Anta's Kloof--such was the name of Tom Carhayes' farm--was situated on
the very edge of the Gaika location. This was unfortunate, because its
owner got on but poorly with his barbarous neighbours. They, for their
part, bore him no good will either.
The homestead comprised a comfortable stone dwelling in one story. A
high _stoep_ and veranda ran round three sides of it, commanding a wide
and lovely view of rolling plains and mimosa sprinkled kloofs, for the
house was built on rising ground. Behind, as a background, a few miles
distant, rose the green spurs of the Kabousie Heights. A gradual ascent
of a few hundred feet above the house afforded a splendid view of the
rugged and table-topped Kei Hills. And beyond these, on the right, the
plains of Gcalekaland, with the blue smoke rising from many a clustering
kraal. Yet soft and peaceful as was the landscape, there was little of
peace just then in the mind of its inhabitants, white or brown, for the
savages were believed to be in active preparation for war, for a
concerted and murderous outbreak on a large scale, involving a
repetition of the massacres of isolated and unprepared settlers such as
characterised similar risings on former occasions; the last, then,
happily, a quarter of a century ago.
Nearer, nearer to his western bed, dipped the sinking sun, throwing out
long slanting darts of golden rays ere bringing to a close, in a flood
of effulgent glory, the sweet African spring day. They fell on the
placid surface of the dam, lying below in the kloof, causing it to shine
like a sea of quicksilver. They brought out the vivid green of the
willows, whose feathery boughs drooped upon the cool water. They
blended with the soft, restful cooing of ring doves, swaying upon many a
mimosa spray, or winging their way swiftly from the mealie lands to
their evening roost and they seemed to impart a blithe gladsomeness to
the mellow shout of the hoopoe, echoing from the cool shade of yonder
rugged and bush-clad kloof.
Round the house a dozen or so tiny ostrich chicks were picking at the
ground, or disputing the possession of some unexpected dainty with a
tribe of long-legged fowls. Quaint enough they looked, these little,
fluffy balls, with their bright eyes, and tawny, spotted necks; frail
enough, too, and apt to come off badly at the spur or beak of any
truculent rooster who should resent their share of the plunder
aforesaid. Nominally they are under the care of a small Kafir boy, but
the little black rascal--his master being absent and his mistress soft
hearted--prefers the congenial associations of yonder group of beehive
huts away there behind the sheep kraals, and the fun of building
miniature kraals with mud and three or four boon companions, so the
ostrich chicks are left to herd themselves. But the volleying boom of
their male parent, down there in the great enclosure, rolls out loudly
enough on the evening air, and the huge bird may be described in all the
glory of his jet and snowy plumage, with inflated throat, rearing
himself to his full height, rolling his fiery eye in search of an
adversary.
And now the flaming rays of the sinking sun have given place to a
softer, mellower light, and the red afterglow is merging into the pearly
grey of evening. The hillside is streaked with the dappled hides of
cattle coming up the kloof, and many a responsive low greets the
clamourous voices of the calves, shut up in the calf _hoek_, hungry and
expectant. Then upon the ridge comes a white, moving mass of fleecy
backs. It streams down the slope, raising a cloud of dust--guided, kept
together, by an occasional kerrie deftly thrown to the right or left--
and soon arrives at its nightly fold. But the herd is nonplussed, for
there is no _Baas_ there to count in. He pauses a moment, looks around,
then drives the sheep into the kraal, and having secured the gate,
throws his red kaross around him and stalks away to the huts.
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Eanswyth Carhayes stood on the _stoep_, looking out for the return of
her husband and cousin. She was very tall for a woman, her erect
carriage causing her to appear even taller. And she was very beautiful.
The face, with its straight, thoroughbred features, was one of those
which, at first sight, conveyed an impression of more than ordinary
attractiveness, and this impression further acquaintance never failed to
develop into a realisation of its rare loveliness. Yet by no means a
mere animal or flower-like beauty. There was character in the strongly
marked, arching brows, and in the serene, straight glance of the large,
grey eyes. Further, there was indication that their owner would not be
lacking in tact or fixity of purpose; two qualities usually found hand
in hand. Her hair, though dark, was many shades removed from black, and
of it she possessed a more than bountiful supply.
She came of a good old Colonial family, but had been educated in
England. Well educated, too; thanks to which salutary storing of a mind
eagerly open to culture, many an otherwise dull and unoccupied hour of
her four years of married life--frequently left, as she was, alone for a
whole day at a time--was turned to brightness. Alone? Yes, for she was
childless.
When she had married bluff, hot-tempered Tom Carhayes, who was nearly
fifteen years her senior, and had gone to live on a Kaffrarian stock
farm, her acquaintance unanimously declared she had "thrown herself
away." But whether this was so or not, certain it is that Eanswyth
herself evinced no sort of indication to that effect, and indeed more
than one of the aforesaid acquaintance eventually came to envy her calm,
cheerful contentment. To the expression of which sentiment she would
reply with a quiet smile that she supposed she was cut out for a
"blue-stocking," and that the restful seclusion, not to say monotony, of
her life, afforded her ample time for indulging her studious tastes.
After three years her husband's cousin had come to live with them.
Eustace Milne, who was possessed of moderate means, had devoted the few
years subsequent on leaving college to "seeing the world," and it must
be owned he had managed to see a good deal of it in the time. But
tiring eventually of the process, he had made overtures to his cousin to
enter into partnership with the latter in his stock-farming operations.
Carhayes, who at that time had been somewhat unlucky, having been hard
hit by a couple of very bad seasons, and thinking moreover that the
presence in the house of his cousin, whom he knew and rather liked,
would make life a little more cheerful for Eanswyth, agreed, and
forthwith Eustace had sailed for the Cape. He had put a fair amount of
capital into the concern and more than a fair amount of energy, and at
this time the operations of the two men were flourishing exceedingly.
We fear that--human nature being the same all the world over, even in
that sparsely inhabited locality--there were not wanting some--not many
it is true, but still some--who saw in the above arrangement something
to wag a scandalous tongue over. Carhayes was a prosaic and rather
crusty personage, many years older than his wife. Eustace Milne was
just the reverse of this, being imaginative, cultured, even tempered,
and, when he chose, of very attractive manner; moreover, he was but
three or four years her senior. Possibly the rumour evolved itself from
the disappointment of its originators, as well as from the insatiable
and universal love of scandal-mongering inherent in human nature, for
Eustace Milne was eminently an eligible _parti_, and during nearly a
year's residence at Anta's Kloof had shown no disposition to throw the
handkerchief at any of the surrounding fair. But to Carhayes, whom
thanks to his known proclivity towards punching heads this rumour never
reached, no such nice idea occurred, for with all his faults or failings
there was nothing mean or crooked-minded about the man, and as for
Eanswyth herself, we should have been uncommonly sorry to have stood in
the shoes of the individual who should undertake to enlighten her of the
same, by word or hint.
As she stood there watching for the return of those who came not,
Eanswyth began to feel vaguely uneasy, and there was a shade of anxiety
in the large grey eyes, which were bent upon the surrounding _veldt_
with a now growing intensity. The return of the flock, combined with
the absence of its master to count in, was not a reassuring
circumstance. She felt inclined to send for the herd and question him,
but after all it was of no use being silly about it. She noted further
the non-appearance of the other flock. This, in conjunction with the
prolonged absence of her husband and cousin, made her fear that
something had gone very wrong indeed.
Nor was her uneasiness altogether devoid of justification. We have said
that Tom Carhayes was not on the best of terms with his barbarous
neighbours. We have shown moreover that his choleric disposition was
eminently calculated to keep him in chronic hot water. Such was indeed
the case. Hardly a week passed that he did not come into collision with
them, more or less violently, generally on the vexed question of
trespass, and crossing his farm accompanied by their dogs. More than
one of these dogs had been shot by him on such occasions, and when we
say that a Kafir loves his dog a trifle more dearly than his children,
it follows that the hatred which they cherished towards this imperious
and high-handed settler will hardly bear exaggeration. But Carhayes was
a powerful man and utterly fearless, and although these qualities had so
far availed to save his life, the savages were merely biding their time.
Meanwhile they solaced themselves with secret acts of revenge. A
thoroughbred horse would be found dead in the stable, a valuable cow
would be stabbed to death in the open _veldt_, or a fine, full-grown
ostrich would be discovered with a shattered leg and all its
wing-feathers plucked, sure sign, the latter, that the damage was due to
no accident. These acts of retaliation had generally followed within a
few days of one of the broils above alluded to, but so far from
intimidating Carhayes, their only effect was to enrage him the more. He
vowed fearful and summary vengeance against the perpetrators, should he
ever succeed in detecting them. He even went boldly to the principal
Gaika chiefs and laid claim to compensation. But those magnates were
the last men in the world to side with, or to help him. Some were
excessively civil, others indifferent, but all disclaimed any
responsibility in the matter.
Bearing these facts in mind there was, we repeat, every excuse for
Eanswyth's anxiety. But suddenly a sigh of relief escaped her. The
tramp of hoofs reaching her ears caused her to turn, and there,
approaching the house from a wholly unexpected direction, came the two
familiar mounted figures.