His mind aglow with the recollection of that farewell, his one thought
how soon he should be able to return, John Ames strode forth upon his
quest, and as he did so it is probable that the whole world could not
have produced another human being filled with such a rapturous
exaltation as this refugee from a fiendish massacre, hiding for his life
in the grim fastnesses of the Matopo Hills.
That last look he had discerned in Nidia's eyes, that last pressure of
her hands, could mean but one thing, and that the one thing to obtain
which he would have laid down his life again and again. She was
beginning to care for him. Other little spontaneous acts of cordiality
during their enforced exile, had more than once stirred within him this
wild hope, yet he had not encouraged himself to entertain it. Such he
had of course deemed to be the outcome of their position. Now, however,
the scales seemed to fall from his eyes, and he could read into them a
very different meaning.
These last few days! Why, they seemed a lifetime. And when they should
be over--what then? Was not his resolution a quixotic one; now, indeed,
an impossible one? He almost made up his mind to abandon it, and on his
return to ascertain once and for all how matters stood. As against
that, what if he were mistaken, or partially so? There was such a thing
as being too precipitate. Would it not be better to wait until he had
brought Nidia safely and triumphantly through the multifold perils which
still overhung their way?
How casual had been their meeting in the first instance, how marvellous
and providential in the second. If anything seemed to point a
significant augury, this did. But what of the more practical side?
What would Nidia's own people have to say in the matter? From things
let drop he had gleaned incidentally that they were people of very
considerable wealth, whereas he himself had little beyond the by no
means princely salary wherewith the Chartered Company saw fit to
remunerate his valuable services. Well, he would not think of that just
then. Time enough to do so when they were safely back in prosaic
civilisation once more. Let him revel in his happiness while it was
his.
And it was happiness. Here he was--enjoying advantages such as rarely
fall to the lot of the ardent lover. The daily intercourse, for all
present purposes, each representing all the world to the other, beyond
the reach of officious or intrusive outsider; she dependent upon him for
everything--protection, companionship, even the very means of
subsistence--what a labour of love was all this.
A slight rattle, as of stones, above his head, brought his mind back to
the object of his quest; and lo! there stood the aforesaid means of
subsistence personified, in the shape of a klip-springer, which from its
boulder pedestal was regarding him with round-eyed amazement and
distrust. Dare he use his rifle? There was no other way of securing
the little buck. It was out of throwing-range, and in any case would be
nimble enough to dodge a kerrie. He thought he would risk it. Game was
alarmingly scarce.
But the question was decided for him. The animal suddenly sprang from
the boulder, and in a couple of bounds had disappeared among the rocks.
What--who--had scared it? The answer came--and a startling one it was.
A score of Matabele warriors rose from among the long grass, and,
uttering their fierce vibrating war-shout, flung themselves upon him.
So intent had he been upon his thoughts, and on watching the
klip-springer, that, crawling like snakes in the grass, they had been
able to surround him unperceived. So sudden was the onslaught, that not
a moment was given him for defence. His rifle was knocked from his
grasp by a blow with a kerrie which he thought had shattered his wrist.
Assegais flashed in front of his eyes, battle-axes were flourished in
his face, his ears were deafened with the hubbub of voices. Then arose
a great shout.
"_Au_! U'Jonemi!"
They had recognised him. Did that account for the fact that he was
still alive? He had expected instant death, and even in that brief
flash of time had crossed his mind a vision of Nidia left alone, of her
agony of fear, of her utter helplessness. Oh, fool that he was, to have
been lulled into this false security!
As though satisfied with having disarmed him, they had so far refrained
from offering him further violence. No, he dared not hope. Others came
swarming up, crowding around to look at him, many of them recognising
him with jeers.
"_Au_! Jonemi! Thou art a long way from home!" they would cry. "Where
are thy people--the other Amakiwa--and thy horses?"
"No people have I, nor horses, _amadoda_. I am alone. Have I not
always wished well and acted well towards you? Return me, therefore, my
rifle, and let me go my way in peace."
It was putting a bold face on things; but, in his miserable extremity,
as he thought of Nidia it seemed to John Ames that he was capable of any
expedient, however insane. The proposal was greeted with shouts of
derisive laughter by some. Others scowled.
"Wished well and acted well towards us?" echoed one of these. "_Au_!
And our cattle--whose hand was it that destroyed them daily?"
This was applying the match with a vengeance.
"Yea--whose?" they shouted. "That of Jonemi."
Their mood was rapidly growing more ugly, their demeanour threatening.
Those who had been inclined to good humour before, now looked black.
Several, darting out from the rest, began to go through the performance
of "gwaza," throwing themselves into every conceivable contortion of
attack or defence, then, rushing at their prisoner, would make a
lightning-like stab at him, just arresting the assegai blade within a
foot of his body, or the same sort of performance would be gone through
with a battle-axe. It was horribly trying to the nerves, dangerous,
too, and John Ames was very sick of it.
"Keep the gun, then, if you will," he said. "But now I must go on my
way again. _Hlalani-gahle 'madoda_." And he made as if he would
depart. But they barred his way.
"Now, nay, Jonemi. Now, nay," they cried, "Madula, our father, would
fain see _his_ father again, and he is at hand. Come now with us,
Jonemi, for it will be good for him to look upon thy face again."
The words were spoken jeeringly, and he knew it. But he pretended not
to. Boldness alone would serve his course. Yet his heart was like
water within him at the thought of Nidia, how she would be waiting his
coming, hour after hour--but no--he must not think of it, if he wanted
to keep his mind. Madula, too, owed him a bitter grudge as the actual
instrument for carrying out the cattle destroying edict, and was sure to
order him to be put to death. Such an opportunity of revenge was not
likely to be foregone by a savage, who, moreover, was already
responsible for more than one wholesale and treacherous murder.
"Yes," he answered, "Madula was my friend. I would fain see him again--
also Samvu."
"_Hau_! Samvu? There is no Samvu," said one, with a constrained air.
"The whites have shot him."
"In battle?" said John Ames, quickly.
"Not so. They found him and another man sitting still at home. They
declared that he had helped kill `Ingerfiel,' and they shot them both."
"I am sorry," John Ames said. "Samvu was also my friend. I will never
believe he did this."
A hum, which might have been expressive of anything, rose from the
listeners. But this news had filled John Ames with the gravest
forebodings. If the chief's brother had been slain in battle, it would
have been bad enough; but the fact that he had been shot down in cold
blood out of sheer revenge by a band of whites, with or without the
figment of a trial, would probably exasperate Madula and his clan to a
most perilous extent, and seemed to aggravate the situation as regarded
himself, well-nigh to the point of hopelessness.
They had been travelling all this while, and John Ames noticed they were
taking very much the direction by which he had come. If only it would
grow dark he might manage to give them the slip. But it was some way
before sundown yet.
Turning into a lateral valley, numerous smokes were rising up above the
rocks and trees. Fires? Yes, and men came crowding around the
newcomers. Why, the place was swarming with rebels; and again bitterly
did John Ames curse his fancied and foolish security.
He glanced at the eager, chattering faces which crowded up to stare at
him, and recognised several. Might not there be among these some who
would befriend him, even as Pukele had done before? He looked for
Pukele, but looked in vain.
He strode up to Madula's camp to all outward appearance as unconcernedly
as when he used to visit the chief's kraal before the outbreak. His
line was to seem to ignore the fact of there being an outbreak, or at
any rate that these here present had anything to do with it.
He found Madula seated against a rock smoking a pipe, and tricked out in
war-gear. With him sat Zazwe, and another induna named Mayisela. And
then, as if his position were not already critical enough, a new idea
came to John Ames. These men had been seen by him under arms, in overt
rebellion. Was it likely they would suffer him to depart, in order
hereafter to bear testimony against them? Indeed, their method of
returning his greeting augured the worst Madula was gruff even to
rudeness, Mayisela sneeringly polite, while Zazwe condescended not to
reply at all. Of this behaviour, however, he took no notice, and
sitting down opposite them, began to talk. Why were they all under arms
in this way? He was glad to have found Madula. He had wanted to find
Madula to induce him to return to his former location. The police
officer and his wife had been murdered, but that had been done by
policemen. It was impossible that Madula could have countenanced that.
Why then had he fled? Why not return?
A scornful murmur from the three chiefs greeted these remarks. Madula
with great deliberation knocked his pipe empty on a stone, and stretched
out his hand for tobacco, which John Ames promptly gave him. Then he
replied that they had not "fled." He knew nothing of Inglefield, and
did not care. If his _Amapolise_ were tired of him they were quite
right to get rid of him. They had not fled. The time had come for them
to take their own land again. There were no whites left by this time,
except a few who were shut up in Bulawayo, and even for these a road was
left open out of the country. If they failed to take it they would soon
be starved out.
This was news. Bulawayo, at any rate, had not been surprised. It was
probably strongly laagered. But they would give no detail. All the
whites in the country had been killed, save only these few, they
declared. Yet he did not believe this statement in its entirety.
John Ames, as he sat there, talking, to all outward appearance as though
no rebellion had taken place, knew that his life hung upon a hair.
There was a shifty sullenness about the manner of the indunas that was
not lost upon him. And groups of their followers would continually
saunter up to observe him, some swaggering and talking loud, though in
deference to the chiefs, not coming very near, others quiet, but all
scowling and hostile. Nothing escaped him. He read the general
demeanour of the savages like an open book. Short of a miracle he was
destined not to leave this place alive.
The day was wearing on, and now the sun was already behind the crags
which rose above the camp. It would soon be dusk. Every faculty on the
alert, always bearing in view the precious life which depended upon his,
he was calculating to a minute how soon he could carry into effect the
last and desperate plan, the while he was conversing in the most even of
tones, striving to impress upon his hearers the futility, in the long
run, of thinking to drive the white man out. They had done nothing
overt as yet. Let them return, and all would be well.
What of their cattle which had all been killed? they asked. It was
evident Makiwa was anxious to destroy the people, since cattle were the
life of the people. So John Ames was obliged to go all over the same
ground again; but, after all, it was a safe topic. He knew, as well as
they did, that the murder of the Hollingworths, of the Inglefields, and
every other massacre which had surprised and startled the scattered
white population, was instigated and approved by these very men, but
this was not the time to say so. Wherefore he temporised.
The first shadow of dusk was deepening over the halting-place. Already
fires were beginning to gleam out redly.
"Fare ye well, _Izinduma_" he said, rising. "I must now go on my way.
May it be soon that we meet again as we met before. Fare ye well!"
They grunted out a gruff acknowledgment, and he walked away. Now was
the critical moment. The warriors, standing in groups, or squatted
around the fires, eyed him as he passed through. Some gave him
greeting, others uttered a jeering half laugh, but a sudden stillness
had fallen upon the hitherto buzzing and restless crowd. It was a
moment to remain in a man's mind for life--the dark forms and savage,
hostile faces, the great tufted shields and shining assegai blades, and
gun-barrels, and this one man pacing through their midst, unarmed now,
and absolutely at the mercy of any one of them.
He had passed the last of them, uttering a pleasant farewell greeting.
In a moment more the friendly gloom would shut him from their view. His
heart swelled with an intense and earnest thankfulness, when--What was
that long stealthy movement, away on his right? One glance was
sufficient. A line of armed savages was stealing up to cut him off.
On that side the boulders rose, broken and tumbled, with many a network
of gnarled bough or knotty root. On the other, brushwood, then a wide
_dwala_, or flat, bare, rock surface sloping away well-nigh
precipitously to another gorge below. One more glance and his plans
were laid. He started to run.
With a wild yell the warriors dashed in pursuit, bounding, leaping, like
demon figures in the dusk. Down the slope fled the fugitive, crashing
through long grass and thorns. Now the _dwala_ is gained, and he races
across it. The pursuers pause to fire a volley at the fleeing figure in
the open, but without effect, then on again; but they have lost ground.
They soon regain it, however. In this terrible race for life--for two
lives--John Ames becomes conscious that he is no match for these human
bloodhounds. Thorns stretch forth hooked claws, and lacerate and delay
him, but _they_ spring through unscathed, unchecked. They are almost
upon him. The hissed forth "I--jji! I--jji!" is vibrating almost in
his ears, and assegais hurtle by in the gathering gloom. His heart is
bursting, and a starry mist is before his eyes. The cover ends. Here
all is open again. They are upon him--in the open. Yet stay--what is
this? Blank! Void! Space! In the flash of a moment he takes in the
full horror of the plunge before him, for he cannot stop if he would,
then a sickening whirr through empty air, and a starry crash. Blank--
void--unconsciousness!
And a score of Matabele warriors, left upon the brink of the height, are
firing off excited comments and ejaculations, while striving to peer
into the dark and silent depths beneath.
"_Au_! He has again escaped us," ejaculated Nanzicele. "He is
_tagati_."