In the Whirl of the Rising Part 39

"Thy next battle will be thy last," said Gingamanzi slowly, pointing a menacing finger at the obdurate sentinel.

"That we shall see. _Hau_! I seem to remember the chief of these Abantwana Mlimo, when we were doctored, promising us that Makiwa's bullets should turn to water. Yet, at Kezane, Makiwa's bullets were made of very hard lead. And he who told us this was Gingamanzi."

This was a facer, and partly accounted for the secret contempt in which the sorcerers were held by many in the nation. Moreover, since the rising had begun, the fighting men had been brought into daily contact with them, to the detriment of their _prestige_. Then, too, they always skulked in a place of safety when fighting was to the fore--all save one, and that one Qubani. But Qubani was not present in this camp.

Now Gingamanzi was an uncommonly difficult person to put down, and lacked not readiness or a.s.surance, else had he not filled the position he did.

"Hard lead," he repeated when the sneering laughter of the warriors had abated. "Hard lead! Ha! Those who found them so were those who were wanting in faith. They suffered doubt as to our powers to linger in their hearts while we were doctoring them. So the _muti_ failed in its effect."

"_Eh! He_!" a.s.sented the residue of the sorcerers.

"Thou scoffing dog!" shrilled Gingamanzi. "Wilt thou now give pa.s.sage lest worse befall thee?"

For answer the other had picked up a gun.

"I will give thee 'dog,'" he said, bringing it up. But the sorcerers were thoroughly scared, and scattered yelling. Their _muti_ was not proof against this, anyhow.

"_Hambani-gahle, Abantwana Mlimo_!" With which contemptuous dismissal Ujojo turned his back on the irate sorcerers, and, going to the end of the cave, bent over the rec.u.mbent form of his late master.

The latter moved restlessly, not recognising him. The fact was that the shock of capture and the pain of his bruised leg, coming upon the strain of the few days preceding, had told upon even Lamonts iron const.i.tution--added to which several days of wet weather and exposure had brought about a bad attack of up-country fever. Now he lay covered with several blankets, yet shivering as though he were lying in contact with an iceberg.

His escape from death at the a.s.segais of his captors was hardly short of miraculous; and was partly due to the wave of wonder that went through those who beheld him, reckoning as they did that he had been blown to atoms in his own dwelling, partly to the intervention of Zwabeka; about half of the impi which had reinforced the a.s.sailants of the Kezane Store being composed of that chief's own followers. Now Zwabeka was not acting out of sheer good-nature when thus intervening, although, as a matter of fact, he liked Lamont, and would rather see him alive than dead. He had a motive underlying, and the motive was this. Zwabeka did not believe in the rising or in its ultimate success. He had been more or less drawn into it, but he was far too shrewd a man to believe that the whites would ever be driven out of the country, or that, even if they were, they would not return in tenfold force. Then where would he, and others, come in? Therefore, he was for 'hedging,' in pursuance of which line he was for saving Lamont's life--if possible.

If possible! But these were times when it hardly seemed possible--when more than once a furious clamour was raised for the prisoner's life. It had been discovered that he had been in command of the force which had offered such a staunch and stout resistance at the Kezane, and before.

This was no man to let go, they represented, to do them incalculable damage in the future. Besides, think of their own people who had been slain--was no vengeance due to them? And the agitators were backed up by at least one chief of equal standing with himself, together with Gingamanzi and his band of Abantwana Mlimo.

But Zwabeka, albeit a morose savage, and given to pessimism, was a man of character; and having made up his mind to the line he had chosen to adopt, had no idea of wavering a hair's-breadth therefrom. Wherefore, when such tumults were at their height, he would ask the clamourers what satisfaction there could possibly be in killing a man who was nearly dead already--pointing to the prisoner, who was so weak and ill he could hardly sit on his horse. That would be poor revenge for anyone. Give him time to get well again, anyhow.

This told--to a certain extent--but what told still more was a declaration, on the part of Zwabeka, that those who wanted to kill the prisoner could fight for the privilege. This Makiwa was his prisoner, and he intended to dispose of him as he chose.

By the time they gained their resting-place, the remote hollow in which we have seen them, Lamont found himself most piteously ill; indeed it seemed to matter but little to him whether the constant clamourings for his death should be acceded to or not. He had almost ceased to care whether he lived or died.

Seeing him sink lower and lower Zwabeka shook his head and muttered.

Over and above the advantage it would be when the rising had failed, to be able to say to the Government, "Look now--here is one of your commanders, who led against us. I have taken care of him, when the people would have slain him. Have I not? Ask him." Over and above this, we say, he had expected substantial reward at the hands of the man himself. And now the man would not get well, seeming to prefer to die.

The native doctors--not necessarily despicable in cases known to them-- had been able to do nothing. Zwabeka was puzzled.

Just then, however, his luck seemed to turn. Some of his people who had been out, partly on a scout, partly maraud, brought him some news. In the result he went straight to the bedside--or rather blanket side--of his prisoner.

"Hearken, Lamonti," he began, when the guard had got outside with alacrity and a respectful salute. "You are not yet tired of life?"

"Almost," was the wan reply. "But why?"

"I can get you one of your own doctors. Will you send him word to come?"

Lamont stared, half raising himself. "But--it is war time, or--has peace been made?"

"Not so. But he shall come and go in safety." The other thought for a moment. Then he said--"I dare not do it, Zwabeka. You are chief of many, but not of the whole nation. If the man should come to harm at the hands of others, would not I have lured him to his death? Who is he?"

"_Au_! He cannot come to harm--Qubani says so," said the chief impatiently. "It is the doctor who came with you, and slept at my kraal."

Lamont started. Father Mathias! But then he was not a doctor, not in the sense the chief had meant. Well, no matter. It would be good to see once more a friendly face, to press a friendly hand.

"Where is he?" he asked eagerly.

"Will you send for him?" returned the chief. "_Au_! he will be in no danger. He is a good doctor and has cured several of Madula's people.

He is there now."

That settled Lamont. If the priest was right among the hostile natives already, why then he would be just as safe here as there, if not safer.

It seemed too from Zwabeka's words that he possessed some knowledge of medicine.

The chief now saw he had gained his point. Calling up two of the men who were on guard, he ordered them to listen carefully to Lamont's words and remember them, and to aid them in this Lamont managed to find an old sc.r.a.p of tattered envelope, and scratch two or three words on it. "You are a true friend, Zwabeka," he said, when they were alone together again. "_Au_! we have been friends, but men forget friendship when there is war. But--not you."

"That is so, Lamonti, and it may be that we shall sit down side by side once more. Yet for the present, be not slow to get well, for, as you did now say, I am not chief over the whole nation, and others may come in here at any moment. Then the way out will be hard. Now, rest."

Rest! After the chief's departure it seemed to Lamont that restfulness had fled from him for ever. He was aroused indeed. It was evident that Zwabeka meant to contrive his escape. Happiness again--which spelt Clare. During his long, weary march into this captivity the thought of her had simply maddened him, until the fever had reached its more prostrating stage; deadening, perhaps mercifully, the more acute mental throes. He was being led to his death, he had told himself, and she in the years to come would forget him, and find happiness with somebody else. Not even in the next world would they belong to each other. And then the effect of the fever had rendered him careless whether he lived or died.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

OUT OF THE WHIRL.

"Ujojo!"

"_Nkose_?"

And the chief of the guard went over to where lay his former master.

"You did well to keep those Abantwana Mlimo off me last night. They might have p.r.i.c.ked me with a poisoned blade, or have done anything."

The speaker little guessed he had hit the actual mark. "And now, Ujojo--why are you fighting?"

The man laughed, turning aside his head.

"_Nkose_, I have been taking care of your cattle for you," he said. "I have them, all but three, and those the people took, wanting meat.

Afterwards I will return them."

"But--if you thought I was blown up with the house?"

"I could not think that, _Nkose_. Anyone else yes--but--well, the cattle are there."

"You will not be the loser, Ujojo, no, nor Zwabeka. Now, when am I to be allowed to depart?"

"_Nkose_ is sick."

"No; I am well now."

It seemed like it. Hope once more rekindled--powerfully rekindled-- seemed to have infused the sufferer with new life. His bruised leg was still terribly stiff and painful, but the fever had almost left him.

That is a peculiarity of this up-country malaria. A man may be shivering under eight blankets in the evening and the next morning be standing about in his shirt loading up his waggons or donkeys. Lamont, chatting thus with his guard on the morning after his visit from Zwabeka, felt almost as if he had never had anything the matter with him in his life.