It takes a little time to get used to sleeping out in the open, and on
the hard ground. The latter the novice is apt to find hard indeed.
There is always that refractory lump or stone just under his hip-bone,
and by the time he has removed this, or shifted his position, he only
settles down to find two similar sources of affliction where there was
but one before. If timid, he will think of snakes; if nervous, he will
be momentarily imagining some cold creeping thing crawling over his ear
or sneaking inside the legs of his trousers. Add to this the novelty of
the situation and the hundred and one varying voices of the night, which
combine to keep him awake, and it follows that however alluring to the
embryo traveller may be the prospect of "camping out," the reality is
less pleasant--till he gets used to it.
Renshaw, remarking that their late formidable visitant needn't have
wished them good night quite so loudly, rolled himself in a blanket, and
in ten minutes was fast asleep. But Sellon, being new to this kind of
thing, speedily fell a victim to each and all of the little
inconveniences above detailed, and passed a most uncomfortable and
restless night. The howling of the hyaenas, mingling with the shriller
"yap" of the hunting jackal, sounded continuous--then just as he was
dropping off into a doze, the loud "baugh! baugh!" of a troop of baboons
on the mountain-side started him wide awake again, his first impression
being that their late visitor was prowling around, intent on cultivating
a closer acquaintance. Twice, indeed, he did hear that thundrous,
muffled roar, which once heard is so unmistakable, but it was in the far
distance. On the whole, therefore, all unrested as he was, he felt
anything but sorry when his companion, looking out from under his
blanket, stared at the stars, then leisurely sat up.
"By Jove! I've been envying you," growled Sellon. "You've been
sleeping like a log, and I've hardly closed my eyes all night."
"Not, eh? Ah, I forgot you're not used to this sort of thing. You soon
will be, though. Turn in again a little longer, while I brew the
coffee."
"Coffee! Why, man, it isn't daylight yet!"
"No, but in a few minutes it will be. However, you lie still. Try and
snatch another hour's snooze. I'll see to everything."
He was as good as his word. When Sellon awoke--not in another hour, but
rather more than two--the sun was already up, but his comrade was
nowhere to be seen, nor were the horses. There was the coffee-kettle,
however, handy by the fire, and some biscuit. Having absorbed a
steaming cup or two, Sellon lighted his pipe and felt better.
A double report sounded from some way along the river-bank then and
there. In about twenty minutes Renshaw returned.
"I've been marketing," he said, turning half a dozen ring-doves out of
his pocket. "These little jokers are not half bad when grilled on the
coals, and they don't take long to cook. To-night will be the last time
we can make a fire, until we find ourselves here again--that is, if we
come back this way."
"Well, I shall go and get a swim," said Maurice, jumping up and
stretching himself.
"A swim? Hold hard. Where will you get it?"
"In the river, of course," was the astonished answer. But Renshaw shook
his head.
"You'd better not try it, Sellon. It isn't safe."
"Why? Alligators?"
"Yes. You can't go into deep water. But there's a shallow a little way
up, where you can have a good splash. It's only a matter of a few
inches if you keep close to the bank--and you must keep close to it too.
I've been in myself this morning--and by the same token it's the last
chance of tubbing we shall get. I'll go as far as the rise and point
you out the place."
Half an hour later Sellon returned, reinvigorated by his bath and
clamouring for breakfast.
The birds had been plucked and spread upon the embers, split open,
spatchcock fashion, and when ready afforded our travellers a toothsome
breakfast. Then they saddled up.
"We shan't do our thirty miles to-day," said Renshaw, as they rode
along. "We started too late. But that won't greatly matter. We have
plenty of time, and it's better to keep the horses fresh than to rush
them through."
"So it is. But, I say, this place is like the Umtirara Valley, minus
the bush and the greenness."
It was. As they rode on, the desolate wildness of the defile increased.
Rocky slopes sparsely grown with stunted bush, the usual cliff
formation cleaving the sky-line. Boulders large and small studded the
valley, lying like so many houses on the hillsides or piled up in
unpleasantly obstructive profusion, right along the line of march. Of
animal life there was little enough. Here and there an armour-plated
tortoise stalking solemnly among the stones, or a large bird of prey
circling overhead--but of game, no sign. As the sun mounted higher and
higher, pouring his rays into the defile as though focussed through a
burning glass, the heat tried Sellon severely.
"This is awful," he growled, for the fiftieth time, mopping his steaming
face. "Is it going to be like this all the way?"
"It may be. But we shall have to do most of our moving about at night.
We can take it easy now and off-saddle, and trek on again towards
sundown. Until we actually begin our search, I know the ground by
heart. Come now, Sellon, you must keep up your determination. It's
beastly trying, I know, for an unseasoned chap; but think of the end."
"I believe I'll get a sunstroke first," was the dejected reply, as the
speaker flung himself wearily on the ground.
"Not a bit of it. Here, have a drop of liquor--but you'd better take it
weak, or it'll do more harm than good." And getting out a pannikin
Renshaw poured in a little of the contents of his flask, judiciously
diluting it from the water-skin slung across the pack-horse.
This water-skin, by the way, was an ingenious contrivance of his own,
and of which he was not a little proud. Like its Eastern prototype--
upon which it was modelled--it consisted of the dressed skin of a
good-sized Angora kid--one of the legs serving for the spout.
"Not a bad dodge, eh?" acquiesced Renshaw, in response to his
companion's remark. "The water has a leathery taste, I admit, but it's
better than none at all. I hit upon the idea when I first began these
expeditions. Something of the kind was absolutely essential. Trekking
with waggons you carry the ordinary _vaatje_--a small drum-shaped keg--
slung between the wheels, but it's an inconvenient thing to load up on a
horse--in fact, the second attempt I made the concern got loose and
rolled the whole way down a mountain-side--of course, splintering to
atoms. Besides, this thing holds more and keeps the water cooler. I
came near dying of thirst that time, being three nights and two days
without a drop of anything; for this is a mighty dry country, I needn't
tell you."
"What if the whole yarn should turn out moonshine after all?" said
Sellon, with the despondency of a thoroughly exhausted man. "There's
one thing about it that looks fishy. How could what's his name--
Greenway--wounded as he was, fetch your place in two or three days?
Why, it'll take us nearly a week to do it--if not quite."
"That very thing struck me at first," said Renshaw, quietly, shredding
up a piece of Boer tobacco. "My impression is, he didn't come back the
same way he went. You see, he knew the country thoroughly. He may have
taken a short cut and come straight over the mountains. For I'm pretty
sure the way we are taking is an altogether roundabout one."
"Then why couldn't the fellow have told you the shorter one, instead of
sending us round three sides of a square?"
"That's soon explained. In the first place, this way is easier to find,
the landmarks more unmistakable, and the travelling better. In the
second, you must remember the poor old chap was at his last gasp. It's
a good thing for you, Sellon, that he was, for if he had only lived half
an hour longer--even a quarter--he'd have given fuller details and I
should have found the place long ago. Look how disjointed the last part
of his story is, just the main outlines, trusting to me to fill in
detail. I tell you, it was quite pitiable to see the manful effort he
made to keep up until he had said his say."
Later in the afternoon, the heat having somewhat abated, they resumed
their way, which grew at every mile more rough and toilsome, between
those lofty walls, winding round a spur, only to find a succession of
similar spurs further on. Then the sun went off the defile, and a
coolness truly refreshing succeeded. Renshaw, leading the way, held
steadily on, for there was light enough from the great sparkling canopy
above to enable them to more than distinguish outline. At length the
moon rose.
"Look ahead, Sellon, and tell me if you see anything," said Renshaw at
last.
"See anything? Why, no. Stop a bit, though"--shading his eyes. "Yes.
This infernal valley has come to an end. There's a big precipice bang
ahead of us. We can't get any further."
"Not, eh? Well, now, look to the left."
Sellon obeyed. At right angles to the valley they had been ascending,
and which here opened out into a wide basin barred in front by the cliff
referred to, ran another similar defile.
"There it is," continued Renshaw, in a satisfied tone. "That's the
`long poort' mentioned by Greenway--and"--pointing to the right--"there
are the `two kloofs.'"
It was even as he said. The situation corresponded exactly.
"We'll go into camp now," said Renshaw. "Let's see what you'll think of
my `hotel.'"
Turning off the track they had been pursuing, Renshaw led the way up a
slight acclivity. A number of boulders lay strewn around in a kind of
natural Stonehenge. In the midst was a circular depression, containing
a little water, the remnant of the last rainfall.
"Look there," he went on, pointing out a smoke-blackened patch against
the rock. "That's my old fireplace. Our blaze will be quite hidden, as
much as it can be anywhere, that is. So now we'll set to work and make
ourselves snug."
Until he became too fatigued to suffer his mind to dwell upon anything
but his own discomfort, Sellon had been cudgelling his brains to solve
the mystery of the resuscitated document, but in vain. He was almost
inclined at last to attribute its abstraction and recovery to the agency
of the dead adventurer's ghost.
But the solution of the mystery was a very simple one, and if Sellon
deserves to be left in the darkness of perplexity by reason of the part
he played in the matter, the reader does not. So we may briefly refer
to an incident which, unknown to the former, had occurred on the evening
of Renshaw's return to his most uninviting home.
He had been very vexed over the French leave taken by his retainer, as
we have seen. But, when his anger against old Dirk was at its highest,
the latter's consort, reckoning the time had come for playing the trump
card, produced a dirty roll of paper. Handing it to her master, she
recommended him to take care of it in future.
Renshaw's surprise as he recognised its identity was something to
witness--almost as great as Sellon's. He had been going about all these
weeks, thinking the record of his precious secret as secure as ever, and
all the while it was in the dubious care of a slovenly old Koranna
woman.
But on the subject of how it came into her possession old Kaatje was
reticent. She had taken care of it while the Baas was sick--and, but
for her, it might have been lost beyond recovery. More than this he
could not extract--except an earnest recommendation to look after it
better in the future. However, its propitiatory object was
accomplished, and he could not do otherwise than pardon the defaulting
Dirk, on the spot.
The fact was, she had witnessed the stranger's doubtful proceedings, and
having her suspicions had determined to watch him. When she saw him
deliberately steal her master's cherished "charm," she thought it was
time to interfere. She had accordingly crept up to the open window and
reft the paper out of Sellon's hand--as we have seen.
So poor old Greenway's ghost may rest absolved in the matter, likewise
the Enemy of mankind and the preternaturally accomplished baboon. And,
although she did not state as much, the fact was that the Koranna woman
had intended to return the document upon Renshaw's recovery, but had
refrained, on seeing him about to take his departure in company with the
strange Baas, whom she distrusted, and not without good reason.