Grit Lawless Part 26

"'E served me an ugly trick once," muttered Rentoul darkly, endeavouring to obtain a further supply of dop from the empty bottle beside him...

"Over a woman that was... When I was down with dysentery too."

He sat up with a poor attempt to look sober, and leaning forward tried to push the floor away, which, in the most annoying manner, threatened to hit him in the face. To avoid collision with it, he stood upon his feet, and turning round two or three times to get his balance, raised his arms and solemnly addressed the grinning group of listeners.

"Dysentery's a crool complaint, gets a grip on a man. Reg'lar epidemic it was in camp that year. Doctor done 'is best to stamp it out, but whot could 'e do in that beastly 'ole? I done whot I could to 'elp 'im.

'Boys, the doctor's right,' I says. 'You're a dirty lot o' swine.

Look at your camps. D'you expect the doctor to go round an' stick 'is nose into your stinking places? Why don't you clean up? ... Personal cleanliness... I know... I've seen it afore.'" He pointed at the grinning faces about him, and became personal and aggressive. "You wouldn't wash your dirty mugs if you could 'elp it, any of you."

"That'll do, Mat," someone interrupted.

"Neither would I," resumed the orator in a more conciliatory tone, "unless I 'ad to. But we've got to be clean... We've got to 'elp the doctor... We've got to fight this thing. Coming events cast their shadders before. It'll be here amongst us next. And it ain't no use waitin' for the Government. What's the use of the Government when you're out prospecting with six boys, an' the lions come on you an' kill three of them? Whot d'you do? S'pose you got a gun loaded in two barrels... Do you run back to call the p'lice? ... Do you go for the magistrate to come an' 'elp yer? Where'd you an' your boys be? ... No!

You put your barrel into their guts and pull the trigger--yes, every time. An' we got to do the same with the dysentery. 'E don't come on you with a bound; 'e crawls through the gra.s.s, like a snake. 'E comes on gradually and slow... takes you unawares. We've got to stamp 'im out. We've got to pull the trigger, and not wait for the Government..."

"Sit down, Mat, and give somebody else a chance," Stephens interrupted, with a wink at the rest.

"You can 'ave your say," retorted Mat, "when I've finished." He turned round and round, emphasising his remarks with repeated blows of one hard soiled fist upon the grimy palm of the other hand. "We've got to stamp it out," he shouted. "We've got to fight it. I remember when I was young--"

"For G.o.d's sake, dry up!" interposed another. "You've missed your vocation."

"Who're you gettin' at with yer 'vocation'?" Rentoul demanded with bitter superiority. "I don't know anything about vocation. I picked up my eddication off jam tins and pickle bottles. I've no time for vocation. If you'd been in Jo'burg when I was there, you'd 'ave 'ad no time for eddication either. You'd 'ave been in tronk, where they makes yer wash yer face every morning--behind the ears too. To h.e.l.l with yer!

I've said all I want ter say... We've got to stamp it out."

He fell to muttering, and eyeing the last interrupter malevolently, sat down again.

"We've got to stamp it out," he said. "Gimme the bottle, Tom. You've swilled too much of that dysentery mixture, me boy. You're drunk--tha's what you are."

"Van Bleit was running some quarry in Cape Town," an older man observed, continuing the conversation from where it had been broken off. He sucked thoughtfully at his pipe and stared into the fire... "Woman with lots of money, I heard--and looks too. Must be hard up for an honest man if she takes on Karl."

"This case will have about finished that game, I should fancy," the chef of the party remarked.

Lawless got up, and flung a fresh log on the fire. He kicked it into position with his boot, and pressed it down among the glowing embers, pressing heavily as though it were some enemy he trod beneath his foot.

Then he turned slowly round.

"Time's been standing still for some of you," he said. "I've been in Cape Town recently. There's nothing in that report."

Rentoul looked up from his corner.

"Whot you talking about?" he asked. "Time always stands still... We move--Time don't move. If you come back in a thousand years, Time will still be 'ere, I tell you... I read it in them magazines."

"Did you see Van Bleit when you were there?" someone asked, ignoring the dissertation on Time.

"I did. I lunched with him the day I left. He is by way of being a-- chum of mine."

Rentoul made a clumsy effort to get upon his feet.

"Then I'm goin' to 'it you," he said. "I can't get at 'im, but I'll bash your mug in, see if I don't."

"Oh! sit down, and don't be a silly a.s.s," Lawless returned irritably.

Tom Hayhurst pulled the quarrelsome member back into his place.

"Go easy, Mat; he's baas here," he said.

Rentoul scowled darkly.

"I don't own any man baas," he muttered thickly. "I don't care a d.a.m.n for any man breathing... All men are equal. I don't care for you, nor anyone. In a few years we'll all be the same. When some digger comes along and digs up my skull and Cecil Rhodes' skull, who'll tell which was Mat Rentoul's, and which Rhodes'?"

Somebody laughed.

"They'll only need to look at the size of the cavity in the craniums, Mat," he said.

"There you go again!" Rentoul rejoined acrimoniously. "Fancies yerself a British encyclopaedia don't yer?"

The oldest of the party, who was slightly grizzled, and had the appearance of one who might have done something in the world and had somehow missed his opportunities, looked hard at Lawless.

"Weren't you in the C.M. at one time?" he asked. "The name conveys nothing, but I seem to remember your face."

Lawless nodded.

"That's right," he said. "I knew you the minute I saw you. But as I stood for law and order in those days and you didn't, I did not insist on the acquaintance. It was only the accident of the different sources from which we drew our pay that put me in the right and you seemingly in the wrong. The Police were too d.a.m.ned interfering with the privileges of humanity for my taste. That's why I chucked it."

"Good!" The grizzled man smiled in appreciation of the speaker's sentiments, and tossed his nearly empty tobacco-pouch across to him.

"Fill up," he said. "That's good stuff."

Lawless caught the pouch, filled his pipe, and tossed it back again to the owner.

"It was while I was in the Police I got chummy with Van Bleit," he volunteered.

Tom Hayhurst rose unexpectedly and swaggered through the group sprawling before the hearth, until he stood close to Lawless, with his back towards the fire.

"I wouldn't mind making a wager there isn't a man here who hasn't heard of 'Grit,'" he said.

His face was flushed, his mien slightly defiant, as though he challenged, not only the men he addressed, but the stern, keen-eyed man who surveyed him disapprovingly with his strangely penetrating, inscrutable grey eyes.

"'Grit'!" The grizzled man looked up with a laugh. "Of course. That was the name you went by in the days when you weren't Lawless either in name or occupation. To think I should forget!"

"You're too d.a.m.ned modest," yelled a youngster. "The chaps tell stories about you up in Rhodesia to-day."

"Fairy-tales," Lawless responded, smoking indifferently.

"That's a lie, anyway," retorted Hayhurst. "I know one or two facts."

"Among facts I know about you," Lawless replied sharply, "is that you gab too freely. Sit down, and shut up."

Hayhurst looked nettled. He lost his ready a.s.surance and lapsed into a sulky mood.

"I'll knock any man's head off who says that about me," he muttered.