeping in the wain."
"I'm glad," Lawless said, "that you happened this way. I was just about
fed up with my own society. Let's lend a hand with unharnessing the
mules. It's a Godsend a visitation like this."
The young man looked at him curiously.
"If you're so out of conceit with it all, why do you stay?" he asked.
"Because," Lawless answered, and smiled strangely, "I was under the
delusion I'd have companionship when I took the place. My tenancy
expires shortly, and I shan't renew it."
The new-comer understood. He looked away from his companion and spat
noisily on the ground.
"I'm glad we chanced by while you were still in possession," he said.
They walked together by the fitful light of the lantern to where the
rest of the party were busy with the mules. They lent a hand, and when
the team was outspanned and haltered to the disselboom inside a hastily
improvised laager, they repaired to the house, carrying provisions with
them. Amongst the provisions was a limited quantity of whisky and any
amount of Cape dop. Most of the party were already drunk. It was
evident from the outset that they meant to make a night of it.
"I expect," Lawless said, as he preceded his visitors into the
living-room, "that you'll be glad of a hot supper. My culinary powers
are not great, such as they are I'll be happy to cook for you."
"Don't you bother, baas," the young man who had first introduced himself
exclaimed. "I'll cook for them. You supply the fire and the roof,
that's quite enough."
Lawless was immeasurably relieved. Tottie had done all the cooking
their simple household had required; he had very little idea of the art
himself. But he knew where the cooking utensils were kept, and supplied
them; and the young man set about making a stew that smelt very
appetising as it heated over the fire. The others sprawled before the
hearth and drank while they waited for the meal. Before it was ready a
further interruption occurred that made an addition to the numbers
already assembled. It was indeed a night of surprises for the man who
acted as host to these unexpected and none too welcome guests.
The new-comer made his appearance on horseback, and rode right up to the
window before anyone suspected his approach. The sound of his horse's
hoofs was deadened by the noisy chaff round the fire. He looked in
through the open window upon the rowdy group, and, leaning from the
saddle, gripped the sill with his hand.
"Hallo, there!" he shouted in a cheery voice. "Got room for another?
I've lost my bearings on this tractless waste, and seeing your uitspan
calculated some sort of hospitality was going forward. I'm going to
stable my mount. May I come in? I'm Tom Hayhurst."
Lawless started, and looked round. The name conveyed much to him. It
conveyed something to several others present; they looked up with a grin
of welcome.
"Good old Tom!" said one man. "I haven't seen him since we were at the
poor man's diggings together."
Tom Hayhurst's face beamed in upon them.
"Who's baas here?" he asked.
"I am," Lawless answered quietly, stepping forward to the aperture.
"There's room for your mount in the stable. Come in."
"Right!" the young man answered. "I don't know you from the devil. Got
a lantern, anyone?"
Someone handed him a lantern through the window, and he rode away,
whistling. One of the men laughed.
"Old Tom has been missing lately. Wonder where he's been?" he mused.
"There are plenty of us can't always account for our movements," someone
else answered, amid a fresh guffaw of mirth. "But wherever he's been in
the interval, he's always good company. Say, baas, you've got a picnic
to-night."
Lawless made no reply. The name of Tom Hayhurst had roused memories,
had taken him back to a lonely bungalow in Cape Town, where a man had
related to him briefly how Tom Hayhurst had failed him in an important
mission. He had been for wringing Tom Hayhurst's neck at the time. He
did not feel especially friendly towards him on that particular night;
but Hayhurst had happened upon his dwelling out of the darkness, and
claimed his hospitality, as was customary in the veld.
He moved back to the ring round the fire, and seated himself on an
upturned box and stared thoughtfully into the flame. The arrival of the
new-comer was strangely annoying to him.
Hayhurst came in noisily, and shaking hands with the man who had been at
the diggings with him, nodded to the rest. They made way for him at the
fire. He stood in front of it, looking curiously at Lawless while he
warmed his hands at the blaze. The scar on Lawless' face seemed to hold
his attention.
"My name's Hayhurst," he remarked somewhat pointedly.
Lawless surveyed him with an air of quiet aloofness, and, without
removing the pipe from his mouth, replied:
"So you said before."
Hayhurst was not easily disconcerted, but he reddened slightly and gave
an awkward laugh.
"It's damned cold," he said. "I'm chilled to the bone. If anyone
presses me, I'll take a glass of dop... Don't overdo it with water."
Stephens, the man from the diggings, handed him a glass. Young Hayhurst
drank the contents, and remained a while staring into the empty tumbler
with a thoughtful smile on his face. Then he put the tumbler down, and
returned to his occupation of warming his hands. He glanced again at
Lawless.
"I've heard of you," he said,--"from a chap who won't tell any more
tales of anyone, good or bad... That mark on your face gives you away."
"Don't be personal, Tom," hiccoughed his friend.
Lawless got up.
"I've heard of you, too," he returned curtly. "The repetition of the
information wouldn't be likely to make you vain, so we won't go into
that."
There was a perceptible hang in the conversation. The men broke off in
their talk to listen, and the man who was cooking the supper looked up
from his task to stare. The sense of something in the air penetrated
even to the dulled wit of the most intoxicated of the party, a man of
rough appearance and no education, who spent all his spare time in
getting drunk, and crowded as much work into his sober hours as three
ordinary men would have accomplished. He shook his head gravely, and
then with solemn deliberation refilled his ever-empty glass from the
bottle of dop at his elbow.
"Don't mix your drinks," he counselled... "bad for the constitootion--
very."
He maundered on, but nobody heeded him. Hayhurst was looking steadily
into the keen eyes of the man whom he recognised from the description he
had once listened to of the peculiar scar on his face. He had no shadow
of a doubt as to the man's identity.
"Since what I have heard of you," he returned, "might be calculated to
make you vain, I'll spare your modesty. As for my own reputation!" He
laughed suddenly. "That wouldn't pay for whitewashing, would it, boys?"
He gazed round on the group with the laugh still in his eyes. Rentoul,
who had given the advice against mixing one's liquor, looked up
owlishly.
"You never done a dirty trick, Tom," he said... "Nothin' mean about
you. Gimme your 'and, me boy. No need for whitewashing... What say?--
Tom's all ri', ain't 'e?"
Hayhurst flung himself down on the hearth beside him, and stretched his
legs, encased in dusty gaiters, towards the fire.
"Tom's a good sort," Rentoul continued, blinking round on the rest...
"Always said so--goo' sort!--but fond of his liquor. You're drunk,
Tom... Been takin' wets along the road."
Hayhurst laughed again.
"The veld's so overstocked with pubs--ain't it?" he said.
"Here, hand out the plates, someone--will you?--this mess is ready,"
announced the chef.
There was a general move. The clattering of plates and knives
superseded the talk; and for a fairly lengthy interval conversation gave
place entirely to the sound of hungry men feeding noisily in rude and
primitive fashion.