An amphitheatre of bush and krantzes, the latter fringed on the sides
and brink with the feathery droop of forest trees: dark, lateral kloofs
running steeply up into the face of the heights: beyond the silence of a
great wilderness, but enhanced by the varying bird voices upon the heat
of the still atmosphere, or the hum of insects and the chirrup of
crickets; and, over all, the deep blue arch of an unclouded sky.
Wyvern wiped his wet face with his wet handkerchief and gasped. He
realised that he was getting limp--the enervating limpness produced by
the torrid, up-country, steamy heat, and, proportionately, was getting
depressed. So far they seemed no nearer their goal. They had searched,
always with the greatest caution, but without success, or even a clue;
and Hlabulana, their guide, seemed not nearly so confident now they had
reached the locality as he had seemed when he made his statement to
Fleetwood. In brief he was puzzled but would not own to it--only put
them off in his vague native way. Added to which Joe Fleetwood had been
more than once down with rather a bad attack of old up-country fever; in
fact he was lying in camp at that moment not able to get about. But
Wyvern, leaving him in the care of Hlabulana and Mtezani, the young Zulu
to whom they had afforded asylum when the Usutus had pursued him right
into their camp--and that under strict orders not to lose sight of him
until his own return--had started forth, in his wearied impatience, to
see if he could get no nearer the difficulty of solving matters.
Bully Rawson had troubled them no further. In fact they had seen but
little of that worthy, who when they suggested trekking on had heartily
approved of the idea. Now they were about thirty miles distant from
him, allowing for the roundabout roughness of the road. It seemed as
though he intended to trouble them no longer, and their precautions,
though not exactly suspended, were very much less rigid as time went by.
Wyvern eyed the expanse of savage wilderness--forest and cliff and
height--with a sombre hatred. What if this discovery they had come up
here to make should elude them after all? What if these recesses,
practically labyrinthine in their vastness, should hold that which he
had come to seek, that upon which he had pinned his future; should hold
it there at his very feet while he walked over it unconscious? The
thought was maddening. His depression deepened.
Then arose before him more strongly than ever--for it was ever before
him--the vision of Lalante; of Lalante, wide-eyed, smiling, ever
hopeful--of Lalante, a tower of strength in her sweetness and
confidence, unique in his experience; his complement, his other half--
than whom the whole world could not contain another similar. How, in
that far wilderness, he longed and yearned for her presence, her
soothing comforting words, the love thrill in the sweetness of her
voice, his all--all his--his alone! It was so long since he had been
able to receive even the words written by her, to realise that the paper
on which they were traced had been pressed by her hand, warm and strong
with the pulses of love. When would he again? If this scheme failed,
the failure would be irretrievable, abject. And she? Could she go on
for ever hoping in him? Would not the surroundings of her life
ultimately prove too strong for her? She was young, much younger than
himself: could she continue to believe in a man who was an utter and
consistent failure all along the line? In the solitude of the great
wilderness he was brought more face to face with his knowledge of life--
of life and its experiences--and the retrospect was like iron entering
into his soul. Her presence was no longer with him: would it ever be
again--for of such was life?
All the old time came back: the sweet time at Seven Kloofs when they had
been together, sometimes for days at a time, either there or at her own
home, especially that blissful day they had spent alone and free from
all interruption, the last of its kind before the rupture came; and it
seemed as though he had not appreciated it enough then--seemed so now,
though in actual fact it would have been impossible for him to have done
so more. He could almost find it in his heart to have cursed Le Sage
for setting up that barrier between them during those last weeks, what
time they could have made the most of the sad sweetness of impending
parting; could have set up a rich barrier of love against the blank and
separation that was to come. And with it all there came over him a wave
of longing--a craving, a yearning--that was perfectly irresistible, but
for the accidents of time and distance, to behold Lalante once more, to
hold her once more to him, to hear the full, love-fraught tones of her
voice, to look into her eyes, let what might happen afterward. This
undertaking had ended in the clouds, and all the buoyant hope which had
sustained him had ebbed.
Thus musing he wandered on mechanically, hardly noting whether game he
had come out to shoot was to be found or not. Then something caught his
gaze. He stood and stared--shading his eyes, and then took a few quick
strides. Something shone: shone but dully--but still shone. It was
only a steel button.
Wyvern was not an excitable man, but now he thought to hear the pulses
of his heart thud violently within his chest. As he stooped and picked
up the button, he picked up something else at the same time. It was a
knife.
A sheath-knife, red with rust, and with an iron handle--quaint and of an
unfamiliar make and pattern. Quickly, but carefully he examined the
ground further, and now his heart beat quicker still. On the ground
were several fragments of what looked like moss-grown bits of pottery.
He bent down and examined them. The largest piece could be nothing else
than the fragment of a skull--a human skull.
Further search revealed more remains, green and crumbly with age.
Wyvern looked up at the tossing heights. Yes, here was the amphitheatre
or hollow known as Ukohlo. He remembered every detail of the story; he
and Joe Fleetwood had talked it over too often for it to be otherwise.
Yes, and where the rocky side of the mountain rose abruptly were several
holes and caves. The next thing would be to find the right one.
Now every detail of the story fitted in. Clearly this was the spot
whereon the two wretched men had been suddenly and treacherously
murdered. The knife, the human remains, all pointed that way. Hope,
dispelling his former depression, bounded high once more. If necessary
they would search every cranny and crevice, and thus could not fail to
secure the prize.
But--it was buried. Well, they would dig if necessary. The object
would be well worth the time and labour.
A shadow came between him and the light, then another. Wyvern looked
up. Great white vultures were wheeling and soaring between him and the
sun. What did it mean? Something must be dead or dying within this
grim, untrodden wilderness tract; and that hard by, yet of such there
was no perceptible sign. A strange, boding uneasiness settled upon him.
What could it mean? He was the only living thing moving at that time.
Again he looked up. The great white birds had multiplied to a very
cloud, and they were right above him, floating round and round at some
height.
Just there the holes and caves were formed by large boulders which had
fallen together rather than by cracks in the solid cliff face. The
opening of one of these formed a complete triangle, and towards this
some mysterious instinct impelled Wyvern's footsteps.
He paused a moment before the entrance. A damp, earthy smell came from
within, and again the detail as to the earth which Hlabulana had seen
sticking to the knives of the adventurers came back to his mind. Yet,
the connection of ideas proved nothing. The same earthy smell would
probably have greeted his nostrils had he entered any other of the caves
which here opened in all directions. Still, there was no harm in just
looking into this one.
A man of medium height could have entered it erect, but Wyvern had to
stoop. Once inside however, the fissure widened. At the further end
chinks of light penetrated where the boulders forming the hole had
fallen together, and these formed dim shafts of sunlight upon the floor.
The latter was soft and earthy. Could it be here that the stuff was
buried? Wyvern stamped upon the ground here and there, but it gave
forth the same sound everywhere. Carefully, eagerly, he peered around--
again and again. There was nothing. He was about to leave the place
when--
Something shone.
On the ground, right under one of the shafts of light, it lay. Wyvern
picked it up, and hurried to the daylight. Yet his instincts of
precaution moved him to examine it while still within the shadow of the
cave.
A yellowish, cut stone lay within his hand. Looking at it he felt sure
that it was an opal. And then he had to call up all his self-control to
steady his nerves. Hlabulana's story was no myth. Clearly this was
where the stuff was buried. He would go back and rouse up Fleetwoods--
the good news alone was bound to effect a cure--and they would return
together to dig it up. This rich secret which the Lebombo had held for
so long within its grim fastnesses had been unfathomed at last. Its
treasures would make them wealthy for life, and, above all, would bring
him Lalante.
Would they? He had not found them yet--and with the thought came
another. Opals, according to popular superstition, were unlucky, and
the first sign he had found of the existence and propinquity of the
treasure was an opal. The next moment he laughed at himself for giving
even a thought to such nonsense, and stepped forth once more into the
open day.
Unlucky! Why the whole world seemed to open up in a paradise of
delight. Unlucky! He would return and re-purchase Seven Kloofs, the
place which he loved; and this time old Sanna would not have to complain
that the place needed a "Missis." Le Sage's objection was not to
himself but to his impecuniosity, and that obstacle removed, why then--
Unlucky!
With a hard ring and a splash of lead, the bullet flattened on the rock
beside him, simultaneously with the roar of the report, which rolled, in
a volley of echoes, among the surrounding krantzes.
"Bully Rawson, of course," exclaimed Wyvern to himself, as he quickly
got behind a rock to consider best as to how he should return the fire.
But this was not quite so easy, for the simple reason that his assailant
kept closely concealed. A wreath of smoke hanging in front of a thick
row of foliage fringeing the lip of a low krantz some hundred yards
distant, showed the point of concealment. He realised too, into what a
tight place he had got. His cover was totally inadequate, and whoever
was making a target of him could not go on missing him all day. Indeed
it was marvellous that he should have missed so easy a mark at all.
Again the superstition concerning the opal recurred to him. No sooner
had he found the stone than he found himself in grave danger. Every
moment now he expected another bullet. He would almost certainly never
live to realise the bright fair future he had just been mapping out.
Well, the brutal cowardly ruffian who had come out there to do him to
death in the dark as it were, should not benefit by the clue he himself
had discovered, and to this end, concealed by the rock, he scraped a
hole in the soil and deposited the stone within it. Then he called
out:--
"Rawson, you cowardly skulker. Haven't you the pluck to meet me man to
man? Come out and show yourself, can't you?"
There was no reply.
"Oh, you're plucky enough at thrashing defenceless women, and boys not a
third of your size," went on Wyvern. "Come out now and we'll fight fair
with anything you like. Come out, funk-stick."
This time an answer came, or some sort of an answer, and it took the
form of quick muttered voices in the Zulu tongue, together with the
sound of a scuffle, and a clinking fall of small stones down the face of
the krantz. Then a voice was raised--also in the Zulu tongue.
"Come up here, _Nkose_. Come up here. I have him fast."
And Wyvern knew the voice for that of Mtezani, the young Zulu whose life
they had saved, and he went.
But before he went he scraped up the opal which he had buried beneath
the loose soil.