 Chapter 3 Part 1 of the Art Span by J. Percy Fitzpatrick. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Sally McConnell. INDUNA NEAN Moody's was concession-ground and belonged to a company, but, as findings is keeping's is the first law of the Prospector, there were quite a number of people, otherwise honest and well-principled, who thought it would be the right thing to rush it and peg it and parcel it out amongst themselves upon such terms and conditions as a committee of their own number might decide. So of course they rushed it. They were good men and true, and they were strong in their righteous indignation, but in nothing else, and when it came to trying conclusions with the government, they, being penniless, short-rassioned, and few in numbers, went under, and were carried off under arrest Pretoria, the committee-designate going in bulk with their proposers and seconders thrown in. It was then that the real inwardness of an embarrassing position was revealed. The case of the State versus H. Bankerpitt and twenty-nine others could not come on for many weeks, and the government, being mistrusted by the Pretoria tradesmen who would no longer accept good-falls of even a few shillings' value, attempted to masquerade certain necessity as simple grace, and offered to release the prisoners on bail. The offer was rejected with derision. Next day government went one better and offered to release them on parole without bail. But even this did not tempt them, and eventually a delegate was deputed to interview the prisoners so as to ascertain their wishes. The unanimous reply was, You brought us here, you can keep us here, we are quite contented. It was then realized that the matter was serious, and a meeting of the Executive Council was called, and the gravity of the situation explained by the President of the State. The result of the deliberations was the presentation by the government of an ultimatum, which was, in effect, choose between a compromise and a freeze-out. They accepted the compromise. It was that the government should find them in lodging, and they should find their board. It was not a very grand compromise, but it was better than a freeze-out, and during the ensuing months in which the State versus H. Bankerpitt and twenty-nine others sustained many adjoinments and much publicity in the Pretoria press, only once was the modus Vivendi thus established in any way threatened. The younger members of the party had begun to keep irregular hours. One or two remonstrances failing to effect an improvement, the worthy jailer resolved upon the extremist measure. He posted the following notice on the door. Anyone failing to return by nine p.m. will be locked out. There was no further trouble. Some months had passed since the trial. The State had vindicated its authority. The inherent right of man was thrown out of court, and H. Bankerpitt and twenty-nine others had paid the penalty for their mistaken zeal. The man in the street had ceased to prophesy that the case would lead to war with the suzerain power. The weekly newspaper assumed its normal appearance, and the constant reader was no longer haunted by a headline more constant than himself. The case was controlled by its rightful owners, but its name was as wormwood in the prospector's mouth, and the quantum promised land became a spot accursed and despised. Across the valley of the carp, over the rock-crested mountains of Macontra, out into the shattered hills and ranges of Swaziland, and over the hot bush-ridden flats, the prospectors took their ways to find something somewhere which would be their own. They went singly and in pairs, and they humped Swag and Tucker when they had no donkeys to pack. It was a rule with few exceptions that they only went in parties and without Swag when there was a rush on. This was one of the exceptions. Seven men in irregular Indian file and at irregular distances apart were toiling up the green slopes of the Macontra. They were following a path, and one after another would stop and turn panting, to pay tribute to the steepness of the hill and the beauty of the view below. Far below them, and farther still ahead, the smooth-worn path meandered over the hill's face like a red-brown thread woven in the green. The sun was fiercely strong, but the breath of the mountain was cool and they drank it in gratefully at each rest. They were all marked with the art of luck brand. It was stamped on their faces. They were all tired, and most of them looked hungry as well. When the leader reached the top he looked expectantly around on all sides, then stepping bristly towards an outcrop nearby, from which a better view was obtainable, he looked again long and carefully. Then he came back to the path where the others had already assembled, and cursed the country, and all in it from the bottom of his bitter soul. There is no house, and there is no crawl, and there is no goddamn nothing. It's eight hours since we started on the two-mile cramp, and I knew from the start we were fooled. If Chalky Wilson had known anything he would have come himself and not told you. He scalded a younger member of the party who was standing by chewing a stem of grass, and looking down across the crocodile and Lumbanyati valleys. What did the Swaziboy say? Asked another, turning riddly on the youngster as the convenience scapegoat. The younger one answered good-temperly. He said that the white indooner was on the Maconchua near the first water that came out of the white rock. Maconchua snalled the leader. Why, it's twenty miles long. The whole darned range is Maconchua. Any idiot might be expected to know that. Yes, that's why I didn't offer to explain," said the younger one. The thrust passed unnoticed, and while a general in Darba was going on, the last speaker moved to the same spot from which the leader had viewed the country. He knew the kaffa and his language and his habits, and he could read the face of the country as well as the niggers themselves. So they heeded him when he spoke, although he was the youngest member of the party, and when a few minutes later he cut into the conversation with the remark that there was a cattle-crawl near by, and they had better go on there and ask the way, there was a general chorus of, where, and an incredulous, darned if I can see it, from the leader. The youngster replied again, nor can I, but it's there all the same. How do you know? Look," he said, pointing to a slip about a mile distant. Well, look at what! Don't you see that red patch on the rise there? What! Those water-worn dongas! Not dongas, cattle-tracks! They are from the drinking-place. That must be the white rock up there, and I expect the house must be behind the clump of trees. They walked on until the trees were reached, and they could see the small rough stone house through a thinner portion of the bush, and there they waited a while to take counsel. It was finally decided that they should all go up together, but they looked to the one who seemed to be their leader to act as spokesmen. If he's a white man at all, remarked he in front, he won't refuse us grub anyhow, but that's just it. They say he's no more white than old bandin, that he hates the sight of white men and keeps as far from them as he can. He's been so long among the darned niggers that he's just one of them himself. They passed along the path to the house, and six of the party waited below while the leader mounted the steps of the mud stoop. A tall man with a long brown beard stepped out of an open doorway and met him. The whole party offered good evening, with more or less impressment, and certainly with a greater show of politeness than was customary with them, but the man only slid his hands easily into the pockets of a light duck coat, and looked with critical and not too friendly glance at the leader, ignoring the others. Where are prospecting about here, began the leader, and we thought we'd just come along and look you up. As there was no reply to this, not even a change in the look, nor a twitch of a muscle to be construed into acknowledgment of the remark, the speaker resumed quickly and with less composure. The niggers told us you hung out about here, and being the only white man in these parts, we kind of came along to see what was doing, and if there was any chance of riefing and about the licences and water and that. The owner of the house continued to look steadily and in silence at the speaker. The latter, when the invitation of a second pause passed unaccepted, flushed up, and, abandoning the previous method, asked curtly, Can you sell us any food? Fowls all crushed meelies or anything, where half dead a trampin over your darned hills, and I want food for self and mates. We're far down enough, but we reckon to pay for what we get. We're not loafing." The man did not appear to notice this hostile tone any more than he had the former conciliatory one. But after another deadly pause he asked in a quiet, clear voice, Your name? Banker Pit, said the other. The faintest trace of a smile lit up the man's face as he remarked quietly, Ah, H. Banker Pit, glancing for the first time at the rest of the party, and twenty-nine others. He turned and walked slowly into the house, closing the door after him. Banker Pit had scarcely strength to say, Well, I'm darned. The party turned away, tired and hungry, and marched in silence to the clump of trees near the sprit below the house. There was no other water near, so they made camp for the night there. It was dark. Occasionally the brighter gleams of the fire lighted up the circle of sullen faces. There was nothing to eat or drink, so they had settled down to a monotonous chorus of curses on the renegade who had turned his back on his own colour. One by one each added his quota of bitter, unmeasured abuse, until their vocabularies, comprehensive as they were, began to give out, and only now and then a mere exclamation of disgust or a well-brooded curse would break the heavy silence. There being nothing to cook, there was nothing to do at that time of evening but to brood on their wrongs. They did this thoroughly, until a faint rustle in the wood made them look round, and then a child's voice close behind the group gave the kaffa salutation. My cause! Someone raised a brand from the fire, and by its light they saw two amphans bearing on their heads a large earthen bowl each. One bowl contained fresh milk, the other a stew of fowls and stamped meelies. The boys had the look of bright intelligence characteristic of the Zulu race, but when Banker Pitt asked sharply, Who sent this? They exchanged one glance, and a cloud of the densest stupidity settled on their faces. Banker Pitt repeated his question, dragging one urchin closer to the fire. The reply, given in a thin, childish treble, was, It is food, white man, it is here. For me, he said fiercely giving the child's arm a shake, Does it come from that white dog up there? Even in the urchins of the race there is the instinct of evasion which enables them to baffle the closest inquiries. It is food for the white man, it is here, was all that Banker Pitt's bullying could elicit. If we take it it's because we must, but by God we'll pay him for it, same as we would any other blasted nigger, exclaimed Banker Pitt savagely, and he drew from his leavened belt-parch the three shillings it contained and thrust them into the Amphan's hand. The coins were dropped like hot coals, and the child said, I want no money, white man, I bring a gift. But the men were hungry and took the food, and presently the two Amphans drew nearer to the fire, and, squatting on their haunches, awaited with ox-like patience the emptying of their bowls. When at last the boys stood up to go, the youngest of the party who had been a silent and amused witness of his leader's attempt to get information out of them, said something in a low turn to which one boy replied, In cause icasse, a soft significant whistle was the only comment. What was that, Getty? said Banker Pitt quickly. I asked who sent them with the food. Well, who did? He says the Mrs. Shrine of the Mighty. That was the first experience of Induna Naan. The second came this wise, about a year later. There had been a row in Delagoa about some cattle which had been stolen. The rightful owners took their own way about getting them back, for they had more confidence in themselves than in the Portuguese. But unfortunately, just at the last moment, an accident happened which made trouble for them. That was why they had been across the border away in Swazi country for so many months, and that was why they were coming back over the mountains in a quiet way, for they were not sure of the reception which might await them. One of them was Getty, the youngster of the former party. Getty had not forgotten his experience of Naan's hospitable roof, and had given his companion with considerable force and numerous illustrations a fair picture of the well-remembered night. It is not surprising that they decided to give the Dorned White Niggers house the go-by. Naan's house stood on the track. In fact, the only feasible road up the burg was a bridal path cut by Naan up to his house. Thence the ordinary native paths led in all directions, and, by reason, one or more led to the carp. In order to pass the house in mid-trick, they made their morning off-saddle below the burg, intending by noon to be some miles beyond the peak. Near the burg there are two climates, one for below, and one for on top, and it was quite reasonable and natural to rise, as they did, out of the placid spring morning on the flats, into a first-class thunderstorm with high wind and driving rain as soon as they reached the exposed plateau. The tired horses refused to face the sheets of rain, and snorted and shook with fright at the lightning, stabbing, here and there, and everywhere, and the deafening crashes of thunder. There was nothing for it but to dismount, and, as the poor brutes turned their tails to the storm, to crutch to leeward of them for such shelter as they could give, and pray to heaven the tail would not follow the rain. They were inched, sopping, numbed, and pierced by the cold wind that succeeded the storm, they resumed their ride half an hour later. Their clothes were sitting hard in the wind, their blankets strapped over the pummels carried pounds-weight of water, and the pulpy saddles clung like India rubber. The poor horses toiled on, slipping and sprawling along the greasy, smooth-worn kaffa-path, and when they rounded a little copy that flanked Nan's house, and came suddenly on the well-worn track that led to the house itself, not twenty yards off, they pricked their ears, and with a low whinny of welcome and joy trotted towards the house. Giddy pocketed his pride, and bowing to circumstances that were too much for him, allowed his horse to follow the other's lead. He did not, however, dismount as the other did, but sat in the saddle with an air of neutrality, awaiting the turn of events. Giddy was prepared for many possible developments, and by reason of the feeling description given him of the previous visit his companion was also forearmed against contingencies, and was ready with replies suited to any form of incivility. But when Nan stepped out onto the stoop looking infinitely amused, and remarked frankly, By Gadd, you are two miserable-looking objects! When this happened the two just looked down at themselves and then at each other, and finally burst into laughter more genuine and prolonged than the ostensible cause would seem to warrant. The house must have contained four rooms, but they only saw two. It was a very quiet place. Oddly enough there were no dogs about, and the fowls did not seem to be as self-assertive there as swazzy fowls usually are. There were no noises at all about the place, not even the welcome sounds of life. All seemed to be toned down, weighed down, to about the level of sociability which had marked Nan's manner on the first visit. Giddy, feeling a little mean it is true, was careful not to betray any indications of having been there before, but while while we were getting into dry clothing in Nan's bedroom, he drew his companion's attention to a large calabash that stood on the windowsill half full of milk. It had been cracked, and there was a small V-shaped nick in the rim, below which, and encircling the gourd itself, was a delicate network of plattered brass, copper, and iron wires. That was the one the milk came in that night, said Giddy in the whisper. I remember spilling some on account of that nick, and then I noticed the wire. His companion nodded. It was not an important, nor even a very interesting, discovery. The younger waited a little, and then slightly disgusted that the others' slurns said, well, either he sent the grub to us himself, or, or what, or where's the missus? They took in the room at a glance, but there was no answering evidence there. And when they joined Nan, they found that there were easy chairs in the dining-room. So they sat and smoked, and they watched the rain sit in, as the regular spring-drizzle does, above the burg. The chairs, like the rest of the furniture, were rough-made from bush-wood, but it seemed odd that a hermit should have three. There was a bookcase in the room, and it was full of well-bound and well-worn books, mostly odd volumes, very few series, as Geddy remarked afterwards. There were a good many books of science, and all the poets he could recall, and there were books in Latin, French, Greek, and German. Somehow he did not like to ask the real questions he wanted to put about the books. He did not quite know how far to go. In reply to one question, Nan had said drily that he had bought them with him, and was apparently indisposed to say more. He was not an easy man to draw. During the day there had evidence of the respect in which Nan was held by his dependents. He spoke to them in the lowest possible voice, and in the fewest possible words, and never, except once when something had occurred which annoyed him, never looked at, or even in the direction of, the individual addressed. On that occasion he was asking a question of a tall and remarkably good-looking Swazi woman. She stood like a bronze statue while he spoke, and when he looked at her and his eyes blazed anger, although his voice did not alter, the colour rose to the woman's face, and turned her bronze skin her reddish bronze. Her head was slowly lowered, and the only answer was a faint whisper of the word, in gauze, chief. The incident was trifling, but Geddy noticed it, and noted that his way with his boys and the men about the place was the same, and began to see why they called him Induna Nan. As the rain had not abated, Nan insisted on their remaining overnight. He was pleasant, courteous, and, most interesting, full of the strangest and most intimate knowledge of the country and the natives. He frequently illustrated remarks by references to other countries and other people, but neither of his guests scared to put the direct question as to whether he had been to those countries or only read of them. He gave no information about himself. Geddy was not satisfied with this, and with his sense of what is due to one's host somewhat dulled, doubtless by the recollection of his previous visit, took every opportunity of leading up to those topics which Nan most avoided, but which Geddy hoped would throw a light upon the man himself. Even on the subject of the books, baffled when he led up to personal experiences, foiled gently but firmly at every attempt, Geddy at last got an inspiration and laid for a bold stroke. They were of dinner, and the peculiarly savoury character of the stew recalled to the youngster again the question that had been puzzling him all along, summoning all his nerve he said with cherry zest. By Jove, Nan, after months of roast mealies and tough game without salt, too, this does taste delicious. Glad you like it, said his host quietly. Staple dish, you know, just stewed foul and stamped mealies. Yes, by George, but such a stew, who—who's your cook? Well I suppose it becomes an easy task when the Bill of Fair doesn't vary once a month, and Nan looked up curiously at his guest. But how do you manage it, eh? No boy ever cooked like this. Nan delayed replying until a faint guilty flush touched up the other's cheeks, and then, laughingly, and with a significant look of complete intelligence, he said, I was just wondering, Mr. Geddy, if you were as favourably impressed with it the last time you were here. Had the roof dropped in on him, the collapse of Geddy would not have been more complete. Heron laughed unrestrainably, perhaps because, as had been said, there is something not altogether displeasing in the misfortunes of our friends. Perhaps too, because his view of the incident referred to, was untinged by the bitter sense of personal humiliation, and his humour had therefore full play. Nan did not press his discomforted guest, but smiling pleasantly took up the burden of the talk. I know quite well what you thought of me, and I know even something of what you said about the white dog, et cetera. But I think, and I fancy neither of you will take offence at plain speaking, I think that I did right in repulsing what had all the appearance of imposition. He pushed back his chair and turned to the younger man. Just put yourself in my place now, Geddy. I came to this place of my own choice. I seek nothing of other men, and I desire to go my own way unmolested. I was here before your people came in their feverish hunt for gold. I dare say I shall be here when you have ended the fruitless search. If things should turn against me, and your luck be in the ascendant, why there is Rome in Africa for us both? I can move on. The man spoke in an easy, unemotional way, as though discussing an abstract question of minor importance. Do you know, he continued after a while, I sought out the spot, and I chose this life, because here there is no 19th century, no struggle, no ambition, no unrest. Here is absolute peace and content for me, because I need to take no thought of the morrow. You who spend your lives and energies on the outside edge of civilisation, paving away for others' feet, you are be glamoured by your life of freedom, adventure and romance. My dear sirs, that is a view that I cannot pretend even to understand, much less sympathise with. It may appear unnatural to you, but it is a fact that I dislike the society of civilised men, and most of all that of the pioneers, the sappers and miners of civilisation, who think a white skinner warrants for anything. Odd, as it may seem to you, I do not regard each white man as a friend or a brother. On the contrary, I see him as a possible enemy and a certain nuisance. Naean leaned back in his chair, and thoughtfully polished the bowl of his pipe. They had finished dinner, and were lighting up for a smoke. The others puffed away in silence. He had said his say candidly and without heat, and no offence had been meant or taken. Presently, Hiren said, what puzzles mean Naean, is, since you distrust every white man you see, what the devil made you ask us in. I, that's it, said Giddy, good humbly, that's the very question I was going to ask. What made you change your opinion? Well, said Naean, with simple directness, your case is peculiar. I had a certain sympathy with you, you see, for we are all outlaws together. I from choice. Both men coloured faintly, and Giddy asked at once, How could you know that at the time? How did you know us, or me? My dear fellow, I knew you by several means. In the first place I had met you before. You see, I do not see so many white faces that I can't remember them. And in the second place, the infant to whom you spoke that night, you recollect, also recognised you. Giddy, who recalled in a flash both the question he had asked that night, and the answer given by the boy, shrank under Naean's direct, calm look. But, he continued without pause, you forget, or did you not know, that for a month there was a detachment of police on the watch for you here? Lucifer! What luck we didn't come sooner! exclaimed Heron Agast. They'd have had us, as sure as God made little apples. Oh, that was all right, said Naean, smiling. I was well posted as to their plans and movements. You see, I heard of your affair in Delagoa, and I knew you had gone for a spell to Maharsh's and Sebeguan's, and you were safe enough there. In any case, I took the precaution of sending word to Maharsh to stop you, if you wanted to come back before the coast was clear. He had a letter for you from me for some time, but returned it yesterday with a message to say you were coming this way, and that was why I was expecting you when you turned up this morning. Giddy put his hand out, saying, By God, Naean, you are a trump! You've been a perfect providence to us, and, and I take back all I said about you that other time. Naean smiled and shook his head. I'm afraid, he answered, that it was only because you were in a scrape that I sided with you at all. It seemed a bit of a darn shame that the government should set on a couple of fellows because they had chosen to settle their grievances their own way, which is what you did, I believe. Naean smiled grimly, and nodded reply. You seem to have had pretty good information about us, Giddy remarked. I suppose your neighbours keep you well posted. Yes, there are boswells among them, too. I have had faithfully retailed to me the whole of the affair of Mahash and the silver spur. Don't put another chief to ride a bucking-horse with a spur. They may not fall as lightly as Mahash, and they may not all be as good-tempered. Upon my soul, said Heron, I did it in perfect good faith. He wanted a present, and I gave him what I could best spare. How could I possibly know that that old crock would buck? Well, you had a lucky escape. Ketch would have had you carried. They don't like to appear ridiculous. How did you lose your pocket-book, Giddy? How, the deuce? Naean laughed heartily. Why, man, it's been here for weeks waiting for you. They bring me all these things with their gossip and their troubles. An old fellow, a witch-doctor, brought the pocket-book. He said he found it by divination, costing the dollars, the old fraud. He walked up here some forty miles just to gossip about you. It took him three days before he produced the book. The first day he talked of the prospects of rain and the grass and the cattle. The next he spoke about the rumours that were afloat about white men working into the ground and bursting it open with guns, and wondered if white men would overrun Swaziland. And he wound up with the admission that he had heard of two having been seen, and on horseback too, and with rifles. Notwithstanding which he believed them to be English, for one had given a shilling to a young girl as a present, and the other had a book in which he wrote. There it is on the shelf beside you. He wanted to sell it, but I took it from him and told him he would probably have bad luck, and one of his cars would be barren or lose her calf this year, because he had meddled with your goods, and failed to return the book to you. He stole it, of course. The old scoundrel said Getty reaching for the book. He must have found it while we were yet in sight. I left it in a hut in one of the crawls. Yes, I'm afraid he was an old thief, said Nan. The raw Swaziland think nothing of a twenty or thirty mile jaunt to return it, but these witch-doctors are mostly old Basutu ruffians, steeped in guile. They have few scruples when there is a prospect of profit. On my word, laughed Heron, I don't know what you may not know about us with agencies like this, and a whole nation making a confidant of you. What a rum life you do lead! Nan looked at him curiously, and remarking dryly that they were a very peculiar people, rose from his seat, and made it clear that he thought it time for bed. He showed them to his own room, where an extra bed had been fixed up, and wishing them good night, left them. Quoth Getty. I didn't like to ask him where he would sleep if we took his room, as one feels bound to do in common civility. I'd have got another of those gentle cold-blooded snares for my pens. You know, old chap, with all due respect, and all that sort of thing. For our host, he's beastly uncivil the moment you ask questions. It's a regular case of scratch the Russian, and you find the twater. Yes, you're right. Although it seems a bit ungrateful to say so, I'm dashed if I'd care to have much to do with him. Did you see him shut up when I remarked about his living a queer life? Gad! His lips closed up till they fitted like the valves of an oyster. He's as suspicious as the devil. I say, look here, a photo. Just look, man. Harrison Nan on the back of it. Quite a decent-looking chap. Heron, I wonder who she is. God knows, I don't. Someone else's you can bet, or he wouldn't lie so low, eh? Looks devilish like it. I say, Heron, what? I wonder what he'd say if he heard us, eh? Shut up, man. Go to sleep. I say, the ideal white man, a possible enemy and a certain nuisance. For heaven's sake, man, shut up. They'll hear you sniggering. Good night. Chapter 3 Part 2 It was a dark night, and still, the stillness that often precedes a thunderstorm. The clouds were banked up thick, and only here and there on the outer fringes, where cuts in the hills gave a glimpse nearer the horizon, was there a faint lighting of the gloomy canopy. Lowe's Creek runs through one of nature's perfect amphitheaters, and finds its outlet at the port. If that were blocked, there would be a lake many hundred feet deep. But as it is not blocked, there is only a very clear sparkling stream rippling over stony bottoms, or swirling under the overhanging thorns and fig trees, the one constant babbler on such nights as this. The road through this valley is not over good at the best of times, and it is something worse than bad on a rarely dark night, what is exactly what the driver of the spider and forethought, as he pulled up with his near four-wheel foul of a dead tree stump. There was no damage done, for the horses were pleased to take the sudden check as an excuse, if not indeed a hint to stop, and when, by the light of matches, the size of the obstacle was determined, and means were found to free the wheel, the driver said, Come, and the horses toiled on again up the hill towards the neck. Every gnar, then, as they climbed slowly up, the ladies, there were two ladies in the spider, would point out the campfires of the prospectors at various heights and distances on the tops or slopes of the surrounding hills, and their companion would tell them which was French Bob's, and which the Cascade, and point out high and far the famous Kimberley Imperial, and the Hutton Top driver would peer out in front, silently intent upon the road. Toiling, swaying, and straining, they had last reached the neck and gave the horses a blow. And them, or rather, below them, black as the bottomless pit, lay the valley out of which they had risen. In front lay the broader, shallower, furrowed basin, through which the road winds, cross-cut by honey-bird and fig-tree creeks, and beyond a verker where the waters meet, they could see through the gap of the Queen's River Port, the lightning playing in the distance, silent, clear, and not too vivid. On the easy slope the horses trotted out freely, swinging their heads and snorting, as the faint, cool breeze, the sure precursor of the storm, fanned and freshened them. On they went gaily for a couple of miles till the deep, dry dunga was reached, where the road dips down suddenly into a black, murky, impenetrable darkness. Above, the trees on either side of the high banks intertwine their branches. Beneath the soft dead leaves lie upon a sandy bottom, and the road is flanked by jungle, pure and simple. It is like a tunnel. It is not possible to leave it, except at the ends. The driver gave the leaders their heads, and trusted to their knowing that he couldn't see, whilst they might. The heavy grating of the break, hard pressed, sounded loud on the night air as the leaders disappeared into the dark trough. One went the trap and horses with a diver's plunge at first, and then more steadily and slowly they neared the bottom. But before it was reached, the leaders shied violently to the off, the spider swung down the slope, slid a little, poised for a moment on two wheels, and turned slowly over on its side, on the bed of leaves and sand. The horses, with their heads jammed in the bush, were effectively stopped. The ladies did not scream. It seems wrong, unnatural, but they did not. Burgent need and sudden danger as they overwhelm and stupefy some, so do they brace and brighten others, and when one of the horses winnied in a friendly way, it seemed odd that it should be a girl's voice that exclaimed quickly, Listen! They're not frightened. It must be another horse. Are you hurt? Where are you? And are you all right? were exchanged in the darkness, and then some one struck a match, and making a dark lantern of his hat threw the light on the late occupants of the spider. The girls were dusty, pale, and frightened, and the men looked anxious. The hot-and-top driver was swearing to himself in a discontented undertone, and endeavouring concurrently to loosen the wheeler's harness. I am the culprit, said the man with the light. I can only say I am very delighted that no one is hurt, and awfully sorry I gave you such a fright. I'm sure I never meant it. I did not know there was a soul within miles until the sound of your break frightened my horse into backing into the bush here. The brute wouldn't budge, so I sat still, hoping that you would pass without seeing me. Oh! It really doesn't matter in the least! I came from one of the girls as the match died out. You don't know how relieved, how grateful we are to you for not being a lion or a highwayman. The driver peat had rummaged out a stump of candle and lighted it. It flickered uncertainly on the capsized spider, on the scattered cushions and shawls, on the faces of the two young girls and their companion, and faintly lighted up the lank form and the dark-bearded face of the enemy. I thought I knew your voice, Heron, said the latter quietly. Nan! By all that's great and wonderful, what on earth were you? Well, I wasn't relaying you with evil intent, and I do hope that the ladies—oh, I forgot!—my sisters, said Heron, with an explanatory wave. Girls, this is Mr. Nan, a friend of mine, very much in disguise, you must admit, Nan. Indeed I do. I confess I repent and I beg for mercy, and to give practical proof of my sincerity, let me help you. Come on, Heron, let's write the trap first. No damage had been done to the trap, and the three men soon succeeded in getting it on its wheels again. The boy drove through the donga and up the other bank without further difficulty, the others preferring to walk, but out there when he had room to move around his team, the driver found that the off-leader had gashed his shoulder badly in the bush and would have to be turned out. Heron's heart sank, for it would be a serious matter to attempt the fordrifts of the Queen's river in a heavy spider with only a pair. He looked at the overcast sky, and turned in despair to Nan, who had remained with the ladies and knew nothing of the injury to the horse. Nan, you know the road-based, is there any place where we can stay the night? We can't tackle the rivers. One of the leaders has cut his shoulder badly and won't face the harness. We must put up somewhere for the night. Those clothiers," the other answered, but I'm afraid that won't do a grass hut and sardines, gin, and rough customers. Charlie Bruntz, ditto. There's the Queen of Sheebers of Eureka City, but then you'd never reach there alive at night. Let's see. No. There is no fit place between this and Barberton. There, said Heron, we'll spend a pleasant night in the felt, rain and all. I wish we'd come on a bit further with the wagons. It'll be rough on new girls. But they did not seem dismayed at the prospect. In fact, they considered it a romantic sort of picnic adventure. Heron, who had had malarial fever, took no count of the romance. While the matter was being discussed, Nairn went forward and carefully examined the injured horse. Heron had decided to art-span where they were under the big ding-on apricot tree, and the ladies were busy making plans for the disposal of cushions, wraps, and rugs to fend off the coming rain. That horse will be worse to-morrow than he is to-night. He won't be well for weeks, said Nairn coolly. How do you propose getting on at all, even if you do stay here to-night? What do you gain by the delay?" Heron was somewhat taken aback. Well, he answered, we gain the daylight. Anyway, that's something. Something, yes. But daylight won't take you through the rivers with one pair of horses. They'll be pretty full, too, after to-night's rain. That's true, said Heron gloomily, and its raining like old Harry now up at the head-waters. Look at the lightning over the carp-valley. They looked, and the quick play of the distant flashes left no room for doubt. Then Nairn spoke again, without impulse, without enthusiasm, but deliberately, as though he had considered the matter and have reluctantly but finally made his decision. You will have to put my horse in place of the injured one and go on to-night. I can walk. He did not affect that the idea was the happy thought of the moment, or that it was from all points of view a good one. He seemed, from his turn, to be making the best of a bad job, and Heron saw that so distinctly that he could only stammer out weakly, Oh, really, it's awfully good of you, but we couldn't allow you to walk. But the taller of the two girls came to her brother's assistance. I think it's a capital idea. Don't you see, Jack? Mr. Nairn wants to give a practical proof of his sincerity. The lazy, mischievous imitation of Nairn's tone and manner in quoting his own words, brought a hearty laugh from the others against Nairn. Before he had given himself away, and once or twice as they were changing horses and preparing to start, Nairn found himself looking curiously at the girl who had let him down. They were nearly ready to start when she came over to him and said, You're not going to walk. You will come with us, won't you? He shook his head. My way is not your way, Miss Heron. No, no, you express it wrongly. My way is your way. We have room for you, and you must come. But I have just come from Barbican, and I live in the Swazi country, and his voice dropped to nothing on the last words. Now, Mr. Nairn, I know you are afraid of overcrowding us. You have to come for your horse, so that excuse won't do, and since you compel me to tell the whole truth, Jack says you know the road best, and we want you to come, because we are just a tiny little bit afraid of those horrid rivers. Now, I've told you. Nairn submitted. But as they drove along in the dark, more than once the thought occurred that even the best of women will stoop to the most unfair means to gain their points. After many years it was all fresh to him again. They spun along the smooth, soft road, slowing up in places for the dongers those deeply worn furrows in nature's face, the result of many a heavy storm. They passed the huge old fig tree standing sentinel where the waters meet, and crossed the fig tree creek which, to the experienced ear of the men, had a fuller and angrier tone than was its want. They passed clothias in silence. To the girls the grass shanty leaking candlelight at every paw in its misshapen sides, the sharts of laughter, the half-herd songs, the glimps of the interior as they passed the door, showing the rough gin-case counter, backed by shelves laden with square face, and the bare-armed bearded man craning over to dodge the glare of guttering candles, and see who or what was passing by, all made a picture unique and indelible. They wound slowly round the bendon over the big smooth rocks down to the fourth drift. The water ran silently over the sandy bottom, and when the horses were in breast-high and their movements no longer caused a splash, the absolute stillness begat a feeling of awe and fear of the black-looking water that is so silent, so strong, and so treacherous. To every one there comes a sense of strain relieved, and spirits reviving on coming through a bad river, and to the young girls whose first experience it was, the splashing of the leader's feet in shallow water, and the rising up the sandy bank brought an ecstasy of relief. Driving up the valley of the Lampogwana, Nairn and Heron chaired them with tales of the gold fields, and of the country, and ignored the river in the coming storm, but the steep rush into the third drift and the tossing and jolting over the boulders, and the angry racing of the water and the more distant roll of the thunder were features in a first experience which were not to be talked away, and if Nairn felt his conversational powers disparaged by very evident non-attention, perhaps this was compensated for by occasional grasping of his arm, mute appeals for protection which men take as compliments. Going slowly down the cutting to the second drift, the course of the river was shown up by the lightning, and one bluish gleam in particular lit up the scene with such unsurpassable vividness that long after all was black again the eye retained a view of dark water in swirls and curves of wonderful grace, of firm-quested breakers and jets of spray, of swaying shrubs and bent quivering reeds. Nairn recalled another such night when his horse, which had paused to sniff before facing the flood, jerked his head up with a snort as a blinding flash had shown him a white face for an instant above the water. The fixed stare that the dead eyes gave him lingered long after succeeding flashes had shown an unbroken surface of river again, but he did not speak of this. They drove slowly over the little flat through which the river ran, and as it was barely covered by the flood they knew that the river was just possible for the spider, but it meant getting awaiting as it was dangerously near Flatmark. Pete pulled up. The ladies in the bar, as he said, could take the footpath along the mountains over the crances to avoid the two drifts. It was only four miles to the next hotel. He would like to outspan and stay where he was. The river was too full and the next drift would be worse still. The river was coming down. But Nairn was obstinate, and Nairn, who knew the footpath past the Golden Valley, knew it to be an impossible alternative for ladies at night. So Nairn called out, Kate, you grip the rail, and Nairn will look after you. You hang on to me, Nail. They went in, and the water washed on to the seats, and the spider swayed to the stream, but the horses headed up bravely, and, buoying on the waters, or saucing underneath half swimming and half wading, they pulled through. Hold up, Nail, hold up, little woman, don't cry now, where as safe as houses was what Nairn heard from the opposite seat. What happened beside him was that his companions' grasp loosened on the rail, and as the spider rose up the soft sandy bank, she slid back against him with her weight on the arm he had passed behind her as protection, and her cheek against his shoulder. When they pulled up on the level road again, while her sister was laughing off her tears, Kate pulled herself together with an effort and said with a half sobbing laugh, Oh, I was very frightened that time. I think I should have fallen out, but for you. Then the storm broke over them, and the rain came down in blinding torrents, and the horses, ducking and swaying before it, moved slowly on. Flash after flash lit up the hills above and the river below as they toiled along where the road was cut out of the precipitous hillside. Every furrow was a stream, every gutter a water-course. The water seemed to gush from the very earth, the river itself was a seething mud-red torrent. The first drift, which, as they were coming upstream, was their last, is broader and not as deep as the others, but in those days it was full of boulders and the water raced down in three separate channels, although the surface showed but one broad stream. The drift is now higher up where the bed is even and the current is not so strong. They have also a wire rope-across and a ferry-boat, but it was not so in 87. They have done a good deal to improve things, but still the river is king and asserts itself upon occasion, as when it took a thousand tonnes of solid masonry from the Serra de Pasco dam a hundred yards below this drift and carried samples of dressed stone and totland cement to the barbel and crocodiles of Engwenin-Kulu, 30 miles away, or when, later still, it rose in protest against the impudence of man and swept battery houses off like corks and flung the huge girders of the railway bridge from its path and tossed 50-ton boulders like pebbles into the oriental water-race, 70 feet above the river's bed. They crossed the first channel safely and they even got through the second and worst. The little hot-and-tot pit sat tight and handled his team with the most perfect skill. At times it seemed impossible that horses or trap could withstand the surging mass of water that piled up against them, but they did. A cheering word or a timely touch of the whip seemed once or twice to avert catastrophe. Nairn's horse had made a perfect leader and faced the water like a steamboat, but the other seemed to be losing heart and but for Pete's whip would have headed downstream in the second channel. They were into the third channel and were going slowly and steadily through when one front wheel came block up against a boulder and the near leader again headed down. Whip, voice and rain failed and as Pete made one more determined effort something gave and he dropped back in his seat calling out, BASS! BASS! The rain's broken! Nairn jumped up instantly but the frightened girl clung to him crying out, Oh, don't leave me! Mr. Nairn for the love of God, don't leave us! Her one hand grasped the collar of his coat. The other held his right hand. He loosened her grasp and holding both her hands tightly forced her back into the seat. Hold that! He said placing her one hand on the rail and stooping until his face almost touched hers. Sit still and wait for me, I won't desert you. Vaulting over into the driver's seat he seized the shambok and jumped into the river. The near leader, free of the check of the rain, was giving before the stream and had turned fairly down the river. Nairn was swept off his feet in an instant but anticipating this he had grasped the wheeler's near trace and was able to work his way forward until he was abreast of the swerving leader. Keeping with his right hand a firm grasp of the lower trace he shouted to the quaking animal and struck it sharply on the neck and jaw with the shambok. The suddenness of the attack startled the horse and he plunged upstream again. At the same moment Pete's whip whistled overhead and his voice rang out. The other three horses strained together and the spider rose over the stone and lurching and bumping came through the third channel. The excited animals rushed the last narrow strip of water and Nairn, stumbling over rocks as best he could, was dragged with them until, losing his hold and his footing with the last plunge of the horses, he was hurled forward on his head as they reached the bank. One of the horses trampled him and two of the wheels went over his chest. The little hotentot saw it all and before the others knew anything he had jumped off, leaving the horses to pull up as they were accustomed to on the bank and grabbed Nairn by the arm just as he began to swing into the current and float downstream. The bungalow was perched on the hillside and overlooked the camp. The thatched roof and wide veranda made it cool and pleasant and the view across the valley of the carp was grand. Nairn's head was still bandaged and he was propped up on a cushioned lounge unable to stir. The French window of the room opened out upon the stoop and from the couch itself Nairn could overlook the camp and see the bold parapets of the devil's couture five and 20 miles across the valley. Nairn moved his head slowly and painfully as he heard a light footstep upon the stoop. Miss Heron walked in with a cup of something in one hand and with the other grasping the folds of her riding habit. Well, how is the head? She asked, putting down the cup and busying herself at once, fixing the cushions more comfortably and moistening lint and bandage over his temples. Better on two? See, I've brought you something cool and nice to drink. It will freshen you up. Try some. Nairn closed his eyes and half turned his head away, ignoring the offer. You're going out again riding? He queried in an uncivil turn. Yes, as far as the river to see how it looks in daylight and in its better mood. They say it's beginning to fall, but it is banks over still. They say that the morning after we crossed, Welsh, whose houses on the rise above the drift got out of bed into two feet of water. He says he felt it in bed, but thought it was only the roof leaking again. I wish you would come with us, but you will soon, won't you? No, I've stayed too long already, which was the surly answer, and Nairn turned his face further towards the wall. Tomorrow we shall be able to move you out onto the stoop, and perhaps you will let me read to you there. It won't seem so lonely and dismal, then, said Miss Kate, gently ignoring Nairn's tone. Thank you," he answered, tartly. I don't mind being alone, I like it. She had got to know his humours, and so standing back a little where he could not watch her face, and keeping the laughter out of her voice, she said, Oh! Perhaps the others are ready," he remarked after a pause. I'm keeping you from your ride. I don't think so. They promised to call for me here. Don't wait on my account, please, I don't mind being alone. So you said before, if you object to my sitting here, of course I can wait on the stoop. I thought perhaps you liked me to be here. Miss Kate switched gently at her foot, but did not move from her seat, and Nairn played a tattoo upon the woodwork of the lounge. He broke the silence with an impatient sigh, and after another pause his companion remarked airily to the opposite wall, I wonder why sick people are called patience. Nairn twitched visibly, but offered no explanation, and there was another silence. Presently the girl observed genially. You remember, Mr. Nairn, while we were driving along that night, you were telling us about the training of horses. You remember, don't you? Yes," said Nairn grumpily. You remember, presumed the girl smiling sweetly, you remember telling us that you considered the various types of animals higher or lower according to their susceptibility to kindness and gentle treatment. That the horse, for instance, stands higher than the mule or the donkey. Nairn said she turning to him with laughing eyes, but earnest mien. I wanted to ask you which of those two is the one upon which patience and kindness and good temper are most wasted. You mean whether I am a mule or an ass? Nairn looked round, vainly endeavouring not to smile. Oh, dear, oh dear! said Miss Kate, laughing and moving to the door. I'm afraid the poor old head is very bad to-day. Here are the others. So good-bye! Did you mean that I say good-bye at once or I'll sit down again and refuse to leave? I won't. Tell me, did good-bye, Ursa Major, with the sore head, and don't ask questions. The girl curtsied to him in the doorway as she left, and Nairn turned his face to the wall again with a groan. A girl knows when a man's eyes follow her about the room, and she knows why long before the man does, but the man finds it out soon enough. Nairn pushed away the books and papers. They had no charm for him, and as he could not sleep he fell presently to tracing the design of the wallpaper, and counting how many varieties or bunches of flowers went to make up the general pattern. He detected small irregularities in the joinings, and they annoyed him. So he turned round and stared at the ceiling. But he had studied that before, and he knew which board contained the most knots, and how many boards had apparently been cut from the same log. There were two boards which were twins. So exactly did they match. They must have been parted by but one saw-cut, and he speculated if there could be any sort of intelligence in them that could be roused to wonder or gratitude that they, cut in Norway from one stately old pine, should pass through many hands, and yet find a resting place side by side ten thousand miles away in the gold fields of the transphal. Nairn's eyelids drooped heavily. One sleepy chuckle escaped him at his own quaint conceit, as he wondered whether the ceiling boards considered the flooring boards beneath them, and if they ever put on side on that account, and the smile of lazy content remained long after he was fast asleep. It was the scent of flowers that roused him, violets, and he had not smelt them for twelve years. Miss Kate was sitting there looking at him, and, but for the scent of the flowers and the slanting sunbeams, he might have thought she had never left. Does the big bear like flowers? He was too contented to do more than smile. And he won't eat me now? When beauty picked the flowers, what did the beast do? Kate looked up with a shade of alarm. She was not quite sure where analogies might lead them. They get to mean so much. Well, well, she laughed, and who would have suspected you of a leaning towards fairy tales? Why don't you ask if I enjoyed my ride? Well, did you? Listen to him. Well, did I? Oh! said Miss Kate, pushing back the chair with a sigh of mocked despair. You'll never learn. It is not in you to be ordinarily civil. Now listen, and I'll teach you, and now repeat after me. I hope. I hope. No, no. You must hope with greater warmth, say, I hope you have enjoyed. I hope you have enjoyed. Your ride immensely. That's better. And I'm very glad indeed. And I'm very glad indeed that you went out. No, I'm hanged if I'll say that. Mr. Nairn! No, I don't care what you say. I won't say that. I'm not going to perjure myself. You must say it, not if I'd die for it. You won't say it to oblige me? No. There was a curious pause. Kate looked down, saying softly, Well, if you went to the first thing I have ever asked you, I suppose I'd better go. Women, not accepting the very best, are often most unfair, and sometimes even mean. Why change in a breath from chaff to deadly earnest, and wring a man's heart out with half a look and a catch in the voice? Nairn succumbed. No. Don't go. I'll say it. Well, but I've forgotten the words. No, you can't have forgotten so quickly. Say I'm very glad indeed that you went out. I'm very glad indeed that—go on!—that you've come back. I can see that you want to drive me away. No, don't. Don't go. That you went out. Heaven forgive me. There. Are you satisfied? Yes, I'm satisfied now. I hate to give in, especially to a man. And to a woman? Oh, I never give in to a woman. Women are so obstinate, and they are always wrong. What are you laughing at? Oh, well, I'm not like a woman now. I—I'm—you know what I mean. I'm stating the case. Besides, I meant other women. Now, if I tell you something, you won't laugh at me and point the finger of scorn and press the heel of triumph? No, I won't. Promise? I promise. Well, then, I am glad you went out. And I was a bear to grudge it to you. And you—you have been far too good for me. Far too good. No, no. Indeed, no. You are my charge, and I am your nurse. And remember, had it not been for us, you would not have been hurt. Had it not been for you, we should not have been here. We brought you to death's door, and you saved us. I—I was only teasing you. I never meant Kate, child. Kate! Hush! No, no, not now. Here is George. Good night. Yes, truly. The man finds it out soon enough. In the morning Nairn and his horse were gone, and there was not a vestige of a trace to show how, why, or where. It was several days later that Geddy, who had been away for some weeks, dined at Heron's, and as they were sitting on the stoop, smoking and chatting, remarked, By the way, fancy whom I met on the way in, our old friend in Dune and Nairn, looking ghastly, poor devil, said he had a spill crossing a river or something—serlier than ever—glared at me with positive hatred, when I asked him where he was going to, to escape civilization, and said, Zambezi, or hell! I could make nothing of him, can't stand choff, you know, never could, but I heard all about him from old Tom Callan—hot Tom, you know. Heron looked up curiously, but did not interrupt. It seems he's quite a great gun among the niggers—of real in Dune. Did you know that? I thought it was only a nickname, but it isn't. He's a sort of relation of the kings, etc. What the devil are you talking about? Eh? What? Eh? A relation of the kings, I said. A relation? Nairn? Well, a connection. You know what I mean—he's married the king's favourite daughter. Great God! Yes! You see, we were quite on the wrong tack. By George I did laugh when I heard it. Heron walked out onto the gravel path for a breath of air, out to ease the choking feeling in his throat. And he saw his sister rise from her chair, draw a shawl over her head, and move away to her own room. That night there had come to the house a little Swazi boy. He had one very miserable fowl for sale, and he squatted on his haunches near the gate, heedless of the fact that his offer had been twice refused. Through the night he stayed, and into the morning, and as the hot sun swung overhead, he sat and waited still, never taking his eyes off the front stoop. And when at last Kate came out, he tried his luck again. She turned her armchair so as to get a good light on her book and began to read, but in a few moments the child's voice close by startled her. She looked up, and saw a little black face, lighted by bright eyes and a flash of white teeth. In front of that a richard fowl lying on the cement stoop. And in front of that again a folded note bearing her name. She picked up the note and read it. I had forgotten what a good woman was. Heaven bless you, Kate. It is not that I am ungrateful, but I wish to God Peter'd left me to the river. Kate leaned back quietly in the Madeira armchair and closed her eyes. When she looked again the little unfawn was gone. But he had forgotten his fowl upon the stoop, which was an unusual thing for any unfawn to do. End of Chapter 3