"OUR OBJECT IS THE SAME."
"Do you know, Fanning, you gave me the very warmest reception hero I
ever met with in my life?" said Sellon, one day, when his patient was
fairly convalescent and able to talk freely.
Renshaw looked puzzled.
"It's very good of you to say so," he answered. "You know by this time
what the resources of the place are--or, rather, are not. Still, you
were warmly welcome, and--I can never thank you enough, Sellon, for the
unselfish way in which you have stayed here doing the good Samaritan for
a perfect stranger, I owe my life to you."
The other burst into a shout of laughter.
"That's not what I meant, old chap. Stop. I'll explain. But, first of
all, where are your guns?"
Surprised at the question, Renshaw opened the Chest where the firearms
were usually kept. It was empty.
"Now, look behind that big box under the sofa," said the other, with a
laugh.
This was done, and lo! there were the missing weapons, carefully rolled
in sacking. Choking with laughter over the recollection, Sellon
proceeded to narrate the circumstances under which he had been made a
target of, as we have seen.
"And I'll tell you what it is, old man," he concluded; "if you can make
such good shooting at five hundred yards when you're off your chump,
it's sorry I'd be to do target for you at six hundred when you're not."
Renshaw whistled, and shook his head.
"I must have been bad," he said. "Well, you saw how bad I was. But, I
say, Sellon, did I--er--talk much--talk bosh, you know? Fellows often
do when they're that way."
"Well, the fact is, you did, rather, You seemed to wander a good deal--
talked a lot about `stones,' and a certain `Valley of the Eye,' which
was going to make all out fortunes."
Renshaw started.
"Did I?" he said, passing his hand over his eyes, as if to clear his
recollection. Then he was silent for a while, and seemed to be thinking
deeply. The other, though affecting the greatest unconcern, watched him
narrowly.
"Look here, Sellon," he went on, "it isn't in the least odd that I
should have talked about that. I firmly believe in the existence of the
place, though I've made no less than four careful attempts at finding
it. It's not so very far from here, I believe, and sooner or later I
shall hit upon it."
"Well, and what then?"
"What then?" repeated Renshaw, slowly. "Only that we are something near
millionaires."
But for the fact that his own eyes had rested on the clue to the
mystery, Sellon would have suspected that his friend's mind was
wandering still, that from long dwelling upon this one idea it was
following a chimera with all the blind faith which accompanies a
self-wrought delusion. Now, however, as he listened, there was an
intensity of eagerness in his face, which, try as he would, he could
hardly suppress.
"_We_?" he said. "Do you want me to help you to hunt for this Golconda,
then, old chap?"
"I do. You have saved my life, Sellon, and you may possibly find that
it was the best day's work you ever did in yours. You shall share the
knowledge that will make rich men of us. We will search for the
`Valley' together."
"I'm your man, Fanning. That sort of thing will suit me down to the
ground. Now, look sharp and get strong on your pins again, and we'll
start."
The other smiled.
"What a mercurial fellow you are, Sellon! No; that isn't how to go to
work. How, I ask you, are we going to set out expedition on foot, now?
Look at that, for instance,"--pointing through the open door to the bare
veldt. Shimmering in the fiery forenoon, "And it's worse country over
there than here. We must wait until the drought breaks up."
"Must we? And, meanwhile, somebody else may hit upon the place."
"Make your mind easy on that point. But for the clue I possess, it
would never be found--never. Didn't I tell you I had searched for it
four times, and even with the key hadn't managed to find it, and I've
spent my life on the veldt, knocking about the Country on and off? But
this time I believe I shall find it."
"Do you? Now, why?"
"Look around. Whether the drought lasts or not, I'm practically a
ruined man. Now it is time my luck turned. This will be, I repeat, the
fifth search, and five is a lucky number. Like many fellows who have
led a wandering and solitary life, I am a trifle superstitious in some
things. This time we shall be successful."
"Well, you seem to take the thing mighty coolly," said Sellon, refilling
his pipe. "I should be for starting at once. But what do you propose
doing meanwhile?"
"Take my word for it, it's a mistake to rush a thing of this sort,"
answered Renshaw. "It'll bear any amount of thinking out--the more the
better."
"Well, but you seem to have given it its full share of the last, anyhow.
There's one thing, though, that you haven't mentioned all this time.
If it is a fair question, how the deuce did you come to know of the
existence of the place?"
"From the only man who has ever seen it. The only white man, that is."
"Oh! But--he may have been lying."
"A man doesn't tell lies on his death-bed," replied Renshaw. "My
informant turned up here one night in a bad way. He was mortally
wounded by a couple of Bushman arrows, which, I suppose you know, are
steeped in the most deadly and virulent poison. The mystery is how he
had managed to travel so far with it in his system, and the only
explanation I can find is that the poison was stale, and therefore less
operative. He died barely an hour after he got here, but not before he
had left me the secret, with all necessary particulars. He had
discovered it by chance, and had made three expeditions to the place,
but had been obliged to give it up. There was a clan of Bushmen living
in the krantzes there who seemed to watch the place as though it
contained something sacred. They attacked him each time, the third with
fatal effect, as I told you."
"By Jove!" cried Sellon, ruefully, his treasure-seeking ardour
considerably damped by the probability of having to run the gauntlet of
a flight of poisoned arrows. "And did they ever attack you?"
"Once only--the attempt before last I made," replied the other,
tranquilly. "That made me think I was nearer hitting upon it than I had
ever been."
"By Jove!" cried Sellon again. "That's just about enough to choke one
off the whole thing. A fellow doesn't mind a fair and square fight,
even against long odds. But when it comes to poisoned arrows, certain
death coming at you in the shape of a dirty little bit of stick, that
otherwise couldn't hurt a cat--faugh! I suppose these little devils
sneak up behind, and let you have it before you so much as know they're
there?"
"Generally; yes. Well, you know, every prize worth winning involves a
proportionate amount of risk. And there may be some about this
business, it's only fair to warn you, though, on the other hand, there
may not."
"All serene, old chap. I'll chance it."
"Right," said Renshaw. "Now, my plan is this. It's of no use sticking
on here. I can do no good at present, or I'm afraid for some time to
come. I propose that we go and look up some friends of mine who live
down Kafirland way. They've a lovely place in the Umtirara Mountains--a
perfect paradise after this inferno. We'll go and have a good time--
it'll set me on my legs again, and enable you to see an entirely
different part of the country. Afterwards, we'll come back here, and
start on our search."
"That's not half a bad plan of yours, Fanning. But, see here! old chap.
These friends of yours don't know me. Isn't it slightly calm my
rolling in upon them unasked?"
"Pooh! not at all. Chris Selwood's the best fellow in the world--
except, perhaps, his wife, I was going to say. We were boys together.
If we were brothers, I couldn't be more at home anywhere than at his
place--and any friend of mine will be as welcome as a heavy rain would
have been here a month ago."
"That's a good note, anyhow. But--to come back for a minute to the
`Valley of the Eye'--what are we going to find when we get there? You
didn't happen to mention just now."
"There are only two things to be picked up in this country--and plenty
of both, if only one knew exactly where to look for them--gold and
`stones.' And we shan't find gold."
"Diamonds! By Jove! Millionaires indeed--if we only find enough of
them. Well, I don't mind telling you, Fanning, that I stand uncommonly
in need of something realisable--and plenty of it. At present there
exists a powerful reason for that necessity. And, I say, Fanning, I
believe the same thing holds good as regards yourself."
"Do you?"
"Yes, when fellows get a bit off their chump, they are apt to talk. Eh,
you dog? Own up, now. Who is she?"
"And that's your reason for wanting to make a pile, is it, Sellon?" said
Renshaw, tranquilly.
"I didn't say so," laughed the other. "Perhaps our object is the same,
for all that."
"Perhaps it is," was the good-humoured reply; "as you are bent on
thinking so."