"Well, good-bye, Moseley. Pity you're in such a hurry; you might just
as well have stayed the night. However, since you're determined, you'd
better not ride too slow. It'll take you three mortal hours to fetch
Jekyll's place."
Thus Hollingworth, soon after the midday dinner. The horses stood ready
saddled, the pack-donkeys having been sent on in the forenoon.
"I'll see you in Bulawayo week after next, I suppose. I've got to go in
about that disputed `pegging' case. Beastly nuisance! Besides, I've
got to take Miss Commerell back."
Tarrant pricked up his ears at this. He had not done much to improve
the shining hour with Nidia during that long, cool, lazy morning. He
had confined himself to observing her, now and then putting in a word or
two, but not often. But he had plans.
And now the farewells became general, all talking at once, as people
will on such occasions; for the whole household had turned out to see
them off. Suddenly Hollingworth said:--
"You've forgotten your rifle, Tarrant. Never mind; don't get down"--for
the other was already mounted. "I'll get it for you. Which corner did
you leave it in?"
"Didn't leave it. Mafuta's gone on ahead with it."
"Oh! No chance of him clearing with it, eh?" said Hollingworth.
"No; he's a reliable boy. Had him a long time. He's quite safe."
Thus in that lurid March of '96 did the settlers in Matabeleland rejoice
in their security.
"You put that on rather well, old man," said Tarrant, as the two rode
along.
"What did I put on?"
"Oh, the surprise part of the business. Now I see why you were so
desperately bent on fetching up at Hollingworth's."
"Smart boy, Dibs. See through a brick wall, and all that sort of
thing," replied Moseley, good-humouredly. "This time you've seen
through too far, though. I had no more notion Miss Commerell was there
than you had, or even that she was in the country at all. Nice girl,
isn't she?"
"Ye-es. I was studying her rather closely. She's either the most
consummate actress or the most out of the ordinary sample of her sex
I've encountered for a long, long time, if ever."
"Well, she's the last, then. If there's one thing about Nidia Commerell
that appeals to me it is that she's so perfectly natural, and therefore,
of course, unconventional."
"Oh, she does `appeal' to you, then? I rather thought she did," said
Tarrant, serenely. "But you've no show, old man. It's the other
Johnny--what's his name--"
"--Ames."
"--Yes. He seems to have got the floor just now."
"As to the first--skittles; as to the last--why do you think so?"
"Didn't I tell you I was studying her rather closely? When you first
mentioned--er--Ames, she just, ever so little, overdid it. You may rely
upon it that joker made his hay while the sun shone."
Moseley burst into a great contemptuous laugh. "Oh, bosh, Dibs! You've
got the keenest nose for a mare's nest I ever saw. I tell you that's
Miss Commerell's way. If she likes any one she doesn't in the least
mind saying so. That alone shows there's nothing deeper in it."
"Her way, is it? Oh, well, then, so much the worse for--er--Ames."
The while those they had just left were comparing opinions upon them.
"That friend of Mr Moseley's seems a very quiet man," Mrs Hollingworth
was saying. "Who is he, George?"
"Never saw him before in my life. In the same line of business, I take
it. His `quietness,' though, seemed to me to cover a suspicion of
`side.' Sort of `know everything' manner."
"Yes. Perhaps I am wrong, but there seemed a sort of conscious
superiority about him. What did you think, Nidia?"
"Just what you do. But we may be wrong. The other is all rights
though, so jolly and good-natured always. We came out on the same
ship."
"Moseley. Yes; he's a good chap, but he's got a detestable wife," said
Hollingworth.
"It's astonishing what a number of `good chaps' have," laughed Nidia.
"But where is she?"
"In England now. Moseley drives his trade here, and she has a good time
on the lion's share of the proceeds there. She won't stay in this
country. Yes? What is it?"
This to his son and heir, _aetat_ ten, who was trying to get in a chance
of asking to be allowed to go out and shoot a buck.
"Don't know. You're too much of a kiddie, Jim. Your mother fidgeted
herself--and me--to death last time you went."
"I got the buck, though," was the reply, half defiant, half triumphant.
"So you did, sonny. Well, you can go. Be careful with the gun, and
don't be late. It's a good thing for them to learn to shoot straight in
a country like this," he added, as the boy skipped away without waiting
for the possibility of any recall of this edict: and a moment later they
saw him disappearing in the bush, away beyond the mealie-lands.
"Fancy you and Ames being old pals, Miss Commerell," said Hollingworth.
"Where did you know each other?"
"Down at the Cape. We were in the same hotel at Wynberg. I saw a good
deal of him, and liked him very much. Is he getting on well up here,
Mr Hollingworth?"
"Yes, I think so. He's thought a good deal of in his own line.
Shouldn't wonder if he gets into something better before long. And now,
if you'll excuse me, Miss Commerell, I'll go and take my usual forty
winks, if those `kinders' will let me."
This was a figure of speech on Hollingworth's part. Had his progeny
been ten times more riotous and restive than it was he would have slept
tranquilly through all the racket they could make. There are persons
who can sleep through anything--from a fox-terrier in a backyard to a
big gun practice--and Hollingworth was one of them.
Nidia, left alone, did not feel in the least inclined to follow his
example. A strange restlessness was upon her, a desire for solitude;
and where could she obtain this better than amid the wild bush by which
the homestead was surrounded? Going inside, she threw on a straw hat,
then taking a light _umzimbiti_ walking-stick, she struck into one of
the forest paths.
She felt not the slightest fear or misgiving. The natives at that time
were deferential and submissive, and seldom encountered outside their
own locations. Wild beasts avoided the near proximity of human
habitations, at any rate in the full blaze of the afternoon sun, and if
she came upon a snake she could always run away; for she was not one of
those who imagine that the average serpent can leap--say, fifty feet--
through the air, or spends its time lying in wait for human beings for
the fun of biting them. So she wandered on beneath the feathery acacias
and gnarled wild fig, now stopping to disengage her skirt from the sharp
claws of a projecting spray of "haak-doorn," now bending down to examine
some strange and brilliant-winged beetle. A pair of "go-away" birds,
uttering their cat-like call, darted from tree to tree, keeping ever a
short distance before her. When she drew near the spray on which they
were perched on they would go again, and she could mark their conical
crests as again they plunged forward in arrow-like flight, only to perch
again as before.
A small stony kopje rose above the level of the brake. To this she
ascended, and, finding a shady spot, sat down upon a granite boulder to
rest. Away and around the gaze could range over a great expanse of
country, here smoothly undulating in a green sea of verdure, there
broken-up into stony hillocks. She could not see the homestead--that
was hidden by the gradual depression towards the river-bank, but the
river-bed was discernible by the winding slit its course left in the
expanse of foliage. And away in the golden haze of the blue horizon a
line of hills which she instinctively guessed were those of the
Sikumbutana.
So John Ames was so near and she would see him again; a matter of twenty
miles or so was no distance in up-country estimation! Yet, why should
this consciousness bring with it a feeling of elation? She was not in
the least in love with the man. She could mention his name, or hear it
mentioned, without a tremor in her voice or a stirring of the pulse.
She had not even gone to the pains of inquiring after him, or as to his
whereabouts, since her arrival at Bulawayo; yet now, suddenly an impulse
was upon her to see him again which amounted almost to a longing. She
had missed him greatly after his departure, even as she had said she
would, but only as she would have missed anybody in whose society she
had found pleasure and entertainment; yet now she found herself looking
forward to meeting him again with such a curious mingling of feelings as
she had never known before. She had seen him amid conventional, and, to
him strange, surroundings, now she wanted to see him at home as it were,
and in his own everyday sphere.
How would they meet? She supposed he would ride over directly he
received her note. Would he look surprised and pleased? Would that
grave, firm face relax as he greeted her, the straight glance of the
grey eyes soften ever so little as it met hers? Thus she pondered. Yet
she was not in the least in love with John Ames.
For long she sat, pondering thus. Then, upon the distant stillness,
rolled forth a shot, followed by another. It broke the current of her
thoughts.
"Jimmie is getting some sport," she said to herself, standing up to look
in the direction of the double report. "But he must be finding it very
near home. That shot sounded almost as if it were at the house."
She glanced at the sun. Its distance above the horizon reminded her
that she must be getting back herself. Rising, she descended the
granite kopje, and took her way along the bush-path she had come by.
This was a matter of no difficulty, even if she were now following it
for the first time, for those among whom she had lately moved had taught
her something of the mysteries of "spoor."
How peaceful it looked in the golden light of the afternoon stillness!
The homestead, truly, was of the roughest description, with its thatched
roof and "dagga" walls, yet it, and the pointed conical huts behind it,
were all in keeping. A settler's dwelling in a new land! A halo of
romance overspread it in Nidia's mind as she emerged from the bush-path
into the clearing.
Stay. What was that? Blood! She had just time to switch her skirt
aside. Blood? Yes; a great patch of it--then another and another, and
a long trail in the dust as though something heavy had been dragged
along the ground. Ah, Jimmie had been in luck again and had brought
down another buck. That was the meaning of the double shot she had
heard. The animal had been too heavy for the little chap to carry. He
had been obliged to drag it, hence the trail along the ground. And in
her rejoicing over the small boy's venatorial triumph, Nidia forgot her
natural disgust at sight of the blood-gouts which lay thick and
hideously red along the trail.
How still it all was! Had their mother taken those earthquakes of
children for a walk? she wondered. Even then it was strange to be out
of earshot of their voices, if only in the distance. Well, the youthful
hunter should be in, anyhow.
"Jimmie!" she called. "Jim-mie!"
No answer.
The front door was closed. She noticed that the trail went round as
though to the back of the house, yet in front of the closed door the
blood-patches lay thicker than ever. Jimmy would catch it when his
mother came back, she thought to herself, for bringing his quarry in at
the front door and making that horrid mess. Lifting her skirt to avoid
the latter, and making a little grimace of disgust, she turned the
handle.
There was a window opposite, but the blind was down. To Nidia, coming
in from the full glow of the sunlight, the room was almost dark. Only
for a moment though, and then she saw--
She saw that which might have turned many a stronger brain than hers--
she saw that which made her cover her eyes with her hands, and stagger
back against the doorpost with a low wailing cry of such unutterable
horror as can rarely have proceeded from human throat. Oh Heaven! must
she look again and go mad? was the thought which flashed through her
mind as with hands pressed to her eyes she leaned against the doorpost
as rigid as though turned to stone.
On the couch beneath the window aforesaid lay the form of Hollingworth--
the form, for little else about the wretched man was distinguishable but
his clothing. His skull had been battered in, and his features smashed
to a pulp. There he lay, and on the floor beside him a periodical which
he had been reading before overtaken by the sleep from which he was
destined never to awaken. In one corner lay the corpse of his wife--
and, in a row, four children, all with their skulls smashed, and nailed
to the ground with assegais--the whole having undergone more or less
nameless horrors of mutilation. This is what she saw--this girl--who
had never looked upon a scene of violence or of bloodshed in her life.
This is what she saw, returning in serene security to the peaceful home
that sheltered her. No wonder she stood against the doorpost, her hands
pressed tightly to her eyes, her brain on fire. Was it a dream--an
awful nightmare? The very magnitude of the horror saved her.
Out into the air again. Not another glance dare she venture into that
scene of hideous butchery. Out into the air again. The same golden sun
was shining, the same fair earth, the same feathery foliage peaceful in
the afternoon light. But within? The world began to go round with her.
She staggered as though to sink into a swoon, when--
What was that? A cry? A moan? From the back of the house it seemed to
come, and it was distinctly that of a human being in pain. Thither
Nidia flew. The sound had created a diversion, and had certainly saved
her brain from giving way from shock and fright.
A form was lying on the ground covered with blood and dust. Nidia
recognised it in a moment for that of Hollingworth's eldest boy--the
youthful hunter whose prowess she had been about to congratulate.
"Jimmie!" she cried, bending over him. "Jimmie, my poor child, what has
happened? What have they done to you--to--to everybody?"
Her voice broke down, and she could only sob piteously. She tried to
raise the boy's head, but he screamed.
"Oh, don't--don't! Oh, it hurts!"
To her horror, Nidia saw something of the extent of the terrible
injuries the poor little fellow had received. Besides a huge bump on
the side of the head he was covered with assegai-stabs. Yet he was
still alive. Amid his moans, he looked up suddenly.
"Oh, it's you, Miss Commerell!" he gasped.
"Yes--yes. Oh, my dear little boy, what does it all mean?" she wailed,
her voice thrilling with horrified pity.
A gleam came into the boy's eyes, and for the moment he seemed to forget
his agony.
"I--plugged two of the devils," he said--"two of them. One was Qota,
our boy. He got the charge of buckshot, the other the bullet. Then
they hit me on the head with a kerrie. Oh-h!"
He sank back groaning under a renewed spasm of pain. This, then, was
the double shot Nidia had heard. She saw now the meaning of the bloody
trail which she had imagined was that made by the youthful hunter
dragging home his quarry. The miscreants had dragged away the bodies of
their own dead. Two of them had been sent to their account, red-handed,
and that by this mere child, either in defence of those who were all to
him, or revengeful in his rage and grief. Bit by bit she got at the
truth.
He was returning from an unsuccessful stalk, and had gained the outside
of the bush behind the house, when he heard a low prolonged scream
proceeding from within. In this he recognised the voice of his mother.
Cocking his gun, he ran hurriedly forward, but before he could gain the
front door he was met by several savages armed with axes and
knobkerries. Two of these he immediately shot--shot them dead, too, he
declared--and then, before he could slip in fresh cartridges, they were
upon him. The gun was wrenched from his hand, then something seemed to
fall upon his head, for after that he knew no more.
All this was told spasmodically between lengthened pauses, and the
effort had quite exhausted the poor little fellow. And now some inkling
of the situation seemed to rush through Nidia's reeling brain, though
even then the idea that this wholesale murder was but one instance of
several at that very moment throughout the land, did not occur to her.
She supposed it to be a mere sporadic outbreak of savagery, or lust of
plunder. It was clear, too, that this poor child was ignorant of all
that had actually happened within, and she felt a sort of miserable
consolation in realising that physical agony had so confused his mind
that he showed no curiosity on the subject. Nor would he allow her to
examine the extent of his hurts. If she so much as touched him he
screamed aloud; but she knew, as confidently as though assured by the
whole faculty, that his hours were numbered.
"I feel sleepy. How dark it is!" he murmured at length.
Dark! Why, the surroundings were in a very bath of lustre--of golden
sunlight glow.
"So sleepy. Don't leave me. Promise you won't leave me!"
"Of course I won't leave you, Jimmie darling," sobbed Nidia, bending
down and kissing his forehead; for well she knew what this deepening
coma portended. Soon again he spoke, but in the feeblest of murmurs.
"You must go. They'll come back and find you; then they'll kill you,
the devils. You must go. Hide in the bush, down below the river-bank.
They won't look there. Go--go quick. They'll come back. Hark! I hear
them."
"But I won't go, Jimmie; I won't leave you, whether they kill me or
not," she sobbed, moved to the heart by the unselfishness of this
child-hero, who had first slain with his own hand two of the murderers
of his parents, and now was urging her to leave him to the solitude he
dreaded, lest she should meet with the same fate. But this heroic
injunction was his last utterance. A few minutes, and the head fell
back, the eyes opening wide in a glassy stare. Little Jimmie had joined
his murdered kindred.
The sun sank beneath the rim of the world, and the purple shades of the
brief twilight deepened over this once peaceful homestead, now a
mausoleum for its butchered inmates lying in their blood. And still
Nidia sat there holding the head of the dead boy in her lap.