Forging the Blades Part 28

"H. Gold--something. Box--something. Jo--hannesburg," was how he pieced this scanty clue together. "Well, Johannesburg is all 'gold,' or it's supposed to be," and he grinned to himself at this lame joke. "But I wonder what's the other half of the name--Goldstein or Goldschmidt, or Goldberg or Gold--what? Then, again, there must be tens of thousands of P.O. boxes there too, and it's clearly one of these. But how the deuce one is to trace any of the thousands of children of Israel whose names begin with 'Gold' is another side of the joke."

He carefully copied the fragment into his notebook, imitating as nearly as possible, and that was very nearly indeed, the character of the writing. Then he looked around in search of further fragments. There were none.

d.i.c.kinson got a couple of sticks, for he could not touch the loathly thing, and having first lighted his pipe, managed to get the head into a possible position for photographic purposes. Then he sat down--at a respectable distance--and began to study the features.

"One of the children of Israel, if ever there was one, and no mistake about it," he decided. "Ugh, I've looked at the ugly thing long enough."

Another pipe was filled and lighted. He felt hungry, and the stuff he had brought with him for lunch was in his holster on the other side. He did not care to swim the river alone, with no one to help scare potential crocodiles. He felt thirsty too, but he would have to feel a great deal more so before letting himself drink from the water that had held that dreadful thing facing him. He cut some boughs and placed them over it to keep off the flies, then returned to his seat in the demi-shade of a thorn-tree, and proceeded to elaborate theories with all his might--not that there was much to go upon as yet.

He stood a good chance for the next Sub-Inspectorship which should fall vacant; could he but work up this case successfully it would be the making of him. There was a girl over in Natal whom he wanted to marry, and to whom he was more than half engaged; but they had agreed to wait for the Sub-Inspectorship. It was hot, very hot. Would his comrade never come back? The hours wore on. The ripple and murmur of the river was soothing. d.i.c.kinson felt drowsy. Presently he slid more and more from his sitting posture and slept, and dreamed of the girl over in Natal.

He slept on and on, now hard and dreamlessly. But by that time Sergeant d.i.c.kinson, N.P., was in greater peril than he had ever been in his life.

"Yonder now, Shumilana," whispered Mandevu. "The distance is near enough. It is not safe to go nearer, but at such short distance, for one who was taught to shoot when in the _Nongqai_, [in this instance the Zululand Native Police], and turned out of it through him who lies yonder, it is not possible to miss."

And the two dark figures crouched down upon the rock which overlooked the sleeping d.i.c.kinson at about two hundred yards, while the discharged policeman stealthily drew forward his Martini rifle and carefully sighted it.

Wake up, d.i.c.kinson, for this man is one of the few natives who can use a rifle with accuracy of aim, and he has been taught by the ruling race.

And he is drawing a fine "bead" on the two hundred yards sight. He held the same rank in his corps that you hold in yours, and it was through your agency that he was--rightly--degraded and dismissed the Force. He is as cool-nerved as you are yourself, and is not likely to miss. Wake up, if you would ever see the girl over in Natal again. Wake up, d.i.c.kinson!

Just then a lizard runs over the face of the sleeper, causing him to half jump up, half roll over. Bang, crash! and the bullet embeds itself in the trunk of the thorn-tree, which a second before had been supporting the weight of his body. It takes only another second for him to throw himself flat behind a mound of loose stones surmounted by a growth of short bush.

Sergeant d.i.c.kinson is as brave a man as there is in the Force, and that is saying a great deal. He realises now that he is in a tight corner.

The rascal, whoever he may be, _can_ shoot; moreover, he has a rifle, whereas he himself has only his regulation revolver. The enemy can keep beyond range and stalk him, from a distance, at leisure. And to enforce this side of the situation bang comes another bullet, right through the growth of bush which surmounts the loose stones. But a Martini is a slow-firing rifle, and the target, with lightning-like resource, has flattened down behind the stones.

"Good line that, d.a.m.n him," he growls, as the air caused by the humming missile is distinctly perceptible above his head. "Well, I'm done at last. He can't go on missing all day."

"I thought thou couldst shoot true, Shumilana," whispers Mandevu.

"_Whau_!"

The last, _staccato_. For a bullet has splattered hard against the rock upon which the two are lying. It has not come from the man in yonder flimsy cover, but from across the river. Another follows sharp, and it splinters the stock of Shumilana's piece, causing him to drop it with a growl of pain, for the shock has strained the muscles of his wrist and numbed his whole arm. The two savages drop from their lurking-place and glide away like snakes into the thicker bush, only barely in time to avoid another bullet which rips viciously over them. And Trooper Symes chuckles as he rides down to the river bank, where the other horse whinnies excitedly at the reunion.

d.i.c.kinson's first remark was characteristic.

"Got the kodak, Symes?"

"Of course. Here it is."

"Well, I'll bring it through."

"No fear. It'll save time if I do."

Holding the case high above his head, Symes was through in a minute.

"It's a case of sharp's the word if we're to catch the light," said d.i.c.kinson, and forthwith he proceeded to uncover the ghastly relic.

"There," he went on, having taken half-a-dozen snapshots at every angle, "we've got the workings of something of a case."

"Faugh! Ugly-looking devil, any way you look at him," p.r.o.nounced Symes.

"A blanked 'Sheeny' if ever there was one."

Characteristically again, then and only then did d.i.c.kinson refer to the very narrow escape he had had.

"What made you bring the rifle, Symes?"

"Dunno. Thought we might get a chance at a buck going back. Lucky I did."

"Rather; they'd have done for me. I hadn't a chance. Shake, old chap."

The two comrades shook hands, and then thought no more about the matter.

It was all in the day's work.

"I wonder," said d.i.c.kinson, when they had regained the other side--they had buried the head under a pile of stones, "I wonder who the swine could have been who was sniping me. He knew how to shoot, by the Lord!

Shouldn't wonder if it's some discharged _Nongqai_. I always held it a mistake teaching those chaps to shoot."

Symes agreed--with language, as usual. Then they had a hurried snack, and rode off--two very wet police--to find some safer and more open locality for their night camp. But that, too, was all in the day's work.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

SAPAZANI "AT HOME."

Ben Halse showed no surprise when Denham broke the news to him; in fact, he felt none. What he did feel was a sharp pang at heart as he realised that he must go through the rest of his life alone. Well, it was bound to come some day, and one compensation was that it could not have come under more favourable circ.u.mstances. He had known the other long enough to have decided that had Verna searched the world over she could not have found a more fitting mate.

"Sure you're in earnest about this, Denham?" he said. "Here you two have been thrown together for days and weeks. You've seen hardly anybody but ourselves all that time, and no women. I'm a plain man, you know, and I always speak my mind, so you mustn't be offended."

"Why, of course not. But you won't mind my saying that you are arguing against your own argument. If, as you say, Verna and I have been thrown together all this time and are vastly less tired of each other than the day we first met, isn't that a pretty fair test?"

"M'yes. It cuts both ways, I suppose."

The two were seated in the shade of a wild fig-tree at the back of the house, and a little way from it, on the morning after the scene in the forest. Those words, "the first day we met," carried Ben's thoughts back to that very day when he had sat watching the pair walking down the garden path at the Nodwengu Hotel, and the possibility of just such a development had crossed his mind.

"If you were a younger man, Denham," he went on, "I should be inclined to say, go away for a little while so as to make sure of yourself, and treat this as never having been. Then, if you are, come back again.

But you're old enough to know your own mind; at any rate, if you're not now you never will be, that's sure."

The other laughed, lightly, pleasantly.

"Thanks," he said; "I cordially agree as to the last, but totally disagree as to the first. Why, Halse, you surprise me. Doesn't it occur to you that Verna may have feelings to be considered, and that the course you hint at might be a little bit rough on her? for I am conceited enough to believe that she has a very decided preference for the propinquity rather than for the absence of my unworthy self. How does that strike you?"

"I don't know." And the speaker subsided into thoughtful silence, and began slowly to cram his pipe. Denham, watching the movement of the gnarled brown hands, the set of the strong, handsome face, thought he could read what was pa.s.sing in the other's mind. He, himself, a stranger of a few weeks' acquaintance, had come here to rob this man of the light of his home, of the pride and joy of his life, to destine him to loneliness thenceforward until his death. Something of this he put into words, with a rare and tactful sympathy.

"Ah, yes," was the answer. "I might have been thinking something of the kind; in fact, I've often thought of it. The thing was bound to come some day, of course; but I've always told myself there was plenty of time, and at the girl's age two or three or four years would make no great difference. But there--it doesn't do to be selfish."

Denham, recognising the shake in the voice of this strong man, put forth his hand, which the other gripped, and for a few moments there was silence.