The White Hand and the Black Part 12

The worst of it was she had been occupying his thoughts of late, and that even when he had seen her but once. Now he had seen her twice--had spent a whole day in her society. And she was occupying his thoughts more than ever. Yet--why?

He was not in his first youth, nor was she the first of the other s.e.x he had been interested in. He had had experiences, as a fine, well-looking, well set up man of his stamp was bound to have had. Yet the image of this girl had stamped itself upon his mind in a way that the image of no one else had ever been able to do for years; since what he pleasantly liked to term to himself--his salad days. And he did not know what to make of this interest. It was not even budding love--he told himself--only a strong interest in what seemed an interesting character. Yet behind it was an unmistakable longing to see more of her. The feeling rendered him vaguely uncomfortable.

He relit his pipe, and sat back to think. There came a tap at the door and his clerk entered, bringing some official letters to be signed.

"Anything new. Prior?" he asked carelessly, when this process had been accomplished.

"There is, sir. Teliso has come back, and there's been an infernal rascally Ethiopian preacher stirring up Babatyana's location. He's gone on to Nteseni's."

"I know. I captured that information from two fellows I was talking with this morning. I'll see Teliso directly. But what can you do--at this stage of affairs? I'm keeping my eyes open, but you mustn't be too zealous in our Service, Prior, or you're bound to come out bottom dog.

The chap I want particularly looked after is this Manamandhla. He's a crafty swine and not over here for any good. I had a talk with him the other day and he's as slippery as the proverbial eel."

"Did you, sir? Well, I can tell you something about him. He's gone to squat on old Thornhill's farm."

"To squat?"

"Yes, so they say. It seems fishy, to say the least of it."

"How so?"

"Why he's a biggish man over on the other side. What should he want to come and squat here for?"

"What do you mean by 'squatting,' Prior? I should say Thornhill was not the sort of man to allow squatters on his place."

"Well, sir, that's what I've got at through the people. Anyway it simplifies the watching part of the business, for we've got Manamandhla bang under our noses."

Elvesdon sat meditatively, burning his middle finger into the bowl of his lighted pipe. More and more was it brought home to him how anything concerning the house of Thornhill spelt interest to him, even vivid interest, he could not but own to himself. And Thornhill was rather a mysterious personality, and his daughter even more out of the commonplace. What did it all mean--what the very deuce did it all mean?

Then he said:

"I don't quite know what to make of it just now, Prior. Things are shaping out. But you keep your ears open. You were born and bred on this frontier, and you know these chaps and their ways a good deal better than I do. You can grip things that I should probably miss entirely. So don't let anything pa.s.s."

It was just by such frank and hearty appreciation of their capabilities that Elvesdon endeared himself to his subordinates, hence this one's dictum upon him to Thornhill on a former occasion.

"You may rely upon me, sir," answered Prior, intensely gratified. "I'll do my very best--all along the line."

"And that will be a very good kind of best, Prior, judging from my short experience of you. Hullo! Come in."

This in response to another knock at the door. It was opened and there entered a native constable.

"_Nkose_! The chief has arrived. The chief, Zavula. He would have a word with _Nkose_."

"Admit him," said Elvesdon, cramming a fresh fill into his pipe.

There was a sound of light footsteps, made by bare feet, outside, and old Zavula appeared in the doorway. His right hand was uplifted, and he poured forth words of _sibongo_ in the liquid Zulu. Elvesdon arose and shook the old man by the hand. He was always especially courteous to men of rank among the natives--a fact which they fully appreciated.

"Greeting, my father. I am glad to see you," he said. "Sit. Here is snuff. It is a good accompaniment for a talk."

Zavula subsided on to the floor--a native of course would be supremely uncomfortable on a chair. Prior, with ready tact, had withdrawn. There were those who said that Elvesdon was too free and easy with natives, that he allowed them too much equality. Well, he had never found his official dignity suffer by the line he took, but that line he knew where to draw, and occasionally did--with effect. But Zavula was one of Nature's gentlemen.

The old chief, having spent two or three minutes filling up his nostrils with snuff, began--

"It is good to see _Nkose_ again. I have seen him but once when he first arrived here, and could see that the Government had sent us a man--one who could understand us--and my heart felt good. Now I see him again."

"Those who rule over the people are always welcome, my father," returned Elvesdon. "What is the news?"

"News? _Au_! I know not, Ntwezi. Is this a time for news? Or a time for quiet? I am old, very old, and my sons are in the land of the Great Unknown. You, who are young, of the age they would be were they still here, to you comes news from all the world."

The old man's eyes shone with a kindly twinkle. He had used Elvesdon's native nickname--not in itself an uncomplimentary one--instead of the respectful '_Nkose_' such as he should have used when addressing his magistrate, yet the latter thoroughly appreciated the difference. There was no fear of the old chief encroaching upon his official dignity by this momentary lapse into speaking of him in the same breath as his dead sons.

They talked a little on commonplaces--yet not altogether, for both were fencing up to more serious import. Elvesdon, with his knowledge of native ways, did not hurry his visitor. He knew, instinctively, that the latter had come to see him on some subject of more or less importance: how much so he had yet to learn. He noticed, too, that Zavula had brought in with him a bundle--an ordinary looking bundle of no size, done up in a dingy rag. His quick, deductive instinct had taken this in, where most white men would have overlooked it completely--especially if hide-bound by officialism. A chief of Zavula's standing did not carry his own loads, however small.

Elvesdon's curiosity was aroused, and grew, with regard to that bundle.

It, now, Zavula proceeded to untie. From the wrapper he produced an ordinary drinking bowl of black, porous clay. It was not a clean bowl either for the inside showed thick smears of dried up _tywala_. This he placed carefully upon the ground before him. Elvesdon watched this development with growing curiosity.

"_Nkose_," said the old man, looking up. "Where is Udokotela?"

This, which was a mere corruption of the English word 'doctor,' referred to the District Surgeon.

"You will have far to go to find him, Zavula. Are you then sick?"

"_Whau_! My heart is sick, for there are some who think I have lived too long. It may be that they are right. And--they are of my children too."

There was infinite pathos in the tone, as the speaker dropped his glance sorrowfully down to the object before him. Elvesdon's interest kindled vividly. He began to see through the situation now.

"There is death in this," went on the old chief touching the bowl. "I would like Udokotela to examine it."

"Leave it with me, Zavula, and I will take care that he does. It will be safe here."

He unlocked a cupboard and stowed away the vessel carefully. "Now--who is it that thinks their chief has lived too long, Zavula?"

"_Au_! That will become known. But the time is not yet. What I have shown _Nkose_ is between him and Udokotela."

Elvesdon promised to respect his confidence and the old man got up to leave. Would he not eat and drink? No. The sun would have dropped before he reached his kraal, and he liked not being abroad in the dark hours. Perhaps he was too old, he added with a whimsical smile.

Another day, when he should come over to hear the word of Udokotela as to the hidden _muti_ then he would have more time.

Elvesdon and the clerk stood watching the forms of the old chief and his one scarcely less aged attendant, as they receded up the valley.

"That's a grand old boy, Prior," said the former. "A dear old boy. If we had a few more of his sort around here we needn't have bothered ourselves about the lively times that any fool can see are sticking out ahead of us."

The two old men held steadily on their way, walking with an ease and elasticity that many a youth might have envied--over rough ground and smooth--now and again sitting down to take snuff, which is far too serious an operation to be performed during the process of locomotion.

As nearly as possible they travelled in a direct line, accomplishing this by taking short cuts through the bush by tracks known to themselves, but to a mounted man quite, impracticable, and so faint that a white man would get hopelessly lost.

Following one of these, they were about to come out upon opener ground.

The sun had dropped, and in the black gloom of forest trees it would be night in a very few minutes. In front however showed a temporary lightening where the foliage thinned. Overhanging this opener ground was a tumble of rocks and boulders rising to no great height.

"I would fain have been earlier, brother," murmured Zavula. "My eyes are over old to see in the dark, and--"