The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley Part 33

But the errand of the king's troops was not quite completed. The hollow had been effectively scoured in search of fugitives hiding away, but none such had been found. Save the few who had broken through, only in order to make their last stand upon the summit of the Tooth, none had thought of escape. All had fallen where they had stood, fighting desperately to the last.

"Now will we put in the fire to this nest of wizards!" cried Sobuza aloud.

Hardly had he given the signal, than smoke was seen rising from the huts, gathering in dense volumes, and, lo, from four different points simultaneously, bright flames broke forth, and as the whole huge kraal, now one vast sheet of leaping, devouring fire, gave forth in uninterrupted salvo its heavy crackling roar, there went up from the ranks of the king's warriors, mustering in crescent formation to watch the completion of their errand of retribution, the thunder of a fierce war-song of victory and exultation.

"As lightning we smote them, Where, where are they now?

The sons of the lightning, The wizards of thunder?

Where, too, is their dwelling, Their cattle, their cornfields?

"The bolt fell upon them, The thunder-cloud smote them; The might of 'The Heavens'

In fury it burned them-- It smote and it burned them-- Its ruin destroyed them!

"The wizards are scattered In blood and in ashes; The roar of the Lion In thunder pursued them; The praise of the Lion His children re-echo; The praise of the Lion, The Lion of Zulu, The Lord of the Nations!"

The flames sunk low, sunk into red heaps of ashes pierced with bright and glowing caverns. A dense cloud of smoke overhung the hollow; and now the king's _impi_, marching in companies, was moving up towards the ridge. The two waggons, with their full spans of oxen creaking up the rocky way, had already gained the entrance to the hollow, and their owners, riding on horseback, for both the steeds had been recovered too, paused for a moment on the ridge to look back. Their peril and captivity was at an end. They were being brought out in something like a triumphal procession. Far on in front, the dust was rising from the great herd of cattle and the crowd of captives. Behind, below, lay the gruesome and blood-stained hollow. The thunder of the war-song echoed from the slopes, and the rhythmic movement of the lines of shields of marching warriors was a fitting accessary to the lurid background of the picture, the amphitheatre of cliffs, "The Tooth," the pyramid of Death in the centre, its dismal burdens still dangling against its face, and below, the great smouldering circle of blackening ashes, while the dense smoke cloud mounting to the heavens in the grey and murky noontide, as from the crater of a volcano, proclaimed to all, far and near, that the king's justice had been executed, and that the power of the dreaded, indomitable, bloodthirsty Igazipuza had now become a thing of the past.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE LAST OF ALL OUR FRIENDS.

Maritzburg again. Gerard, strolling through the busy streets, keenly enjoying the bustle and stir of civilised life after his wild experiences in savage lands, now no longer to him a sealed book, can hardly realise that it is the same place, that he is the same being.

Could it be through those very streets that he hurried so eagerly in search of what might bring him a bare subsistence; returned so despondently from each successive failure? Now he felt himself the equal in experience and resource of pretty nearly every man he met. He felt his feet, so to say, and felt them firmly. He felt now that wherever he was put down he could make his way.

"A little civilisation doesn't come amiss after the long spell of trekking we've had, eh, Ridgeley?" said John Dawes, as they sat smoking their pipes beneath the verandah of the Imperial Hotel towards the close of a hot day. "But the contrast of it! I suppose, now, you can hardly bring yourself to believe that old Ingonyama, Vunawayo, and the rest of 'em weren't just so many chaps in a dream?"

"A dream!" echoed Gerard, vacantly. "Oh--ah! Yes, of course."

John Dawes's humour being of the "dry" order, he did not laugh outright.

His young friend _was_ in a dream; and of its nature he was not ignorant, for Gerard had given him just such vacant answers since a wire had been handed in some two hours ago, announcing that Mr Kingsland and his daughter would take up their quarters in the Imperial Hotel during their two or three days' sojourn in the capital, and would, in fact, arrive that evening.

"Remember what I said, just before we made acquaintance with the Igazipuza," went on Dawes, "that you'd have some rare yarns to spin to old Kingsland? Why, those will be skim milk to all that's happened since."

"Rather!" a.s.sented Gerard, still vacantly, all his attention being directed towards obtaining as good a view of the gate as was possible through the sunflowers. And the other, seeing he was in no mood for conversation, forebore to tax the attention aforesaid.

On the arrival of our two friends in Maritzburg, they had been met by John Dawes's brother William, his joint partner in that and all undertakings, who had taken the waggons and cattle--except such of the latter as had been there and then sold by public auction--away to his farm, leaving John to enjoy a spell of city life. But before he left, the two brothers had put their heads together and decided to allow Gerard a third of the profits of the expedition by way of his share.

The generosity of this arrangement, far in excess of that which had been agreed upon, touched Gerard not a little.

"Shut up, man alive," had cut in William Dawes, with a good-natured slap on the shoulder, as Gerard blurted out his thanks. "I've heard enough about you from Jack here to know you've jolly well earned whatever share we can give you. So you and he had better have a little fun after your trip, and when you've had enough of the city come over and give us a look up. There are a few bucks and partridges left on the place still."

So William Dawes had departed to his farm, and Gerard had fallen upon his feet at last; which satisfactory position, what with the comfortable sum this arrangement would give him, coupled with the invaluable experience he had gained, it would be a strange thing if he did not manage to keep.

Just as the first gong was sounding for dinner, a light American "spider" drew up at the gate, and from it there descended two persons.

"By your leave, my good fellow. Would, you mind letting me pa.s.s?" said Mr Kingsland, rather testily, as struggling with a large and weighty Gladstone bag he found his ingress barred by some one who showed not the smallest disposition to stand aside.

"Don't you know me, Mr Kingsland?"

"Know you? Eh--what! 'Pon my life I don't," answered the other, staring inquiringly at the bronzed, bearded young fellow before him.

Then, as in a flash, "Why, it's Ridgeley--young Ridgeley--of course!

But who'd have known you! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

And the cheery old settler, dropping the weighty Gladstone, wrung his young friend's hand in a manner that left no sort of doubt as to the genuine pleasure wherewith he regarded the meeting.

"Why, what a man you've grown!" he went on, looking Gerard up and down with an approval that made the latter feel and look extremely foolish.

"May!" he called out. "Where are you, May? Here's young Ridgeley, come back looking twice the chap he was when he went, as I always said he would."

As the girl came forward with extended hand, and a look of unaffected pleasure in her eyes, Gerard was not quite sure whether he was standing on his head or on his heels. He thought he had never seen a sweeter, lovelier vision in his life. And, indeed, from an impartial standpoint, and outside the enthusiasm of our young friend, May Kingsland certainly was a very sweet and winsome girl, and one calculated, as she stood there in all the brightness of her fresh young beauty, to damage a far less susceptible heart than that which she had so easily taken captive.

"We are so glad to see you again, Mr Ridgeley," she said simply, though this time there was ever so faint a tinge of constraint, which had Gerard read and understood would have lifted him into the seventh heaven of delight. "You will have such a lot of adventures to tell us by-and-by. I am dying to hear if you ever met your friend the Zulu again--you remember I predicted you would. But now the second gong is about to strike, and I must run away and make myself presentable." And with a bright little nod she left him.

"Hallo, John Dawes! You here, too?" sung out old Kingsland, as the former strolled leisurely up. "Why, when did you fellows get back?"

"The other day. We looked in at your place on the way, but there was n.o.body there. It was all shut up."

"Ah yes, of course. My boy Tom is going to leave me, going to get married, and is looking out for a farm of his own. Dare say Arthur was away helping him. May and I have been down at Durban the last three weeks. Ah, thanks--but have we got time?" taking the tobacco-pouch which Dawes tendered, and hurriedly cramming his pipe for a brief before-dinner smoke.

We may be sure that a very cheery, happy group were those four persons, as they sat out beneath the verandah that evening after dinner, and the events of the trip were narrated and discussed. And one of them, at any rate, was silently, radiantly, thankfully happy. One, did we say? Two, perhaps--But there, softly! for are we not on the verge of betraying a secret--or anyhow what is likely to be a secret of the future.

We may be sure, further, that as far as our young friend was concerned, that blissful frame of mind extended over the next two days, for during that period he contrived to be very much in May Kingsland's society, whether walking about the town or seated under the cool shady verandah of the hotel. To him, further, it was surprising how the time had slipped away, and how much of her company he had had all to himself during the process. Time, however, as we know, has a knack of taking to itself wings under the circ.u.mstances, and so as this period drew to a close Gerard's spirits began to sink with a rapid motion towards zero.

But there was a further surprise awaiting him. The evening before their departure Mr Kingsland said--

"By the way, Ridgeley, you haven't asked after our former shipmate, Maitland."

Gerard started guiltily. During those past two days it was little enough he had given a thought to, outside one all-engrossing subject which held possession of his mind.

"I'm afraid I did forget," he said. "But what has become of him, Mr Kingsland? Have you seen anything of him lately?"

The old settler looked grave as he filled his pipe in silence.

"I'm sorry to say he came to no good," he said at length. "The fact is, he came to something like utter grief. He wouldn't start doing anything--got into a habit of loafing around bare--went the way of, unfortunately, many another young fellow who comes out to the Colonies-- took to drink. Once he did that he was done for. Some of us did try to get him into something and keep him straight, but it was no good. He was off again and on the spree like a journeyman stonemason. Well, his father, a parson of some sort, I believe, got angry when he heard how he was going on, and cut off the supplies; and then Master Harry, after getting into a serious sc.r.a.pe or two--in fact, I had to bail him out once myself--goes and enlists in the Mounted Police. I myself should have left him there to serve his time if I had been his people--it might have done him good. But no; as soon as they heard of it they must move Heaven and earth and the Government to get him out of it; and it wasn't easily managed, I can tell you, only Master Harry proved such a shocking bad hat that the police authorities were only too glad to get rid of him. His father wrote to me about him, asking me to take his pa.s.sage and send him straight home again. And I did--shipped him on board--what do you think!--our old hooker the _Amatikulu_; and as she's a direct boat and touches nowhere on the way, he can't get ash.o.r.e again."

"I'm sorry the chap should have turned out so badly," said Gerard, his mind reverting to the almost direct cut Harry Maitland had given him on the last occasion of their meeting, and when he himself was down on his luck. "By the way, what has become of Anstey?"

"They sold him up just after you left. One of his creditors took out a writ of imprisonment against him, but finding he'd got to pay so much a day while Anstey was locked up, he soon got sick of throwing good money after bad--and friend Anstey was turned loose again. He cleared out soon after--n.o.body knows where."

The speaker paused for a minute or two. Then he went on--

"And now, Ridgeley, if it's not an impertinent question from an old fellow who's interested in your welfare, what _are_ your own plans? I remember you telling me when you first came out here you were anxious to take to farming. Is this still your idea, or has your year of adventure--and, by Jove, you have had some adventures too!--unsettled you, unfitted you for anything but a wandering life?"

"Rather the other way, Mr Kingsland. The old idea holds good more than ever. I would like above all things to get on a farm."

"You would, eh? Well now, look here, Ridgeley. You've learnt a good deal, but you've still a good deal to learn. I wouldn't help you in this line at the time you landed, because, as I told you, I had two boys of my own, who were amply sufficient to manage things. Now Tom, as I also told you, is leaving me, and setting up on his own hook, and it occurs to me that if you'd like to come and take his place for a spell, and help Arthur and myself, you are heartily welcome to do so. You'd be learning your business, and also you could see whether you still liked going into the life altogether."

Was Gerard standing upon air, or only upon very solid and rather dry ground? He himself could hardly have told. Could he believe his ears?

Did he grasp aright the other's meaning? Why, such an arrangement as that suggested, apart from being in itself just the very thing that suited him thoroughly, would mean a sojourn beneath the same roof as May, and that for an indefinite period. He managed, however, to reply coherently, and to the effect that he considered himself most fortunate, etc., etc.

"Well, think it over," was the reply, "and if you're in the same mind this day week--by which time I expect you will have had about enough of town life--drop us a line, and follow it yourself. We are leaving for home to-morrow, and shall expect to hear from you in any case when you have made up your mind."