John Ames, Native Commissioner Part 27

The day was wearing on, and now the sun was already behind the crags which rose above the camp. It would soon be dusk. Every faculty on the alert, always bearing in view the precious life which depended upon his, he was calculating to a minute how soon he could carry into effect the last and desperate plan, the while he was conversing in the most even of tones, striving to impress upon his hearers the futility, in the long run, of thinking to drive the white man out. They had done nothing overt as yet. Let them return, and all would be well.

What of their cattle which had all been killed? they asked. It was evident Makiwa was anxious to destroy the people, since cattle were the life of the people. So John Ames was obliged to go all over the same ground again; but, after all, it was a safe topic. He knew, as well as they did, that the murder of the Hollingworths, of the Inglefields, and every other ma.s.sacre which had surprised and startled the scattered white population, was instigated and approved by these very men, but this was not the time to say so. Wherefore he temporised.

The first shadow of dusk was deepening over the halting-place. Already fires were beginning to gleam out redly.

"Fare ye well, _Izinduma_" he said, rising. "I must now go on my way.

May it be soon that we meet again as we met before. Fare ye well!"

They grunted out a gruff acknowledgment, and he walked away. Now was the critical moment. The warriors, standing in groups, or squatted around the fires, eyed him as he pa.s.sed through. Some gave him greeting, others uttered a jeering half laugh, but a sudden stillness had fallen upon the hitherto buzzing and restless crowd. It was a moment to remain in a man's mind for life--the dark forms and savage, hostile faces, the great tufted shields and shining a.s.segai blades, and gun-barrels, and this one man pacing through their midst, unarmed now, and absolutely at the mercy of any one of them.

He had pa.s.sed the last of them, uttering a pleasant farewell greeting.

In a moment more the friendly gloom would shut him from their view. His heart swelled with an intense and earnest thankfulness, when--What was that long stealthy movement, away on his right? One glance was sufficient. A line of armed savages was stealing up to cut him off.

On that side the boulders rose, broken and tumbled, with many a network of gnarled bough or knotty root. On the other, brushwood, then a wide _dwala_, or flat, bare, rock surface sloping away well-nigh precipitously to another gorge below. One more glance and his plans were laid. He started to run.

With a wild yell the warriors dashed in pursuit, bounding, leaping, like demon figures in the dusk. Down the slope fled the fugitive, crashing through long gra.s.s and thorns. Now the _dwala_ is gained, and he races across it. The pursuers pause to fire a volley at the fleeing figure in the open, but without effect, then on again; but they have lost ground.

They soon regain it, however. In this terrible race for life--for two lives--John Ames becomes conscious that he is no match for these human bloodhounds. Thorns stretch forth hooked claws, and lacerate and delay him, but _they_ spring through unscathed, unchecked. They are almost upon him. The hissed forth "I--jji! I--jji!" is vibrating almost in his ears, and a.s.segais hurtle by in the gathering gloom. His heart is bursting, and a starry mist is before his eyes. The cover ends. Here all is open again. They are upon him--in the open. Yet stay--what is this? Blank! Void! s.p.a.ce! In the flash of a moment he takes in the full horror of the plunge before him, for he cannot stop if he would, then a sickening whirr through empty air, and a starry crash. Blank-- void--unconsciousness!

And a score of Matabele warriors, left upon the brink of the height, are firing off excited comments and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, while striving to peer into the dark and silent depths beneath.

"_Au_! He has again escaped us," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Nanzicele. "He is _tagati_."

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN."

Nidia stared at the savage, her eyes dilated with the wildest dismay.

The savage, for his part, stared at her, with a countenance which expressed but little less astonishment than her own. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed--

"_Whau! Umfanekiso_!" [The picture.]

Her glance fell upon the naked sword-bayonet which lay on the ground between them. She made a movement to seize it, with a desperate idea of defending herself. The savage, however, was too quick for her. He promptly set his foot on the weapon, saying in English--

"No take it."

By now Nidia's first fear had begun to calm down. She had been in the power of some of these people before, and they had not harmed her; wherefore she tried to put on a bold front towards this one.

"Who are you?" she said, speaking slowly to facilitate the man understanding her. "You frightened me at first; not now."

"_Ikonde_, [baboon] he flighten much more," was the answer made with a half laugh. Then Nidia noticed that this Matabele had by no means an unpleasant face; indeed, she could hardly believe that he belonged to the same race as the fiends who had slaughtered the Hollingworths.

"No be flighten," he went on. "I see you before--one, two, tlee--much many time."

"Seen me before?" echoed Nidia in astonishment. "Where?"

"Kwa Jonemi."

"Jonemi?" she repeated, with a start. "You know him?"

The warrior laughed.

"Oh, yes, missis. I know him. I Pukele. Jonemi his boy."

"Ah; now I see. You were his servant? You are the man who saved his life, when the others were all murdered?" For Nidia had, of course, heard the whole story of the tragedy in Inglefield's quarters.

"I dat man, missie," said the other, with a grin that showed a magnificent set of teeth. "Umlimo he say kill all Amakiwa--white people. Pukele say, No kill Jonemi. _Amapolise_ dey kill Ingerfiel, and missis, and strange white man. I not help. I go wit _amapolise_.

I save Jonemi. See," lifting his foot off the sword-bayonet, "_I_ give him dis."

"And for that you will never be sorry, I promise you," said Nidia.

"Listen, Pukele. For that, and that alone, you shall have what will buy twenty cows. _I_ will give it you when we are safe again. Only--you must never tell Jonemi."

The man broke into extravagant expressions of delight, in his own tongue, once he had begun to grasp the burden of this promise, declaring that Jonemi had always been his "father," and he was not going to let his "father" be killed, even at the bidding of ten Umlimos--looking round rather furtively however, as he gave utterance to this sacrilegious sentiment.

"You said you had seen me at Jonemi's," went on Nidia; "but I have never been there. It must have been somewhere else."

"No somewhere else. I see missie on bit of paper, hang on de wall.

Jonemi he have it in hut where he sleep. He often stand, look at it for long time."

A soft flush came into Nidia's face, accompanied by a pleased smile.

"And you knew me from that?" she said. Then all her anxiety coming back upon her--for she had momentarily lost sight of it in the feeling of safety engendered by this man's appearance and ident.i.ty--she exclaimed--

"But where is Jonemi? He went out yesterday--not much after midday--and should have been back by sundown. You must find him, Pukele."

The man uttered some words to himself in his own tongue, which from the tone were expressive of like anxiety. Then, to her--

"Which way he go?"

She pointed out, as best she could, the way John Ames had proposed to take. Pukele shook his head.

"No good dat way. Much Matabele dere. 'Spose he fire gun, den Matabele hear him for sure."

Nidia's face blanched, and she clasped her hands together wildly.

"You don't think they have--killed him?" she said slowly.

In his heart of hearts Pukele thought that nothing was more likely; but he was not going to say so.

"I tink not," he answered, "Jonemi _nkos'nkulu_. Great master. He aflaid o' nuffin. Matabele much like him."

"Listen, Pukele," said Nidia, impressively. "You must go and find him."

"But what you do, missis? You be flighten, all alone. Suppose _Uconde_--bobyaan--he come again, you much flighten? I be away till sun, him so," pointing to the western horizon.

"I'll be frightened of nothing," she answered emphatically. "Leave me one of your long a.s.segais, and go. Even if you have to be away all night, don't come back. I'll get through it somehow. But--find Jonemi."