Forging the Blades Part 22

"No? Well, you shall be. But I don't think you require much taking care of after having picked your way all through the Makanya bush alone."

That allusion again. Denham felt a droop all of a sudden. Yet it was only momentary. He had been alone with Verna practically the whole day.

Ben Halse had not returned for the midday dinner, and they had got through it _a deux_. Thus together alone, the situation had set him thinking a great deal. In fancy he had pictured her sitting opposite him, as in that plain, rather primitive room, for any time, and the idea was pleasing.

Their way lay upward, the track so narrow in parts that they had to ride one behind the other, an arrangement fatal to conversation, for you cannot conveniently shout back over your shoulder. Now it led through some deep kloof, where the tall forest trees shut out the light of the sun, and the green depths were stirred by mysterious noises; now up a rocky steep, but ever at a foot's pace. Verna was leading the way, and the other was admiring with all his might the poise of her splendid figure, sitting her horse so perfectly and gracefully; and though the surrounding bush was teeming with all sorts of strange life, dear to the naturalist, this one, for once, forgot to notice it, so engrossed was he in the contemplation of his guide.

"This is where I wanted to bring you," said the latter at last. "We'll hitch up the horses here and walk the rest of the path."

They had emerged upon an open gully, high up on the range. A short climb, and they gained a great natural window in a tooth-shaped rock which overlooked a vast, tumbled ma.s.s of crag and valley and crater.

Forest and open country lay spread out beneath, extending away in billowy roll for miles upon miles into dim, misty distance.

"By Jove! but it's splendid!" cried Denham, as he gazed out over this.

"I vote we sit here a bit and look at it."

"I thought you'd like it," she answered. "Yes, let's have a rest."

They sat down within the great rock-window, drinking in the splendid air, the world, as it were, at their feet. But somehow, and all of a sudden, a constraint, a silence, seemed to have fallen between them. It was perfectly unaccountable on any ground whatever, still it was there all the same. Could it be that by some mysterious phase of telepathy both were thinking the same thing? and that each knew that the other knew it? For there existed a tremendous mutual "draw" between these two, and yet they had only known each other a few days.

Then by some equally sudden and unaccountable phase of telepathy the constraint was mutually broken. The same idea had come into both their minds. It would never do to let this sort of thing take a hold on them thus early. Verna began to point out various landmarks, near and far.

"Look," she said, turning from the open view, and pointing to a particularly tumbled and bushy range of hills about six miles off.

"That's where Sapazani's kraal is. We'll ride over some day and pay him a visit. How would you like that?"

"Very much indeed. I'd like to study these fellows a bit. They seem interesting. By the way, do you know what I've done, Miss Halse?"

"What?"

"Why, I've buried myself. I mean that I've put myself clean out of communication with the old country, except on the part of one confidential man in my business, and even he can't communicate beyond Durban. How's that for a prime way of taking a change?"

"Quite good. But what about the business side of it?"

"Oh, that's all right. I've thoroughly fixed up all that. But it's rather a joke, you know, effecting a complete disappearance."

Then he went on to tell her a good deal about himself, yet without seeming to do so egotistically, of his early struggles, of his now a.s.sured position, of many an incident and more than one crisis in his life. To all of which she listened with vivid interest, with appreciation and sympathy.

"I am boring you, I'm afraid--" he broke off.

"No, indeed. I am very much interested. What a hole and corner sort of life mine must seem to you!"

"Do you know you are a very great puzzle to me?"--he had nearly said "Verna."

"Yes. Why?"

"You might have been everywhere, seen everything, from the way in which you talk. How on earth did you pick it up?--and you say you have never been outside Natal, except to the Rand."

"Well, it's true," she answered, looking pleased. "I accept your verdict--as another compliment--and feel only proud."

The constraint was broken down between them now, and they talked on and freely. There was that in the fact of her companion having told her so much about his life that wonderfully fascinated Verna. What was there about her that this strong, capable man of the world should take her into his confidence, especially on such short acquaintance? More and more she felt drawn towards him. How strange it must have been, she was thinking, before this new companionship had come into her life! And yet it was barely more than a week old.

And Denham? As he sat there chatting easily, the rings of blue smoke floating off lazily upon the still air, he too was thinking--and thinking pretty much the same thing. Again this new experience had come to him just at the right time. There was nothing to mar his enjoyment of it. A very short while earlier--well--there might have been. But not now. Yet while they talked he was studying his companion keenly.

There was no posing, no little coquettish touches. She was perfectly natural.

"What a splendid thing it is to feel quite easy in one's mind!" he went on, in pursuance of the subject of having, as he said, "buried" himself.

"I can afford to feel that way just now, and it's real luxury. I haven't always been able to, no, not by any means."

He broke off suddenly, then, as though moved by some strange impulse, went on--

"I wonder what moved me to tell you so much about myself. It wasn't for the mere love of talking."

"Of course not. I was so interested--_am_, I ought to have said."

Verna's eyes grew wonderfully soft as they met his. "It might, too, have been a certain sympathy."

"That's it," he answered. "There was one thing I did not tell you, though. I wonder if I ever shall."

"That rests with yourself," she answered. "But why should you?"

"Upon my soul I don't know."

They were looking straight at each other. The atmosphere seemed highly charged. To Verna, in her then frame of mind, the enigmatical nature of the remark opened all sorts of possibilities. She was strongly taunted to reply, "Yes, tell me now, whatever it is." But she remembered their short acquaintance, and the fact that this man was only a pa.s.sing guest to make whose stay a pleasant one was only a part of her duty. The sympathetic vein cooled, then hardened.

Somehow her mood communicated itself to the other, perhaps another sign of the unconscious bond of sympathy between them. What had he so nearly done? he asked himself. Let out one of the most momentous secrets that could lie on any man, and to an acquaintance of a few days. But somehow the last expression rang hollow in his mind. Yet still, here was he, a hard-headed, experienced man of the world. He must not allow himself to be thrown off his balance under the influences of sunlight and air, and the drawing sympathy of a very rare and alluring personality. So they drifted off upon ordinary topics again, and at last Verna suggested it was time to be going home.

"Well, you have brought me to a lovely spot, for a first ride," said Denham, as they took their way down the hill. "If you go on as you have begun I may be in danger of camping in these parts altogether. Hallo,"

he broke off. "It's as well we came down when we did. That fellow might have gone off with our horses."

"He wouldn't have," answered Verna. "They are more like the old-time Zulus up here, when you could leave everything about and not a thing would disappear. Now, of course, civilisation has spoiled most of them."

The man referred to, who had been squatting with his back towards them, now rose. He was a tall Zulu, and ringed; and he carried a small shield and a large a.s.segai, the latter of which he had no business under the laws of the ruling race to be carrying at all. And Denham could not repress a start, for this was the same man he had run against twice at Ezulwini--and once before. He felt thoughtful. There seemed to be some design behind the fellow's sporadic appearance.

"Who are you?" said Verna. "Not of Sapazani? I know all his 'children.'"

"_Inkosazana_!"

"What is your name?"

"Mandevu."

"Mandevu!" she echoed thoughtfully. "Ah, now I remember."

"_Inkosazana_!"

"Where from?"

The man looked at her, and shook his head whimsically. He was rather a good-looking savage, decided Denham, especially now that he had discarded European clothing.

"From nowhere," he answered, but with a curious glance at Denham, which the latter understood, and it set him thinking more deeply than ever.

He remembered the bad character given him by Inspector James. He likewise remembered something else. Things were thickening up a bit.

Verna talked a little longer, and then the Zulu resumed his way, when they followed his example.