A Secret of the Lebombo Part 11

Wyvern was sitting out on the stoep smoking his first after supper pipe.

The night was still fairly warm, though just a touch of a sharp twinge showed that it was one of those nights whereon it might not be good to sit still in the open--let alone doze in one's chair--too long. A broad moon, not yet at full, hung in the cloudlessness of the star-gemmed firmament, and he sat listening to the voices of night--the shrill bay of hunting jackals, the ghostly whistle of invisible plover overhead, the boom of belated beetles, the piping screech of tree-frogs, and every now and again an unrestful bark from the dogs lying on the moonlit sward in front. Yet, listening, he heard them not, for his mind was active in other directions. For instance, it was just such a night as this, nearly a month ago, that Lalante had been sitting here with him, nestling to his side, and the sweet witching hour of enchantment had gone by in happy converse. Yet, since, what transition had taken place.

A few stolen meetings, more or less hurried, were all the comfort his weary soul could obtain, and now in a day or two, he would be going forth from here homeless--homeless from this home he loved so well, and, of late, tenfold, in that she was to share it with him.

Then despondency grew apace. His new venture--what was likely to come out of that? Was it indeed as Le Sage had said--that he had not got it in him to do any good for himself? But as though to brace him, came the recollection of this girl, and her sweet presence here, here on the very spot where he now was; this girl, so totally outside his previous experience, so totally unlike anyone he had ever seen before, in her sunny winsomeness, in her brave clear hope, and unconventional decision of character, and, far above all, the unreserved richness of her love which she had poured forth all upon him. Her presence seemed with him now in the distilling fragrance of the sweet calm night--would that it really were--to charm away the despondency that lay upon his soul.

Despondency was not strength, she had said in her brave encouraging way.

No, it was not; but how throw it off? Suddenly an idea struck him.

He went into the house. Two guns in their covers stood in a corner.

One of these he unsheathed, and opening the breech looked down the barrels against the light. They were clear and without a speck. One was rifled, to take the Number 2 Musket ammunition, the other was smooth bore Number 12, and a complete cylinder, guiltless of choke. From a drawer he took half-a-dozen cartridges to fit each; those for the smooth bore being loaded with loepers--three and three and three, in layers, a charge calculated to stop the very devil himself. Then changing his boots for a pair of _velschoenen_ made of the softest of raw hide and quite noiseless, he set forth.

The dogs, lying outside, seeing the gun, sprang up, squirming and whining with delight. It needed quite an amount of persuasion, objurgatory, and running to a mild kick or two, to convince them that their aid and companionship was not in the least wanted upon this occasion. It even required the argument of a couple of stones--flung so as carefully to avoid hitting them--when he reached the outer gate, conclusively to convince them. Then Wyvern took his way along the narrow bush track heading for the entrance to the deep wild kloofs-- alone.

He had struck the spoor of a leopard--from the pads an unusually large one--that morning, leading along the bottom of the mazy network of kloofs. Into one of these it had led--the one known as the Third Kloof--and from the pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing of the tracks, now faint, now fresh, he had deduced that the beast was in the habit of using this way as a regular path. Here, then, was a cure for despondency--temporary but exhilarating--but the exhilaration was somewhat dashed by the thought that this was probably the last time he would undertake such a quest here, in what his neighbours characterised by the term of his "vermin-preserve" and voted an unmitigated pest.

Shod in silence he took his way noiselessly along. The bottom of the kloofs was smooth and gra.s.sy, which, of course, favoured him. Faint zephyrs of the still night air fanned his face, and here and there a rustling in the black mysterious depths of the bush on either hand, told that his presence was not altogether unknown to its keen denizens. To the dwellers in towns and artificiality there would have been something inexpressibly weird and nerve-stirring in this mystery-suggesting solitude, in the great sweep of the bush-clad spurs, black and gloomy in shadow, silvern and ghostly where the moon reached them, and in the stealthy unknown sounds coming unexpectedly, now on this hand now on that, from the darksome depths of their recesses, but to this man it all brought a strange tightening of the heart. All this mystery of s.h.a.ggy wood, and sphinx-like _krantz_ looming grey in the moonlight, had been his--his property, his very own--and now it was so no longer. The cloud of despondency was deepening down upon him again.

He had been walking now rather more than an hour, and the moon, mounting higher, was pouring down her pale vertical beams right upon these labyrinthine recesses. Then he struck off from the valley bottom, and ascending, cautiously, noiselessly, the steep and stony hillside, gained a point some fifteen yards higher up.

The position was formed by some small boulders, overhung by _spek-boem_, and it commanded an ample view of anything pa.s.sing beneath. He knew the spot well, as indeed he knew every inch of that bushy maze, in parts so thick and tangled and thorn-studded as to be well-nigh impenetrable; many a fine bushbuck ram had he stopped in mid career from this very point when they had been driving out the kloofs, during one of those hunts to which he would from time to time convene his neighbours. Here, as he lay, he scanned the open smoothness of the gra.s.sy valley bottom.

But upon it there was no sign of any moving life.

The kloof ended in a ma.s.s of tumbled terraced cliff, overhung by a row of straight-stemmed, plumed euphorbia; with aloes, gnome-like in the moonlight, caught here and there in crevice or on ledge. Within the face of the rock slanted black clefts, const.i.tuting a complete rookery for the denizens of what his neighbours termed "Wyvern's vermin-preserve." And it was, from his point of view, the very heart of the surrounding maze, and was known as the Third Kloof.

At the meetings of the Gydisdorp Farmers' a.s.sociation, Wyvern's name was held in evil odour on this account, yet now, lying out in the ghostly, solitary night, he thought of it with glee; for was he not possessor, even if for the last time, of what little there was left of strange, wild Nature, and how many of those who thus decried him, at this hour snoring in bed, would have taken the trouble to turn out under the moon to reduce the "vermin" aforesaid by one? With a lively gathering and dogs, and all that, they were ready enough, but--generally missed what they came out for, and were happy enough to shoot bushbucks instead.

One of these now pa.s.sed immediately below him as he lay, a fine ram, its dark hide and white belly, and long, straight, slightly spiral horns showing in the moonlight almost as clear as by day. But he never moved.

This was not his game to-night. This was not what he had come out for.

Then he noticed that the animal began to show signs of uneasiness. It stopped short, raised its head from the gra.s.s it had been daintily nibbling, then resumed its nibbling. Then it raised its head again, and seemed to be listening; its full l.u.s.trous eye turned towards him showed concern. The head then turned towards the upper end of the kloof, and in the clear light the spectator could even see the working of the nostrils as the graceful animal snuffed in the still night air as though winding something. Then with a couple of bounds it disappeared within the blackness of the further line of bush.

The pulses of the lonely watcher tingled. What had alarmed the buck?

All his senses were now concentrated on the point towards which the startled animal had been looking. Ah! This _was_ what he had come out for.

There had stolen out into the open a shape, a long, cat-like, spotted shape. Well he knew it, and now more than ever did excitement thrill his frame. The beast paused, standing erect, its tail slightly waving, its head thrown upwards and opened into a mighty yawn which displayed its great fangs. There was a water-hole in the hollow of the kloof, usually a mere ma.s.s of slimy liquid mud, now, thanks to the recent rains fairly well filled. To this the leopard paced, its ma.s.sive velvety paws noiseless in their springy gait. Then dropping its head it began to lap, and the disturbance of the water seemed quite loud in the stillness of the night. Cautiously the watcher took aim. The question was should he use the rifle or the shot barrel. At that short distance he could not miss. He decided in favour of the bullet, and had just got his sight well on behind the shoulder, when--

The great leopard raised its speckled head, and suddenly gathered itself together, as though listening intently. This for a fraction of a minute, but sufficiently long to have shifted its position, and the moonlight was uncertain. But before the watcher could get his sights on to the right spot again, in a glide and a bound it had disappeared into the sheltering shadow of the bush.

Wyvern's disgust will hardly bear describing in words. Why had he not got in his shot while he had the chance, and while it was well-nigh impossible to miss. Now he had let his chance go by, and it was not in the least likely to recur. But, what on earth was it that had alarmed the beast?

Below, like an eye, the water-hole glared dully. Beyond it now something was standing--a something which seemed to have risen out of the very earth itself--and it took the black figure of a man. And Wyvern was conscious of the cold shuddering thrill that pa.s.sed through his own system, for the hideous pock-marked countenance turned upward towards him with deathlike stare, was that of the big Kafir whom the puff-adder had bitten--had bitten again and again and who was, of course, long since dead.

How could it be otherwise? No human system could survive an hour with all that deadly venom injected into it. He could have sworn to that awful face--it had been too deeply impressed upon his recollection at the time of the ghastly incident for him to forget it. There could not be another like it in the world; and it was fully visible to him now with the moon full upon it as the phantom stood there, huge and black.

No--the thing could not be mortal. It was a physical impossibility--and he felt his flesh creep as it had never yet done.

The figure was moving. It had struck a crouching att.i.tude, and was coming straight for where he lay. Instinctively Wyvern grasped the gun--though what was the use of a weapon against a thing not of flesh and blood? For a second it paused, then with a bound like that of the savage animal it had just scared away it alighted where the bush and the open met. There was a momentary and convulsive struggle accompanied by fierce hissing, then the horrible figure sprang upright, and stood, holding aloft, firmly grasped by the neck, a large puff-adder.

In the throes of strangulation the bloated coils of the reptile whipped the air convulsively, smooth and slimy in the moonlight--but it was powerless to strike. Itself of no light weight, yet its destroyer was able to hold it at arm's length and at the same time never relax that deadly, strangling grip--the while the expression of the repulsive and horrible countenance turned upon the agonising reptile was one of fiendish gloating. At length the furious writhings died down into a faint muscular heave, and the black fiend, relaxing none of his grip of the now dead reptile, glided into the dark shades which had covered the retreat of the leopard.

Not a sound had been uttered--beyond the first hissing of the snake--not a word said; the whole scene had been horrible and eerie beyond the power of words to describe, in its weird setting of moonlit forest, and cliff and rugged spur. What devilish scene was this which had been enacted there, all in so brief a s.p.a.ce of time that the witness thereof could hardly believe he had not dreamt it? Though not in the least timid, Wyvern was an imaginative man, and his imaginative powers were largely stimulated and fostered by his solitary life. Now he asked himself whether the wretched savage had really returned to earth--in a word--"walked," and there in the wild and moonlit solitude the answer seemed very like an affirmative. He recalled Lalante's scare when they had been searching for the remains of this very being, and how no trace of any living thing had been apparent, even to Le Sage's practised eyes.

What did it all mean? Well, it need concern him no further, for in a day or two his interest in Seven Kloofs would be a thing of the past.

And having thus decided, a sudden and, under the circ.u.mstances, strange drowsiness came upon him and he slept.

The Southern Cross turned in the heavens, and the soft breaths of night played around his forehead and still Wyvern slumbered on, and in the midst of that drear but beautiful solitude he dreamed. He was back at Seven Kloofs again, and, once more, it was his very own. All anxieties were wiped away, and they were rejoicing together in the joy of possession, and in their new-found, undimmed happiness--and then, and then--the stars faded in the lightening vault as the chill dawn awoke the sleeper, heart-weary and sick with the melting of the blissful illusion. But--what was this?

A strange sound, terminating in a sort of whine. Keen and alert now, Wyvern peered forth, just as the great leopard halted beneath, finishing his cavernous yawn, and looking inquiringly upward where scent or instinct told him some enemy was lurking. But just a fraction of a moment too long did he tarry, as the bullet sped forth; the thundrous echoes of the report rolling in many-tongued reverberation among the rocks and krantzes. The great spotted cat lay gasping out its life, with a severed spine.

There are compensatory moments in life, and this was one of them. In the keen exhilaration of the successful shot, Wyvern noted that the beast was an abnormally large and fine specimen of its kind. The skin should be a parting gift to Lalante; a final memento of Seven Kloofs.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

DREAMS--AND A VISIT.

"I wonder why Mr Wyvern never comes over to see us now," remarked small Frank Le Sage, one morning.

"I believe he and Lala have had a row," rejoined smaller Charlie; for thus were they wont at times to abbreviate their sister's uncommon, and to them high-sounding name.

She for her part smiled. She would not "shut them up," she liked to hear them talk about him.

"Man, but he's a fine chap," went on the first speaker. "I seem to miss him no end."

"Rather," a.s.sented the other. "And doesn't he just know how to make stunning catapults!"

"And to use them too," came the rejoinder.

Lalante, who had been contemplating the small speakers with a smile of tender approval, burst out laughing at this ingenuous and whole-hearted appreciation of the absent one's claim to esteem.

"And so that's all he's a 'fine chap' for, is it?" she said.

"Oh, no. He's a jolly fine chap all round, you know."

"Rather," confirmed the other. Then, insinuatingly, "I say, Lalante.

Let us off that beastly catechism this morning, won't you? It's such a jolly morning to go down the kloof and humbug about."

It was Sunday, and the form of instruction thus irreverently qualified, was wont on that day to take the place of the "three R's" already referred to.

"Yes, and get yourselves into a nice mess, and tear yourselves to pieces. Supposing any visitors were to turn up--you wouldn't be fit to be seen," answered the girl. But her tone was, for the object they had in view, anything but hopeless.

"We shan't get any visitors except Mr Wyvern, and he won't care,"

replied he who had made the request.

"I hope he will turn up," declared the other. "He does spin such ripping good yarns. Do let us off, Lala."

For answer they were encircled by an arm apiece, and upon each eager, pleading face was bestowed a hearty kiss.

"You darlings, I will then," she said, releasing them. "But--go and put on your old clothes. I'm not going to have you running wild in those."

Away they sped rejoicing. The condition was not a hard one. It is only fair to say, however, that their hymn of praise to the absent Wyvern was in no way inspired by ulterior motive. Their admiration for him was whole-souled and genuine.