A Frontier Mystery Part 20

It may be asked how I am able to reproduce a dialogue between two persons sitting together alone in a hut--alone mind--and I many miles away at the time. Well, pa.s.sing over the question as to whether anyone ever really is alone--especially in a Zulu kraal--rather than that the veracity of this my narrative be in any wise impugned, I would remind the reader that at an earlier stage thereof I took him into confidence so far as to explain that I was wont to derive a considerable amount of information from native sources, and that such information was surprisingly accurate. So--there it is, you see!

The while we were trekking by slow and easy stages. There was a restlessness among the people as to which there could be no mistake.

They were moving about in bands of ten or twenty instead of singly or in pairs, and fully armed, and now and then two or three men would come up hurriedly to the waggon, and hardly troubling to drop their weapons as required by etiquette, would start on again after a few words of inquiry as to our destination. In short the country seemed about as settled as an ant's nest the top of which has just been kicked off; and more than one rumour had it that armed collisions had occurred with the grazing Boers beyond the Luneburg and Utrecht borders. Towards ourselves the behaviour of the people was rather offhand and independent, the young men especially being inclined to treat us to quite an unnecessary display of swagger. This was a source of anxiety to me, in that it involved a continuous strain upon my moral influence to keep Falkner Sewin from his favourite pastime of head punching, and this was difficult.

So far too, trade prospects seemed but poor. Formerly from each group of kraals we pa.s.sed, people would have come eagerly forth to do a deal-- now for ordinary trade goods they seemed to have no hankering. More than one head-man would ask, talking "dark," if I carried _what they wanted_, and on a.s.suring themselves that I did not, soon showed no further desire to trade. Now "what they wanted," done into plain English, meant firearms and ammunition, and this was a form of illicit trade from which I had always kept my hands clean. Not that the temptation was not great at that. The profits were ditto and the risk to one with my facilities, hardly worth considering, and the same held good of liquor selling, though as to this latter perhaps considerations of self interest lay behind my scruples, for it was in no wise to my interest to bear part in ruining this fine race among whom I lived, and from whom I drew a living.

For the rest, life was pleasant enough as we moved along easily-- outspanning during the heat of the day for several hours--and then trekking on until dark. Then the night camp under the stars, when the savoury game stew--or if we couldn't get any game, the fried rashers of bacon, had been discussed, and pipes were in full blast--this const.i.tuted not the least pleasant moment of the day, as we sat and swapped yarns, to the accompaniment of the monotonous crunch-crunch of ruminating oxen tied to the yokes; or the occasional howl of a hyena, or the cry of some mysterious night bird coming up out of the surrounding blackness. All this my companion enjoyed immensely, as well he might.

He did not so much enjoy the reverse side of the medal though, when a sudden thunderburst and a night of chilly, pelting downpour--which precluded all thoughts of a fire, or anything hot--drove us to huddle within the tent waggon, and browse upon biscuit and tinned stuff.

However I had broken him in fairly well by that time, and he was disposed to take things as they came. Now and again he would try my patience by some outbreak of mulish cussedness, but I remembered his character and training, and had no difficulty in keeping myself in hand.

Added to which I believe I entertained a sneaking softness towards the fellow if only that he const.i.tuted a connecting link with those I had left behind. Those? Well, to be candid, but--never mind.

We were approaching the mountainous regions of the north, and the bushy valleys and slopes of the lower country had been left behind. The air grew clear and sharp, and the nights had become downright chilly.

Around, the hills rose in abrupt slopes, their sweep broken up into great terraces as it were, by tiers of smooth grey cliffs. To all appearance the country might have been uninhabited, but I knew better: knew that the great clefts which fell abruptly from the track contained teeming kraals, whose presence might easily remain unsuspected by the casual wayfarer: knew, too, that not a mile of our advance but was carefully watched and duly reported. In the Zululand of those days the pa.s.sage of a white man's waggons was an event, and that from more than one point of view.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

TO BLOWS.

"Here come men, _Nkose_, and I think that they come to cause us trouble," said Mfutela, shading his eyes to look up the road.

I followed his glance. A dark crowd was swarming over the ridge half a mile in front, and in the then rising sun I could make out the glint of a.s.segai blades. That was nothing, since every man in Zululand at that time seemed to make a point of moving about with as many a.s.segais as he could conveniently carry. But it was significant that at sight of us they should have halted for a moment, and then come forward at a run, shouting like mad.

"Is there to be no end to all these mischievous idiots and their larks?"

I said, sourly and in English. And yet at the time I felt not altogether happy--things happen suddenly among savages. What if the tension on the Transvaal border had already brought on an outbreak.

"Hallo! What's the row?" sang out Falkner, from the tent waggon, into which he had dived to fetch something or other. "Any more fellows whose heads want punching--eh, Glanton?"

"No," I answered more sourly still. "Keep those itching knuckles of yours quiet for once--for Heaven's sake."

It was early morning as I have said, and we were in the act of inspanning. We had camped in an open valley, and in front lay a long acclivity of miry red track mapped out by ancient wheel ruts and rendered diabolical by a heavy rainfall during the night. It was at the head of this that the crowd had appeared, and looking at both I was all the less disposed to meet opposition with the good humour which is always advisable.

"Zulu n.i.g.g.a troublesome debbil," said Jan Boom, the Xosa, who was fond of airing his English, and his contempt for those of his own colour who "had none."

The new arrivals left us in no sort of doubt as to their intentions, for they charged straight for us, and waving their weapons roared out to us to stop.

"Tre-ek!" I yelled, seizing the whip from Mfutela, and letting out the long lash in a couple of resounding cracks which had the effect of making one fellow who was brandishing a war-axe within an ace of Tom's nose--who was leading--skip aside with some alacrity. Jan Boom, who was driving the other waggon, was quick to follow my example, and to the accompaniment of a cannonade of whip cracking and ear-splitting yells, the two spans tugged out laboriously over the heavy miry road.

So far as our disturbers were concerned, I kept silence, by way of showing that I considered them beneath my notice, until I saw that their mouthings and gesticulations as they kept pace with us on either side, were likely to _schrik_ our two horses, leading on behind, to the point of nearly causing them to break their reims and rush away the devil knew where.

"Who are ye?" I shouted. "Who are ye that come bellowing down upon me like a pack of kraal curs? You are not children either, for I see among you men with rings. Go away."

But the ringed men, to my surprise, were among the most boisterous.

"Turn back, Umlungu," cried one of them. "Turn back. It is the word of our father, Mawendhlela."

Mawendhlela! The name set my misgivings at rest in a moment.

Mawendhlela a chief by virtue of birth and possessions, a man who was no warrior but one of the few Zulus at that time who was addicted to gin, and disliked me because I had always steadfastly refused either to trade or give him any.

"Mawendhlela!" I echoed. "_Hau_! I go to a bull that roars louder than he. I go to Majendwa--to Majendwa I say. Now--go away."

But this, to my surprise, they showed no inclination to do. On the contrary they closed up in such wise as to bring the front waggon to a standstill. Short of cutting a way through them there was no method of proceeding, and there were about a hundred of them, all bristling with a.s.segais. I had my revolver on though it was not visible, and for all their numbers I made up my mind to shoot the first who should lay a hand upon my people or my oxen: for there are times when forbearance may be stretched to a dangerous limit. What would have happened next I won't pretend to guess, but some sort of diversion must have occurred, for heads were turned, looking back over the way they had come. Then the crowd parted, precipitately too, some tumbling over each other's heels in their alacrity to get out of the way, and through the lane thus opened there rode up at a furious pace, a man--a white man.

"Here, get out of this!" he bellowed, firing off a very blast of profanity. "Turn your blanked oxen round, and trek back--d'you hear?

trek back a sight quicker than you came. D'you hear?"

"May I be permitted to ask why?" I said, sarcastically.

"No, you mayn't and be d.a.m.ned to you. But I'll tell you. Because I say so. That's why. Because _I_ say so. You've heard of me."

"Don't know that I have. Who might you be when you're at home?"

"I'm Dolf Norbury. That's who I might be. Dolf Norbury, d'you hear?

I've got the trade up here, and I'm d.a.m.ned if I'm going to have any dirty winkler from Natal coming up here to make holes in it. Now--d'you hear?"

"Winkler" meaning a small shopkeeper, was meant to be offensive.

"Oh, so you're Dolf Norbury, are you?" I said, pretending to be impressed.

"That's right. I'm Dolf Norbury, and no man ever got the blind side of me and kept it. Now--clear."

"Ah!" I said. "I'm G.o.dfrey Glanton, and no man ever got the blind side of me and kept it. Now--clear."

I thought he would there and then have tumbled down in a fit. It happened that I had heard a good deal about this Dolf Norbury, but had only seen him once, at Krantz Kop, and that some years before; on which occasion, however, he had been far too drunk to remember me now. He was a big, roaring, buffalo bull of a fellow of about fifty, who would be sure to gain ascendency among savages if he laid himself out to do so.

He had Mawendhlela completely under his thumb, and that for a further reason than those which have just appeared, which was as well for himself, for the more respectable chiefs of Zululand would have nothing to do with him by this time. He would have been turned out of the country, or would have died suddenly, before this but that he had his uses; for he was a most daring and successful gunrunner among other accomplishments. With all his bounce he was not wanting in pluck, and could hold his own anywhere, and always had held it as some had found to their cost--he would add, darkly boastful. His record was uncertain, but he had an intimate acquaintance with the Transkein border and Pondoland: and talked the native dialects faultlessly; in short he was just the type that would drift into the position of "chief's white man,"

with all the advantages of self-enrichment which it affords--and these are not small if the thing is properly worked. The only thing certain about him was that for some time past he dared not show his face upon any square yard of ground under British jurisdiction--on pain of death in mid air, it was not obscurely hinted. In aspect he was heavy and powerful of build. His face, tanned to a red bronze, was half hidden in a thick and flowing beard just turning grey, but the jet black of his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows had not begun to turn. Under them his eyes, black and piercing, glittered like those of a snake. Now they began to roll till you could see scarcely anything but the whites. He seemed on the verge of a fit.

"Don't put yourself in a pa.s.sion," I said, for I had become cool in proportion to the other's rage. "There's no occasion for it, you know.

Only I may as well tell you that I don't take any man's bounce, and the idea of you, or any other man coming along here to give me orders strikes me as a joke. See?"

"Joke does it?" he gasped. "You'll find it a mighty dear joke." Then followed more talk which it is impossible to reproduce on paper. "A joke does it? D'you know I've killed men for less than this--yes, killed more men than you've even fought. A joke eh? Now--you'll see."

He was just turning to the noisy crowd, who however had sunk into silence, and, with eyeb.a.l.l.s strained, were watching developments, when Falkner, whose restraint had come to an end on seeing a white man, and therefore as he afterwards put it one who could stand up to him, instead of a lot of miserable n.i.g.g.e.rs who couldn't--lounged forward.

"Here, I say. You'll hurt yourself directly, old man," he drawled--I suspected purposely putting on his most offensive manner.

"Hurt myself will I--aw haw?" returned the other, imitating Falkner's drawl. "Hurt myself will I, my blanked popinjay? But first of all I'm going to hurt you--I'm going to hammer you within an inch of your life, and I won't promise to leave you that."

He jumped off his horse, and Falkner winked at me, for this was just what he wanted.

"I say, you know, I can't hit you. You're too old," he said, in a tone calculated to exasperate the other, and it had just that effect, for literally bellowing with rage Dolf came straight at him. At first Falkner undertook to play with him, but soon found that he had got his hands full, for the other had weight and was enormously strong, and although he was inferior in science his mad rushes were nearly as irresistible as those of a buffalo bull, which was just what he reminded me of, with his eyes swollen and glaring, and his beard red and s.h.a.ggy with blood. But he was uncommonly quick on his pins, and did not fight blindly by any means--indeed for some time I should have been sorry to have risked a large sum on either of them. It was a battle of giants.

I confess to watching the contest with a very keen interest. The Zulus standing around, were still as bronze as they craned eagerly forward to watch this, to them, absolutely novel form of battle. My people standing exactly where they had been, were no less interested spectators. At last I thought to detect a sign of weakening on the part of the enemy. Youth and science was beginning to tell against sheer strength. Norbury must have realised this, for shaking his head like a bull about to charge, he hurled himself forward for a final effort, striking out with terrific force. Falkner got it full on the forehead, but managed to keep up. The other staggered back, and then as he was about to make another rush I saw his right hand go behind him.

"Drop that!" I said sharply bringing round the b.u.t.t end of my whipstick upon the wrist. With a howl of rage he complied literally, as the sheath knife which he had just drawn leapt from his hand. I put my foot on it just as Falkner, rushing in, knocked him fairly and squarely out.