The Fire Trumpet Part 33

Claverton laughed quietly.

"No such severe measures would have been necessary. If I had promised his chieftainship a gla.s.s of grog and an old hat, he would have come trundling up here with an alacrity that would surprise you."

"Really? That quite takes away from the poetry of the idea. I thought these savage chiefs were very proud."

"They are proud enough just as far as it suits them to be so--inasmuch as they affect to look upon us as dust beneath their feet; but they will condescend to accept anything we may think proper to give them, whether it be a 'tickey' (threepence) or a pair of old boots. In fact Jack Kafir, of whatever degree, has the b.u.mp of acquisitiveness very highly developed, I a.s.sure you. Hullo! who's this?"

For the door opened and a Dutchman entered--the same who witnessed poor Allen's immersion at the taking out of the bees' nest. A good-humoured grin was on his stolid countenance, which looked suggestively warm, and perhaps not too clean, and his beady black eyes sparkled at the prospect of a good feed. His corduroy trousers were tucked into a pair of top boots, and a _sjambok_, or raw-hide whip, dangled from his wrist. Not until he had gone all round, extending a limp, moist paw to each, did it occur to him to remove his hat.

"_Autre pays, autre moeurs_," murmured Claverton in response to a charming little grimace of amus.e.m.e.nt which Lilian flashed at him from across the table, in reference to the new arrival.

A seat was found for the Dutchman, and a well-garnished plate, and being provided with a knife and fork he began to make voracious play with the same. Then having removed the edge of a very exuberant appet.i.te, he raised his head from the platter and waxed talkative.

"Oom Walter is well?"

"Ja. Pretty so so."

"And Mrs Brathwaite?"

"Also."

"_Det is goed_," and then having given a like satisfactory account of his _vrouw_ and _kinders_ the Boer informed them that he was on his way to Thirlestane, with the object of purchasing some oxen from Naylor.

"Claverton's going over there this morning," said Mr Brathwaite, unthinkingly. "You can go over with him."

"So," said the Dutchman with a nod of approval. "We will ride together."

This didn't meet Claverton's wishes at all.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "Sticks is rather lame, and I shall have to send for my other horse. They'll hardly find him till the afternoon--if then. It won't be worth Botha's while to wait."

"No. I don't think it will," said good-natured Mrs Brathwaite, who had taken in the situation at a glance. Lilian, not understanding the Boer dialect, was an unconscious auditor of what was going on.

Breakfast over, the Dutchman sat for about half an hour outside, smoking his pipe and talking over the usual subjects with his host--sheep, ostriches, the state of the country, how much longer they could do without rain, and so on. Then, saddling up his small, rough-looking nag, he shook hands all round and departed, thoroughly content with himself and all the world.

"What a queer fellow!" said Lilian, gazing after the awkward, receding figure of their late guest, who, with his feet jammed to the heels in the stirrups, was shuffling leisurely along, pipe in mouth.

"Yes, isn't he?" answered Claverton. "But he's a fair specimen of the typical Boer. Washes three times a year, sleeps in his clothes, and wears his hat in the house."

"Lilian, dear; hadn't you better get ready to start?" suggested Mrs Brathwaite.

"I was just thinking the same," said Claverton; "but," he added, in a lower tone, "I couldn't find it in my conscience to hasten even such a temporary separation, and yet I was racked with apprehension lest some other wayfarer should turn up and make a third."

She gave him a bright smile as she flitted indoors; then he, having got into his riding-gear, went round to the stable and simply made Jan the Hottentot groom's life a burden to him over the caparisoning of Lilian's steed. This bit was too sharp--that too soft--those reins were too hard for the hands--and what the devil did he mean by leaving those two specks of rust on the stirrup-iron? Jan and his deputy--an impish-looking little bushman--couldn't make it out at all; Baas Clav'ton was usually so easy-going, and now here he was fidgeting worse than the "sir" in the long boots (Allen).

Then Lilian came out, looking lovely in her well-fitting blue habit.

There was just a little air of timidity about her which was inexpressibly charming, as Claverton put her into the saddle. She was not a bold horsewoman, she confessed. She was ashamed to say that if anything she was just a wee bit afraid every time she mounted a horse.

Nevertheless she sat beautifully, and the somewhat timid hand held the reins as gracefully if not quite as firmly as that of any hard-riding Amazon. To-day she was mounted on a handsome old bay horse of Mr Brathwaite's, who carried his head well, had a firm, easy walk, and was as safe as a church, while Claverton rode a dark chestnut just flecked with white, a fine, spirited animal which he had bought to supplement the faithful "Sticks," using the latter for the rougher kinds of work.

"Do you know, nothing but my unblushing mendacity kept that seedy Dutchman from inflicting himself upon our ride?" remarked Claverton, when they had started; and he told her of his little subterfuge.

"Shocking! You had no right to tell such a story," she answered, with a laugh.

"Hadn't I? Which would have been best--the lie or the Dutchman? 'Of the two evils,' you know, and I thought the lie the least. Perhaps you would have preferred the Dutchman?"

"No, I would not. But I think--well, I think--you did about the very best thing you could have done," she replied, breaking into a silvery laugh. "But don't take that as any encouragement to persevere in the art. It's a dangerous one, and I believe you are quite an adept in it already. In fact, I've heard you tell one or two shocking fibs myself."

"All's fair in love and war." Then noting the look which stole over her face he wished the quotation unsaid. "But I promise you I won't indulge in mendacity any more than I can help."

"You must not do it at all. Seriously, it isn't right."

"Except as a choice of evils. How would society get on without its mendacities?"

"Never mind about society," retorted Lilian, brushing aside an inconvenient argument in right womanly fashion. "And now promise you'll do what I'm going to ask you."

"Oh, cheerfully."

"I'm going to set you a penance."

"Consider it performed. But what is it?"

"Well, the next time a choice of evils is offered you, you are to choose the one which does not involve romancing."

"That must depend upon its nature."

"Oh, you promised!"

"So I did, and so did Herod, and look what came of it."

"Never mind about Herod," was the laughing reply. "I have got you at a disadvantage, and I mean to keep you at it. Look, are not those Kafirs picturesque, in their red blankets, filing through the dark green of the bush?" she broke off, pointing out half-a-dozen ochre-painted beings who were crossing the valley some distance from them. They were walking in single file, and every now and then one would half stop and throw a remark over his shoulder in a deep ba.s.s tone. Their necklaces of jackals' teeth showed white against their red bodies, which glistened in the sun, and as they marched along, head erect and with their kerries over their shoulders, they certainly did look picturesque.

"Yes, and do you notice how clear the air is? I can make out nearly every word those fellows are saying," answered Claverton.

"Can you really? What are they talking about?"

"What are they talking about? Now look at them. The n.o.ble savage on his native heath, looking too, as if it actually did belong to him, striding with free and independent bearing, proud and scornful in mien.

You think they are talking of war and tribal greatness, and the extermination of the hated white man, and such-like lofty and ambitious schemes? Nothing of the sort. One fellow is narrating how he got a thorn in his right heel, and how badly his brother extracted it for him, while three of the others are all trying to say at once what a fool the brother was, and that they could have done it much better."

Lilian broke into a peal of laughter. "How absurd you are! You have quite taken the poetry out of them, and now they look like a very commonplace lot of beings. But is that really what they were saying?"

"It is, upon my word. To see a lot of Kafirs talking you would think they were letting off a stream of oratory, what with all their gesticulation and modulation of voice. In nine cases out of ten they are discussing the veriest trivialities."

"I'm not sure that I'm glad I know that. It spoils the romance of the thing. I shan't look at them with the same interest."

"You are given to idealisation, I see," he said. "It is a delightful pastime, and I must not do anything to shock it. But, look! That, at all events, is entirely free from the commonplace."

They had reached the brow of an eminence, and before them lay unfolded a panorama which brought a flush of delight to Lilian's face. Upland and valley lay sleeping in the golden sunshine, a rolling expanse of verdure, now open and gra.s.sy, now covered with thick bush, or dotted here and there with feathery mimosas. Wave upon wave of rise and swell, there seemed no end to the wide beautiful plains; and the eye wandered on, over and over it, drinking in a new delight in the far-seeing vision, then turning to refresh itself in the grand mountain chain which bounded its range in front. Stretching afar, in a hundred and fifty miles of stately crescent, rose those lofty mountains with their sunny slopes and beetling cliffs, and black forest-clad sides seen through the dim uncertainty of the summer haze; while, towering above the rest, the Great Winterberg raised his weather-beaten crest to the cloudless bine.

The thatch and white walls of a farmhouse or two, visible here and there in the distance, redeemed the spectacle from the utter wildness of a newly-trodden land, but on the other hand added to the peaceful solemnity of the scene. Hard by, the air resounded with the low hum of bees busily gathering their stores from the blossoming sprays of a neighbouring clump of bush; spreuws whistled, and a dainty little sugar-bird--the humming-bird of Southern Africa--flitted across the path, his painted plumage glittering in the sun. Down in the valley two or three pairs of blue cranes roamed about picking in the gra.s.s, and every now and then their strange rasping note floated not unmelodiously through the calm.