"ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN."
Nidia stared at the savage, her eyes dilated with the wildest dismay.
The savage, for his part, stared at her, with a countenance which
expressed but little less astonishment than her own. Bringing his hand
to his mouth, he ejaculated--
"_Whau! Umfanekiso_!" [The picture.]
Her glance fell upon the naked sword-bayonet which lay on the ground
between them. She made a movement to seize it, with a desperate idea of
defending herself. The savage, however, was too quick for her. He
promptly set his foot on the weapon, saying in English--
"No take it."
By now Nidia's first fear had begun to calm down. She had been in the
power of some of these people before, and they had not harmed her;
wherefore she tried to put on a bold front towards this one.
"Who are you?" she said, speaking slowly to facilitate the man
understanding her. "You frightened me at first; not now."
"_Ikonde_, [baboon] he flighten much more," was the answer made with a
half laugh. Then Nidia noticed that this Matabele had by no means an
unpleasant face; indeed, she could hardly believe that he belonged to
the same race as the fiends who had slaughtered the Hollingworths.
"No be flighten," he went on. "I see you before--one, two, tlee--much
many time."
"Seen me before?" echoed Nidia in astonishment. "Where?"
"Kwa Jonemi."
"Jonemi?" she repeated, with a start. "You know him?"
The warrior laughed.
"Oh, yes, missis. I know him. I Pukele. Jonemi his boy."
"Ah; now I see. You were his servant? You are the man who saved his
life, when the others were all murdered?" For Nidia had, of course,
heard the whole story of the tragedy in Inglefield's quarters.
"I dat man, missie," said the other, with a grin that showed a
magnificent set of teeth. "Umlimo he say kill all Amakiwa--white
people. Pukele say, No kill Jonemi. _Amapolise_ dey kill Ingerfiel,
and missis, and strange white man. I not help. I go wit _amapolise_.
I save Jonemi. See," lifting his foot off the sword-bayonet, "_I_ give
him dis."
"And for that you will never be sorry, I promise you," said Nidia.
"Listen, Pukele. For that, and that alone, you shall have what will buy
twenty cows. _I_ will give it you when we are safe again. Only--you
must never tell Jonemi."
The man broke into extravagant expressions of delight, in his own
tongue, once he had begun to grasp the burden of this promise, declaring
that Jonemi had always been his "father," and he was not going to let
his "father" be killed, even at the bidding of ten Umlimos--looking
round rather furtively however, as he gave utterance to this
sacrilegious sentiment.
"You said you had seen me at Jonemi's," went on Nidia; "but I have never
been there. It must have been somewhere else."
"No somewhere else. I see missie on bit of paper, hang on de wall.
Jonemi he have it in hut where he sleep. He often stand, look at it for
long time."
A soft flush came into Nidia's face, accompanied by a pleased smile.
"And you knew me from that?" she said. Then all her anxiety coming back
upon her--for she had momentarily lost sight of it in the feeling of
safety engendered by this man's appearance and identity--she exclaimed--
"But where is Jonemi? He went out yesterday--not much after midday--and
should have been back by sundown. You must find him, Pukele."
The man uttered some words to himself in his own tongue, which from the
tone were expressive of like anxiety. Then, to her--
"Which way he go?"
She pointed out, as best she could, the way John Ames had proposed to
take. Pukele shook his head.
"No good dat way. Much Matabele dere. 'Spose he fire gun, den Matabele
hear him for sure."
Nidia's face blanched, and she clasped her hands together wildly.
"You don't think they have--killed him?" she said slowly.
In his heart of hearts Pukele thought that nothing was more likely; but
he was not going to say so.
"I tink not," he answered, "Jonemi _nkos'nkulu_. Great master. He
aflaid o' nuffin. Matabele much like him."
"Listen, Pukele," said Nidia, impressively. "You must go and find him."
"But what you do, missis? You be flighten, all alone. Suppose
_Uconde_--bobyaan--he come again, you much flighten? I be away till
sun, him so," pointing to the western horizon.
"I'll be frightened of nothing," she answered emphatically. "Leave me
one of your long assegais, and go. Even if you have to be away all
night, don't come back. I'll get through it somehow. But--find
Jonemi."
With many injunctions to her not to wander far from this spot, where to
hide in the event of any Matabele chancing to pass that way, and
promising to be back by sundown, Pukele took his departure. Once more
Nidia was alone. This time, however, loneliness in itself no longer
oppressed her. Intense anxiety on behalf of another precluded all
thought of self.
True to his promise Pukele returned at sundown, and he had learned
something. Jonemi had fallen in with the Matabele, even as he had
expected. He had talked with the indunas, and having bidden farewell
had walked away. That was about the same time last evening. But Pukele
said nothing of the subsequent and stealthy pursuit, and the plunge from
the height, for the simple reason that these were among the things he
had not learned. The agents concerned in that last tragedy had their
own motives for not advertising it abroad.
"Who were the indunas he was talking with?" asked Nidia, suddenly.
"Dey izinduna from Sikumbutana," replied the warrior, as she thought,
evasively; and in truth this was so, for although he would do anything
to assist his former master, or one in whom his former master took an
interest, Pukele's native instincts were against revealing too much.
There was always in the background a possibility of the whites regaining
the upper hand, in which case it was just as well that the prime movers
in the rising should not be known to too many by name.
"But if they were his own people they would not harm him?"
"Not harm him, missie. He walk away."
"Then why is he not here, long before now?" Then, excitedly, "Pukele,
you don't think--they--followed him up in the dark--and--and killed
him?"
This again Pukele thought was far from unlikely. But he dissembled. It
was more probable, he declared, that Jonemi had taken a longer way to
come back in order to throw off his track any who might be following.
Or he might have discovered another impi and be forced to travel in the
opposite direction to avoid it. He might be back any time.
This for her benefit. But in his heart of hearts the Matabele warrior
thought that the chances of his former master being still in the land of
the living were so small as to be not worth reckoning with. So he made
up the fire, and cooked birds for Nidia and prepared to watch over her
safety.
That night weird sounds came floating up to their resting-place, a
rhythmical distant roaring, now subsiding into silence, then bursting
forth again, till it gathered volume like the rolling of thunder. Fires
twinkled forth, too, like eyes in the darkness, among the far windings
of the hills.
"What is that, Pukele?" cried Nidia, starting up.
"Matabele make dance, missie. Big dance. Umlimo dance Matabele call
him," replied the savage, who was listening intently.
"Umlimo dance. Ah! I remember. Is there an Umlimo cave down there,
where they are?" For she was thinking of the place John Ames had
pointed out to her the day before, and his remark that if it wasn't a
real Umlimo cave, it ought to be. And these strange wild sounds seemed
to proceed from about that very spot.
"_An_! Umlimo cave, what dat, missie?" inquired Pukele.
"A cave--a hole--where Umlimo speaks from," she tried to explain. But
the other became suddenly and unaccountably dense.
"Gave? Hole? Oh yes, missie. Plenty hole here. Plenty hole in
Matopo. Oh yes. Big mountain, plenty hole."
The great volume of savage sound came rolling up almost unintermittently
till midnight. Then there was silence once more.
The next day, John Ames did not appear, nor the next. Then, in utter
despair, Nidia agreed to Pukele's repeated proposal to guide her out of
the hills, and if possible to bring her into Bulawayo itself.
And right well and faithfully did this barbarian fulfil his undertaking.
The rebels were coming into the hills now, and every step of the way
was fraught with danger. He made her lie hidden during the day, always
choosing some apparently inaccessible and least suspicious looking
retreat, while he himself would wander forth in search of the means of
subsistence. At night they would do their travelling, and here the eyes
of the savage were as the eyes of a cat, and actually the eyes of both
of them. And throughout, he watched over her safety with the fidelity
of a dog.
One great argument which had availed to induce Nidia to yield to her
guide's representations, was that once she was safe in Bulawayo, he
would be left free to pursue his search for the missing man. As to
which, let him but succeed, she assured him, and he would be a rich
man--as his people counted riches--for life.
Thus journeying they had reached the outskirts of the hills, and could
now and then obtain glimpses of the open country. Twice had Pukele
fallen in with his countrymen, from whom he had gleaned that it was so
far open around Bulawayo, but would not be long, for the Umlimo had
pronounced in favour of shutting it in, and the impis were massing with
that object.
Pukele was returning from a solitary hunt, bringing with him the carcase
of a klip-springer. He was under no restriction as to who heard the
report of his rifle, and being a fair shot, and as stealthy and active
as the game itself, he seldom returned from such empty handed.
Moreover, he knew where to find grain when it was wanted, wherefore his
charge suffered no disadvantage by reason of short commons. He was
returning along the base of a large granite kopje. The ground was open
immediately in front, but on his left was a straggling line of trees and
undergrowth. Singing softly to himself he was striding along when--
Just the faintest suspicion of a tinkling sound. His quick ears caught
it. At any other time he would have swerved and with the rapidity of a
snake would have glided and disappeared among the granite boulders.
Now, however, he stood his ground.
Three mounted men--white men--dashed from the cover, with revolvers
drawn. Pukele dropped his weapons and held forth his arms.
"Fire not, Amakiwa!" he said, in his own tongue. "I was seeking for
such as ye."
But the mounted volunteers, for such they were, understood next to
nothing of that tongue. They only saw before them, a native, a savage,
a rebel, fully armed, with rifle and assegais, and in war-gear.
Pukele being a native, and having such an important communication to
make as that a refugee white woman was under his charge whom he desired
to place under theirs, it was not in him to make it in three words, nor
would these have understood him if he had. He, however, stood waiting
for their answer. A fourth trooper dashed from the bush.
"What are you waiting for, you blanked idiots?" he yelled. "Here's a
bloody nigger, ain't there? Well, then--Remember Hollingworth's!"
With the words he discharged his revolver almost point-blank into
Pukele's chest. Another echoing the vengeful shout, "Remember
Hollingworth's!" fired his into the body of the faithful protector of
the only survivor of Hollingworth's, which slowly sank to the earth,
then toppled forward on its face.
The troopers looked upon the slain man with hate and execration. They,
be it remembered, had looked upon the bodies of their own countrymen and
women and children, lying stark under all the circumstances of a hideous
and bloody death. Then the first man who had fired, dismounted and
seized the dead warrior's weapons, administering a savage kick to the
now motionless corpse. So Pukele met with his reward.
"Get into cover again. There may be more of 'em!" he enjoined. And
scarcely had they done so than the rest of the troop--for which these
had been acting as flying scouts--having heard the firing, came hurrying
up.
The affair was reported. Those in command jocosely remarking that it
seemed a devil of a waste of ammunition to fire two shots into one
nigger, who was neither fighting nor running away. Orders were given to
keep a sharp look-out ahead, in case the slain man should be one of the
scouts of an impi, and the troop moved on. It was, in fact, a relief
troop which had been formed to search for and rescue such whites in the
disturbed districts who had not already been massacred, and of such it
had found and rescued some. Now it was returning.
Soon it was reported that the scouts had descried something or somebody,
moving among the granite boulders of an adjacent kopje. Field-glasses
were got out.
"By George, it's a woman. A white woman!" cried the officer in command,
nearly dropping his glass from his hand. "She looks the worse for wear
too, poor thing. Another of these awful experiences, I'll bet a dollar.
She's seen us. She's coming down off the kopje. But we don't want to
scare her with all our ugly faces, though. Looks like a lady too, in
spite of her tatters, poor thing," he went on, with his glass still at
his eyes. "Moseley, Tarrant--you might step forward and meet her, eh?
We don't need all to mob her in a body."
"We've met her before, I think, colonel," said the latter, who had also
been looking through his field-glasses. "And that was at
Hollingworth's."
"No!"
"Fact. When we got there she had disappeared, leaving no trace. Great
Heaven, where can she have been all this while? Come along, Moseley."
Great sensation spread through the troop, as it got abroad that this was
the girl whose unknown fate had moved them all so profoundly. Several
were there, too, who had been present at the discovery of the murdered
family, and whose cherished thoughts of vengeance had been deepened
tenfold by the thought of this helpless English girl in the power of the
very fiends who had perpetrated that atrocity.
Under the circumstances, it was little to be wondered at if the voices
of Moseley and Tarrant were a little unsteady as they welcomed the
fugitive, and if indeed--as those worthies afterwards admitted to each
other--they felt like qualified idiots, when they remembered the bright,
sweet, sunny-faced girl, with the stamp of daintiness and refinement
from the sole of her little shoe to the uppermost wave of her
golden-brown hair. And now they saw a sad-faced woman, wistful-eyed,
sun-tanned, in attire bordering on tattered dishevelment. Truly a lump
gathered in their throats, as they stood uncovered before her and
thought of all she must have gone through.
"Welcome, Miss Commerell. A hearty, happy welcome," was all that
Moseley could jerk out, as he put out his hand. "Thanks. Oh yes. We
have met before," with a tired smile, in answer to Tarrant's rather
incoherent greeting. "But--where are the rest of you? Ah--I see--over
there."
Soon the officer in command was welcoming her, and the troopers
gradually edged in nearer, for curiosity was great and discipline by no
means rigid.
"And I am among friends at last, and safe?" looking from one to the
other, in a half vacant way, "But where is Pukele?"
"Who is `Pukele,' Miss Commerell?" said Moseley.
"A Matabele. He has guided and taken care of me for the last week.
Where is he? Isn't he here? Didn't he bring you to me? He went out to
find game. I thought I heard him fire two shots, just lately, and came
out to see. Then I saw you all. Where can he be?"
Where indeed? A strange, startled look was now on the faces of several
of her listeners, including those in command. "Went out to find game."
And the native just shot was in possession of a klip-springer.