The Fire Trumpet Part 11

And now, as the horseman we have been following emerges from the bush on to the open s.p.a.ce surrounding the low-roofed, thatched shanty, a man is seated in his shirt-sleeves on a stone in front of the door, intently watching something upon the ground. It is a large circular gla.s.s cover, such as might be used for placing over cheese or fruit; but to a very different use is it now being put. For imprisoned within it are two scorpions of differing species--a red one and a black one--hideous monsters, measuring five inches from their great lobster-like claws to the tip of their armed tails, and there they crouch, each upon one side of its gla.s.s prison-house, both, evidently, in that dubious state aptly known among schoolboys as "one's funky, and t'other's afraid."

"Hold on a bit," called out the man in the shirt sleeves, but without turning his head, as the trampling of hoofs behind him warned of the approach of a visitor, "or, at any rate, come up quietly."

"Why, what in the name of all that's blue have you got there?" demanded Hicks, dismounting; for he it is whom we have accompanied to this out-of-the-way spot. "Well, I'm blest?" he continued, going off into a roar of laughter as he approached near enough to see the other's occupation.

"Tsh! tsh! Don't make such an infernal row, man, you'll spoil all the fun, and make me lose my bet."

"What's the bet?"

"Why, I've got five goats against that blue schimmel heifer of old Jafta's on these two beggars, that the black one'll polish off the red 'un; but they are to go at it of their own accord, and now I've been watching them for the last half-hour, but the beggars won't fight,"

replied the other, still without moving, or even so much as looking over his shoulder.

"Stir them up a bit," suggested Hicks.

"Can't; it'd scratch the bet."

"Where's Jafta?"

"Oh, he wouldn't wait. Went away laughing in his sleeve. He'll laugh the other side of his mouth, the old _schelm_, when he has to fork out."

"Well, you must have been hard up for some one to run a bet with. A nice little occupation, too, for a Sunday morning," replied Hicks, with sham irony.

"Sunday be somethinged. There's no Sunday on the frontier. Hullo!"

This exclamation was the result of a change of att.i.tude on the part of the grisly denizens of the gla.s.s. Slack began slowly to move round the circ.u.mference of his prison, in process of which he cannoned against red, and Greek met Greek. With claws interlaced, the venomous brutes plied their sting-armed tails like a couple of striving demons, till at length their grip relaxed, and red fell over on his back with his legs doubled up and rigid.

"Hooroosh! I've won," called out our new acquaintance, jumping up gleefully. "Hi! Jafta, Jafta!" he bawled, anxious to notify his triumph over his sceptical retainer.

"Hold on; not so fast," put in Hicks, "t'other fellow's a gone c.o.o.n, too, or not far from it. Look," he added, pointing to the gla.s.s.

And in good sooth the victor began to show signs of approaching dissolution, which increased to such an extent, that in a couple of minutes he lay as rigid and motionless as the vanquished.

"Never mind, it all counts. He did polish off the other. Jafta, we'll put my mark on that cow to-morrow."

"Nay, Baas," demurred that ancient servitor, who had just come up. He was a wiry little old Hottentot, with a yellow skin, and beady monkey eyes, and as ugly as the seven deadly sins. "Nay, Baas, the bet's an even one; neither thrashed the other. Isn't it so, Baas Hicks?"

"Well, as you put it to me, I think the bet's a draw," began Hicks.

"Oh, no, that won't do," objected Jafta's master, "the black did polish off the red, you know. If he went off himself afterwards, it was owing to his uneasy conscience. That wasn't provided for in the agreement.

But never mind, Jafta, you can keep your old 'stomp-stert' this time."

[Note 1.]

The old Hottentot grinned all over his parchment countenance, and the numerous and grimy wrinkles thereof puckered themselves like the skin of a withered apple. He, and his two sons, strapping lads of eighteen and nineteen, const.i.tuted the whole staff of farm servants. No Kafir could be induced to stay on the place, owing to its weird a.s.sociations; a circ.u.mstance which, according to its occupant, was not without its compensating advantage, for the marauding savage, in his nocturnal forays, at any rate kept his hands off these flocks and herds. The old fellow, however, was fairly faithful to his employer, though not scrupulously honest in all his dealings with the rest of mankind at large; the place suited him, and as for ghosts, well, he had never seen anything to frighten him.

And now the jolly frontiersman, who has been driven to so eccentric a form of Sabbath amus.e.m.e.nt, rises, and we see a man of middle height, with a humorous and gleeful countenance; in his eyes there lurks a mirthful twinkle, and every sun-tanned lineament bespeaks "a character."

And he is a character. Always on the look-out for the whimsical side of events, he is light-hearted to childishness, and has a disastrous weakness for the perpetration of practical jokes--a vein of humour far more entertaining to its possessor than to its victims--and game to bet upon any and every contingency. He is about thirty, and his name is Jack Armitage.

"Well, Hicks, old man," said this worthy. "Taken pity on my lonely estate, eh? That's right; we'll make a day of it. Had breakfast?"

"No."

"More have I; we'll have it now. Er--Jafta!" he shouted, "Jafta! Wheel up those chops. Sharp's the word."

"Ya, Baas. Just now?" called out that menial, and from the kitchen sounds of hissing and sputtering betokened the preparation of a succulent fry.

"Just now! Only listen. Why, he'll be twenty minutes at least."

"Not he," said Hicks; "he's nearly ready, I can smell that much."

"Nearly ready! Give you a dollar to five bob he's twenty minutes from now. Is that on?" he inquired, putting out his watch to take the time.

[Rix dollar, 1 shilling 6 pence.]

"No, it isn't. I'm not going to encourage your disgraceful and sporting proclivities," was the reply, as they entered the house. Three part.i.tions boasted this domicile--a bedroom, a sitting-room, and the kitchen aforesaid. Of ceiling it was wholly guiltless, the sole canopy overhead being plain, unadulterated thatch; and the mud floor, plastered over with cow-dung, after the manner of the rougher frontier houses, gave forth a musty, uninviting odour, which it required all the ingress of the free air of Heaven to atone for. A large, roomy wooden press, and a row of shelves, with a green baize curtain in front, stood against the whitewashed wall, and in the middle of the room a coa.r.s.e cloth was laid upon the wooden table, with a couple of plates and knives and forks. Armitage dived into the press and produced a great brown loaf, a tin of milk, and a mighty jar of quince jam.

"Hallo! the ants are in possession again," said he, surveying the jar, whence issued an irregular crowd of those industrious insects--too industrious sometimes. "Never mind, we can dodge them; besides, they are fattening. Ah, that's right, Jafta,"--as that worthy entered with a dish of fizzing chops in one hand and a pot of strong black coffee in the other. "Now we can fall to."

"By the way, I shall have to go back soon," said Hicks. "I only came to see if any of those sheep we lost had got in amongst Van Rooyen's, and thought I'd sponge on you for a feed whilst I was down this way."

"Oh, that can't be allowed; I thought you had come to help a fellow kill Sunday. Hang it, man, don't be in a hurry; stop and have some rifle practice, and then we can take out that bees' nest down by the river.

Ah, but I forgot," he added, with a quizzical wink. "Never mind, my boy; I don't want to spoil fun, you'll be better employed at home."

Hicks was sorely puzzled. He was a good-natured fellow, and could see that the other had reckoned upon his company for the day. Yet he had his reasons for wanting to get back. "Look here, Jack," he said, at length, "I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll hold on here a little and help you to get out that bees' nest, then you can go back with me and we'll get to Seringa Vale just nicely in time for dinner. Will that do?"

"All right," a.s.sented the other, "that'll do me well enough. I've had nothing but my own blessed company for the last fortnight, except for a Dutchman or two now and again, and a little jaw with my fellow creatures will do me a world of good. By the way, is that chap Claverton still with you?"

"Yes. How d'you like him?"

"Oh, he seems good enough sort, but about the most casual bird I ever saw. He was down here one day; did he tell you about it? No! Well, then, a couple of Dutchmen came in--Swaart Pexter and his brother Marthinus--and Swaart, who is one of your bragging devils and 'down on'

a 'raw Englishman' like a ton of bricks, after yarning a little while points to Claverton, who was sitting over there blowing a cloud in his calm way, and says rather cheekily: 'Who's that?' I told him. 'Can he talk Dutch?' was the next question. 'Don't know,' says I. 'How long has he been in this country?' says he. 'Tell him a year,' says Claverton, quietly, without moving a muscle. I told him. 'A year!'

says Pexter, turning up his nose more cheekily than before. 'A year and can't talk Dutch yet! He must be _domm_,' [stupid]. Thereupon Claverton looks the fellow bang in the eyes, and says in Dutch, 'Can you talk English?' 'No!' replies Pexter, with a stare of astonishment.

'And how long have _you_ been here?' 'Been here!' says the other, with a contemptuous laugh at this--to him--new proof of the other fellow's greenness. 'Why, I was born here.' 'How old are you?' goes on Claverton in a tone of friendly interest. 'Forty-seven last May,' says the Dutchman, wondering what the deuce is coming next. 'Forty-seven last May!' repeats our friend, calmly knocking the ash out of his pipe.

'That is, you have been in this country forty-seven years, and can't talk English yet. Well, you must be _domm_!' I roared and so did Marthinus. 'Got you there, old chap,' says I. Swaart Pexter looked rather shirty and tried to laugh it off, but Claverton had him. Had him, sir, fairly--lock, stock, and barrel. Well, after a while we went outside and stuck up a bottle at four hundred yards to have some rifle practice. The Dutchmen are first-rate shots, and I--well, a buck or a n.i.g.g.e.r would be anything but safe in front of me at that distance--but I give you my word that none of us could touch that bottle. When we had fired a dozen shots apiece and nearly covered the beastly thing with dust, and ploughed up the ground all round it as if a thunderbolt had fallen, out saunters Claverton with a yellow-backed novel in his fist.

'Doesn't your friend shoot?' asks Marthinus. 'Suppose so,' says I.

'Have a shot, Claverton!' 'Don't mind,' says he, taking over my gun. I could see a malicious grin on Swaart's ugly mug, and hugely was he preparing to chuckle over the 'raw Englishman's' wide shooting.

Claverton lay down, and without much aiming--bang--crash--we could hardly believe our eyes--the bottle had flown. By Jove it had. 'Well done,' says I, 'but do that again, old chap'; yes, it was mean of me, I allow, but I couldn't help it. 'Don't want to do for all your bottles, Armitage,' says my joker as quietly as you please, as I sent the boy to stick up another, and I had just time to start a bet of five bob with Marthinus in his favour when--bang--and, by Jove, sir, would you believe it? that bottle shared the fate of the first. Well, we _were_ astonished. 'Aren't you going to shoot any more?' says Marthinus, handing over the five bob with a very bad grace. 'Too hot out here,'

replies he, sloping into the shade of the house; and diving his nose into the yellow-back again, leaves us to our bottle-breaking or rather to our attempts at the same, for I'm dashed if we touched one after that. After the Pexters had gone I says, 'Look here, old chap, we'll have a quiet match between ourselves, five bob on every dozen shots--you shall give me odds.' 'My dear fellow,' says he, 'odds should be the other way about. I shan't touch that bottle again three times if I blaze away at it the whole morning.' 'The Lord, you won't,' says I; 'never mind, let's try.' He did, and was as good as his word, and handed over fifteen bob at the close of the entertainment, having hit the mark twice to my seven times. 'And how the deuce did you pink it before--twice running can't be a fluke, you know?' I asked, when we had done. 'Well, you see, those louts were bent on seeing me shoot wide, so I held straight just to spite them,' was his cool answer. But didn't he tell you all about it?"

"Not a word," said Hicks. "He just said he had been down here, and a couple of slouching Dutchmen had looked in and tried to take a rise out of him, but didn't manage it."

"Well, he is a rum stick and no mistake. What's in the wind now?" and as the trampling of hoofs fell upon the speaker's ear, he got up hastily and made for the door, knocking over a wooden chair in his progress, and treading on the tail of a mongrel puppy which had sneaked in and was lying under the table, and which now fled, yelling disconsolately.

"Here come two chaps," he went on, shading his eyes from the sun's glare and looking out into the _veldt_. "Dutchmen--no--one is--David Botha, I think; t'other's Allen--no mistaking him. Wheu-uw! Now for some fun, Hicks, my boy. We'll make him help us with the bees' nest, and if you don't kill yourself with almighty blue fits, call me a n.i.g.g.e.r."

The two drew near. The Boer with his stolid, wooden face, slouch hat (round which was twined a faded blue veil), and bob-tailed and ancient tail-coat, was an ordinary specimen of his cla.s.s and nation. The Englishman, however, was not. He was rather a queer-looking fellow, tall and loosely-built, with a great mop of yellow hair and an absent expression of countenance. His age might have been five or six-and-twenty. He had not been long in the colony, and was theoretically supposed to be farming. On horseback Allen was quaint of aspect. His seat in the saddle would not have been a good advertis.e.m.e.nt to his riding-master, putting it mildly, and he invariably rode screws.

Moreover, he was great on jack-boots and huge spurs.

"Good day, David," said Armitage, as the Boer extended a damp and uncleanly paw. "Hallo, Allen! you're just in the nick of time. We are just going to get out a bees' nest, and you must come and bear a hand."

"But--er--I'm not much use at that sort of thing. Botha will help you much better."