Tween Snow and Fire Part 11

"We can move the rest of the stock to Swaanepoel's Hoek," went on Carhayes. "Bentley will be only too glad to look after it for a consideration. Then for some real sport! Eustace, pa.s.s the grog to Hoste."

"That your Somerset East farm?" said the latter, filling his gla.s.s.

"Yes. Not a bad place, either; only too stony."

"You're a jolly lucky fellow to have a Somerset East farm to send your stock to," rejoined Hoste. "I wish I had, I know. The few sheep I have left are hardly worth looking after. There are safe to be a lot of Dutchmen in _laager_ with _brandt-zick_ flocks, and ours will be covered with it by the time it's all over. Same thing with cattle. Red water and lung sickness will clear them all out too."

"Well, we'll lift a lot from old Kreli to make up for it," said Carhayes. "By the way, Eustace. Talking of Kreli--he's been summoned to meet the Governor and won't go."

"H'm. Small wonder if he won't. What was the upshot of his father, Hintza, being summoned to meet the Governor?"

"Oh, you're always harping on that old string," said Carhayes impatiently. "Hang it all--as if a lot of red-blanket n.i.g.g.e.rs are to be treated like civilised beings! It's ridiculous, man. They've got to do as they are told, or they must be made to."

"That's all very pretty, Tom. But the `making' hasn't begun yet. By the time it's ended, we shall have a longish bill to pay--and a good many vacant chairs at various household tables. Fair play _is_ fair play--even between our exalted selves and `a lot of red-blanket n.i.g.g.e.rs.'"

"Milne is right, Carhayes," struck in Hoste. "Milne is right so far.

Kafirs have got long memories, and I, for one, don't blame old Kreli for snapping his fingers at the Governor. But I don't agree with him that we haven't treated him fairly on the whole. Hang it, what have they got to complain of?"

"I don't say they have anything in that line," said Eustace. "My remark about treating them fairly was only in answer to what Tom suggested.

Still, I think it a mistake to have located the Fingoes and Gcalekas next door to each other, with a mere artificial boundary between. It was safe to produce a shindy sooner or later."

Thus the ball of conversation rolled on. Carhayes, excited over the prospect of hostilities, took a gla.s.s or two of grog more than was good for him, and waxed extremely argumentative as they adjourned to the _stoep_ for an _al fresco_ smoke. So he and his guest began, continued, and ended the campaign according to a great diversity of plans, each highly satisfactory to its originators and proportionately disastrous to the dark-skinned enemy.

In this conversation Eanswyth did not join. The sweet and soothing influences of the day just pa.s.sed filled her mind--and all this noisy talk jarred upon her. To her also the prospect of the coming campaign was a welcome one. After the events of the last twenty-four hours to go on living as heretofore would be a terrible strain. Her newly awakened love for the one man was so overwhelming as to engender in her a proportionate feeling of aversion towards the other. It was a fearful position. The temporary separation involved by the campaign would be more than welcome. But separation from the one meant separation from the other. That was not welcome.

And that other--what if he were to fall? He was so fearless--so foolhardy and confident. What if he undertook some insane mission and was treacherously murdered?--O Heaven--what would life be without him now? And a rush of tears brimmed to her eyes at the mere thought.

Eustace, who had remained behind for a moment, to light his pipe, looked up and caught her glance.

"I suppose I had better arrange to drive you over to Komgha to-morrow?"

he said, aloud and in an ordinary voice. Outside the other two were talking and arguing at a great rate.

"Yes, I would not forego that for anything," she whispered. "But--leave me now, or I shall break down. Quick! I wish it."

One glance, straight into her eyes, and he obeyed. But that glance had said enough--had said more than many words could have done.

"By the way, Tom," said Eustace, joining the pair of wranglers outside.

"What about Nteya? You were going to have him run in, you know."

"So! Well, you see, it's this way: I got on that deal with Reid, first thing, and that drove the other out of my head. I had a job to find Reid, in the first place, but when you hear of a man willing to give a lumping big price for what you want to sell, that man's worth some hunting for, I can tell you. So I let Nteya slide--until we reach the Gaika location. Then I'll take it out of him, and a good many more of them too."

Next morning, shortly after sunrise, the contractor arrived to take delivery of the stock. So he and Carhayes were extremely busy, the latter too much so to be able to afford more than an off-hand and hurried farewell to his wife.

But the same held not good of his cousin and partner. Indeed one would think that Eustace had no concern whatever in the sale for all the interest he took in it. Far more concerned was he to ensure that Eanswyth had every conceivable thing that might conduce to her comfort and convenience during her journeying to and sojourn in the settlement, than to satisfy himself that Contractor Reid, a canny Scot and a knowing file at a deal, should be allowed no loop-hole for climbing down from or getting behind his bargain.

"I say, Milne," cried Hoste, while the horses were being inspanned.

"It's rather slow work riding by one's self. Let's span in my horse as a leader, and drive unicorn. There's room for my saddle if we tie it on behind--and I can get in the cart with you. More sociable like. See?"

But Eustace didn't see, or rather didn't want to see. This was clearly a case of "two's company, three's a crowd."

Equally clearly was it a case wherein the third might be excused for omitting to apply the maxim.

"There's a goodish weight in the trap already," he replied dubiously.

But Eanswyth struck in:

"We can make room for you, Mr Hoste. Certainly. And if we have the additional pull of your horse it will neutralise the additional weight."

Eustace said nothing. If Eanswyth's mood had undergone something of a change since last night, that was only natural, he allowed. The arrangement was not to his liking. But then, of most arrangements in this tiresome world the same held good. With which reflection, being a philosopher, he consoled himself.

There was not much sign of the disturbed state of the country during the first part of the drive. But later, as they drew nearer the settlement, an abandoned homestead--standing silent and deserted, its kraals empty and the place devoid of life, or a trek of sheep and cattle raising a cloud of dust in the distance, together with a waggon or two loaded with the families and household goods of those, like themselves, hastening from their more or less isolated positions to seek safety in numbers, spoke eloquently and with meaning. Now and again a small group of Kafirs would pa.s.s them on the road, and although unarmed, save for their ordinary kerries, there seemed a world of grim meaning in each dark face, a menace in the bold stare which did duty for the ordinarily civil, good-humoured greeting, as if the savages knew that their time was coming now.

It was a splendid day, sunny and radiant. But there was an oppressiveness in the atmosphere which portended a change, and ever and anon came a low boom of thunder. An inky cloud was rising behind the Kabousie Heights, spreading wider and wider over the plains of Kafirland. A lurid haze subdued the sunshine, as the rumble of the approaching storm drew nearer and nearer, and the blue electric flashes played around the misty hilltops where the ill-omened war-fires had gleamed two nights before. Even so, in like fashion, the brooding cloud of war swept down upon the land, darker and darker.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A CURTAIN SECRET.

The settlement of Komgha--called after an infinitesimal stream of that name--was, like most frontier townships, an utterly insignificant place.

It consisted of a few straggling blocks of houses plumped down apparently without rhyme or reason in the middle of the _veldt_, which here was open and undulating. It boasted a few stores and canteens, a couple of inst.i.tutions termed by courtesy "hotels," an exceedingly ugly church, and a well-kept cricket ground. To the eastward rose the Kei Hills, the only picturesque element about the place, prominent among these the flat, table-topped summit of Moordenaar's Kop, [Dutch, "Murderer's Peak"] a tragical spot so named on account of the surprise and ma.s.sacre of a party of officers who had incautiously ventured up there in small force during one of the previous wars. The village was virtually the headquarters of the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police, the substantial square barracks, which harboured the artillery troop of that useful force, crowning the hill nearly a mile away, and there was generally another troop or two quartered around the place. The main road from King Williamstown to the Transkeian territories ran through the village.

At the period of our story, however, there was no lack of life or stir about the normally sleepy little place, for it was in process of transformation into a huge _laager_ or armed camp. Waggons were coming in from several directions--laden mostly with the families and household goods of fleeing settlers, and the sharp crack of whips and the harsh yells of their drivers rose high above the general turmoil. Men were bustling to and fro, bent upon nothing in particular and looking as though each and all carried the fate of a nation in his pockets, or standing, in knots at street corners, discussing the situation, each perchance with a little less knowledge than his neighbour. All sorts of wild rumours were in the air, the least of which was that every white in the Transkei had been ma.s.sacred, and that Kreli was marching upon Komgha at the head of the whole Gcaleka army.

Mrs Hoste, with her two young daughters, were at the door as the party drove up. They received Eanswyth very cordially.

"At last--at last! Why, we have been looking out for you for the last hour. I declare, I began to think you had stayed too long at Anta's Kloof, and the Kafirs had taken you prisoner or something. How do you do, Mr Milne? But--come in. We are going to have a dreadful storm in a minute. Mercy on us! What a flash!"

The blue, steely gleam was followed by a roll of thunder, long, loud, reverberating. There was a patter upon the zinc roof. A few raindrops, nearly as large as saucers, splashed around, and then, almost before the two men could get into their waterproof coats, the rain descended with a roar and a rush, in such a deluge that they could hardly see to outspan the trap.

"_Allamaghtaag_! but that's a fine rain," cried Hoste, with a farmer's appreciation, as he swung himself free of his dripping mackintosh in the little veranda.

"Especially for those who are under canvas," said Eustace with a significant glance at a group of tents pitched upon the plain just outside the village. For the surrounding _veldt_ had been turned into something like a sea, and a miniature torrent roared down every depression in the ground.

"Well, Mr Milne," cried Mrs Hoste, from the head of the table, as the two men entered. "Its past three o'clock and dinner has been ready since half-past one. We quite expected you then."

"Which, being interpreted, means that I must prepare for the worst," was the rejoinder. "Never mind. I dare say we shan't starve. Well, and what's the latest absurdity in the way of news?"

"Just what I was going to ask you. You're hand-in-glove with all the Kafir chiefs. You ought to be able to give _us_ all the news."

Eustace smiled to himself. He could tell them a few things that would astonish them considerably, if he chose. But he did not choose.

"We'll loaf round the village presently," said Hoste. "Likely enough we'll hear something then."

"Likely enough it'll be about as reliable as usual," said Eustace.

"What was the last report? Kreli and the Gcaleka army encamped at the Kei Drift--be here in two hours?"