In the Whirl of the Rising Part 12

"_Eh! he! Siyavuma_!" hummed the others.

Now the listener thought to detect signs that the deliberations had come to an end, and if so, some, at any rate, of those within would be coming forth. Two courses suggested themselves to him. He lay between the hut and the outer stockade. The chances were that anyone coming out would take the other side, between the huts, to make their way to their respective quarters. But chances, unless one is driven to take them, are uncertain props, wherefore he decided to beat a retreat while there was yet time. Accordingly he crawled backwards a little, then stood upright, and, keeping against the dark background of the outer stockade, was lounging at unconcerned pace back in the direction of his hut, when--

"Sleep well, brother. _Au_! I think we need it."

He had nearly cannoned against a tall figure which appeared round the side of a hut. The deep tones he recognised as those of Zwabeka.

Clearly the chief mistook him in the darkness for one of those who had taken part in the _indaba_. He drawled an a.s.sent in a sleepy voice, and fervently blessed the unknown influence which had caused him to leave his large-brimmed hat in the hut when he had come forth on his midnight wandering, and now, with his blanket over his head, he might pa.s.s very well in the darkness for one of themselves, and, indeed, had so pa.s.sed.

But his trial was not over yet.

As the chief pa.s.sed on there stepped forth two more figures, lazily chatting; this time behind him. The thing was too risky. In front of him yawned the black hole of the doorway of one of the huts, left open, perhaps, on account of the heat--only it was not hot. Through this he crept, without a moment's hesitation, as though it were his own dwelling. Hardly was he within than the two who had been behind him likewise entered.

He stretched himself on the ground, emitting a forced yawn--very forced.

The others, on their side of the tenement, followed his example. He could determine, by sounds of light snoring, that the tenement already contained others before these late arrivals. Soon the latter were likewise in the Land of Nod.

Lying there in the pitchy darkness Lamont realised that his position was exciting, to put it mildly. Here he was, in the same hut with two of the conspirators, and how many others he could, of course, not determine. The next thing was to get out again. But for that he must take his time. Hurry would be fatal.

If ever minutes had seemed to him hours, a.s.suredly they did so now. And with this idea a new source of peril struck him. In the dead silence he thought to hear the ticking of his watch. What if other ears should hear it too. He thought to stop it--but how so much as get it open in the darkness without breaking the gla.s.s; and then just one fragment on the floor of the hut would betray him in the morning. Still, with his blanket tightly round him, the ticking might not be heard. At last he reckoned it time to make a move.

It is a mistake to imagine that savages are necessarily light sleepers.

When no particular reason for watchfulness exists, your South African native is anything but that. Rolled up in his blanket, head and all, he will sleep as soundly as the dead, and will require little short of violence to awaken him; wherefore the other inhabitants of the hut, being utterly unsuspicious of the presence of a stranger in their midst, had attained to exactly that stage of somnolence; consequently, when the said stranger crept through the door, no one was aware of it. Again his nerves thrilled as he found himself once more in the chilly night air.

He had still a little way to go. What if the dogs should wind him as he crossed the open s.p.a.ce, and raise a clamour? But they did not, and with a sigh of infinite relief he found himself safe within his own hut. He could hear his travelling companion mildly snoring. What an extraordinary piece of luck that they should have met when they did, for, by the light of what he had heard, he had no doubt but that his treacherous entertainers would have murdered him. Had he spent the night alone in that kraal, such would have been his fate, but the superst.i.tious dread in which, for some reason or other, they seemed to hold the priest, had saved him, and in the result would save a good many more.

Then the grisly agency of his awakening occurred to him, and indeed no more effective means could have been employed not merely to do so but to keep him awake. His fellow traveller would, he supposed, have called it the hand of Providence, and he thought it looked very much as if such were the case, for Lamont was no scoffer.

"I suppose I ought to make a vow never again to kill a tarantula," he said to himself; "for what would have been the result had I slept as hard and long as our good friend over there, well, Heaven only knows."

Sitting there in the darkness, waiting for dawn, he was thinking, and thinking hard. There had been warning rumours here and there that the natives were not so content under the white man's rule as was supposed-- nor that they deemed themselves anything like so roundly squashed and beaten less than three years earlier as they should have. Such rumours, however, were not acceptable to the "powers that were," and their originators discouraged; and bearing this in mind, what was seemingly the most obvious course--to lose no time in warning the proper authorities, to wit--was the very last thing that Lamont had determined to follow. If he started warning people, n.o.body would believe him.

They would simply laugh and say he had got the funks, meanwhile it would be sure to leak out to the natives that such warning had been given.

They would put two and two together, and, connecting it in some way with his presence at their kraal that night, would entirely change their plan, probably with disastrous result to the white population. On the other hand, if the ma.s.sacre at Gandela were averted, it would show, as they had agreed, that the time for rising was not yet ripe--which would afford him time to turn his warning to proper account, a thing he could not possibly do in one day.

That the ma.s.sacre at Gandela should be averted he was fully determined, and that he himself should be the means of averting it--he alone, working to his own hand.

CHAPTER TEN.

WHAT LAMONT DID.

"That is a very great _isa.n.u.si_ in there, _umfane_," said Lamont, as he splashed his head and face in a large calabash bowl. His travelling companion the while was engaged in his devotions inside the hut.

"A very great _isa.n.u.si_?" echoed the youth, who was Gudhlusa's son, the same who had attended to their wants the night before. "Ha! Is he as great as Qubani?"

"Yes."

"_Ou_!"

Lamont knew perfectly well that the other didn't believe him, but he was talking with an object. "Can he foretell things?" went on the youth.

The while two or three more had sauntered up and were listening interestedly.

Lamont was on the point of answering in the affirmative, when it occurred to him that to do so would be to make a fatal slip in view of what the next day was to bring forth. So he replied--

"He cannot foretell things. He can do them."

"_Hau_!" burst forth from the group, and hands were brought to mouths and heads turned aside, expressive of indescribable incredulity. "An _isa.n.u.si_ who cannot foretell things! Now, _Nkose_, what sort of _isa.n.u.si_ is that?"

"Nevertheless his _muti_ is great--greater than that of Qubani--in its way."

"In its way--ah! ah! in its way," they hummed.

"Talking of Qubani," replied Lamont. "Now that _is_ an _isa.n.u.si_. I would fain see one like that. But--I suppose he does not live here, son of Gudhlusa."

"But he is here, _Nkose_."

"That is good news, and I have a gift for him. When we have eaten, I will talk with him. When we have eaten, I say."

The youth grinned, and, taking the hint, walked off, presently to return with some more roasted mealies and _tywala_.

"You had a good night of it, Father," said Lamont as they sat discussing this fare. "By Jove! you slept through it all like a humming-top."

"I believe I did. I was very tired. And you--did you sleep well?"

"Until a whacking big tarantula woke me up by promenading over my ear.

I couldn't get to sleep again all at once after that."

"That was very unpleasant. Did you kill it?"

"No. It got away into a crack. Daresay it's there yet."

"Ah well, I am glad we are not going to sleep in the same hut again to-night."

Lamont chuckled to himself as he thought of what momentous issues of life and death would hang--were hanging--upon the incident. Looking round upon the great kraal, its dark inhabitants going about their peaceful avocations in the newly risen sun, he could hardly realise that the events of the night had been other than a bad dream. The first thing he had done on coming forth had been to glance eagerly at the ground. No. The hard and parched soil showed no footprints. He had grumbled the previous evening because the storm had brought no rain, but since then he had had abundant reason to be thankful for the fact; otherwise the marks of shod footprints, leading to and from the place of conspiracy, would tell their own tale. He had mentioned nothing to his travelling companion of what had happened--judging it better not. Then, as time wore on, Lamont was getting anxious. They would have to saddle up directly, and the witch-doctor had not appeared. It was absolutely essential that he should be able to identify him; and as yet he was unfamiliar with his outward aspect.

"_Nkose_!"

He turned at the salute. An elderly, thick-set native had approached, and as he stood, with hand uplifted, Lamont supposed it was one of the plotting chiefs. His head, too, was surmounted by the small Matabele ring.

"I see you, father," he answered. "Am I speaking to a chief?"

A flash of mirth shot into the other's eyes, and he simply bubbled with glee.

"A chief! Ha! I am Qubani, _Nkose_."

"The great _isa.n.u.si_! Then you are indeed a chief, my father--the chief of all _iza.n.u.si_."

The other beamed. Then putting forth his hand, he asked for tobacco, which was given him.

The while Lamont was wondering. He had expected to see a lean, crafty, evil-faced Makalaka, instead of which the famed witch-doctor turned out a stout, comfortable, and well-bred looking Matabele; a ringed man withal, and overflowing with good-nature and geniality. And this was the man who was to give the signal for the ma.s.sacre of a whole township full of Europeans on the morrow. Yes, on the morrow.

It was puzzling. The Abantwana Mlimo--or children of the mystery--its hierarchy to wit, were all, so far as he knew, of the subject race of Makalaka; yet here was a man obviously of pure Zulu descent, and carrying himself with all the natural dignity of that kingly race.