Wild Honey Part 14

"This is a d.a.m.ned look-out, Swartz!"

"Yes, Baas," a.s.sented Swartz, not unamiably. "The leader's leg is gone for store, and the others are done up. We can't make Webb's to-night."

"How far is it?"

"About thirty miles yet."

Carden looked at the man in the cart.

"Feel inclined to tramp it, Talfourd?"

"Oh, Lord!" groaned Talfourd. "Do you?"

"Not much!" said Carden smiling. "We'll camp. After all we've got the buck." He gave a glance to the back of the cart where a beautiful little net buck still warm, but with the glaze of death over its eyes was suspended. Then his keen eye travelled swiftly over the surrounding country. The dust was subsiding, and it could be seen that they were in a wild place of lonely kopjes and immense patches of grey-green bush.

Far off, taller, greener trees growing thick and close as moss outlined the banks of the Crocodile River. Across the midst of the scene, round kops and through bush, curved and curled the dusty white road that led to Tuli, and thence upwards and onwards through Mashonaland and Matabeleland to the North.

Swartz had begun to outspan the horses, knee-haltering each so that they would not roam too far.

"They'll be safer than they would have been fifteen or twenty years ago," he announced. "It was somewhere about here, on the banks of the river that Baas Kavanagh, the great hunter, was killed by a lion."

"By George!" said Carden softly under his breath, and his blue eyes took on a misty look that softened them curiously. He was thinking of Francis Kavanagh, the big, lawless, lovable Irishman who hailed from his own part of Ireland--County Carlow, and had all the magic of the west in his voice and eyes. Kavanagh had been the hero of Carden's boyhood dreams, the man who first inspired him with a love and longing for Africa. His thoughts went back in a straight line to the day when, as a college boy, he had last shaken the hand of the Explorer, famous even at thirty for his travels and exploits. He had told Kavanagh of his intention to come to Africa as soon as college days were over, and the hunter had warmly urged him to come as soon as possible to join a projected Expedition into a part of Africa that had not been penetrated.

Carden had indeed left Ireland within two years of that time, but by then Kavanagh had died accidentally and mysteriously as men do die on the veld, with nothing but native rumour to tell of the manner of his death; and Carden with no friend to join, and too poor to fit out waggons for the hunting, adventurous life that lured him, was obliged to make for the comparatively civilised places where money was to be made.

Destiny led him to the Diamond Fields, where, gradually absorbed by an unexpected gift in himself for finance, and fascinated by the life of danger and excitement, he had been caught in the big money-making whirlpool, and had stayed. Then when the current set for the Transvaal where the Game was even keener, and the life wilder, with gold for stakes instead of diamonds, he had gone with it, and continued to play the great Game for all he was worth. But always, always he meant to leave it some day, and go where his dreams called him, to the wild, strange spots and lonely places of Africa--sometimes he seemed to hear them calling in the night with a voice that was like a woman's voice.

But in the morning he had gone back to the Game, the money-game, which is one of the most fascinating in the world, and was in those early Rand days full of "battle, murder, and sudden death." If he had missed hunting lions he had closed with many a human tiger, as his scars, hard eyes, and grim mouth testified. Though usually the top tiger, he had sometimes been brought down himself. Twice he had made and lost enormous fortunes; and now, only moderately rich, but on the eve of a great financial coup that if properly brought off would make him a millionaire, he had suddenly thrown down the Game, and leaving the haunts of money set out for the wilds. He had listened to the voice of his dream at last, and more than ever it had sounded like the voice of a woman; only sweeter than any woman's voice he had ever heard. In haste, yet with the steady purpose of one who carries out a long-formed plan, he had fitted up his waggons, sent them on to Tuli, and was now on his way to join them and three friends there. His intention was to be away for a year and a half at least, and perhaps longer.

And the end of his second day's travelling had brought him thus unexpectedly to the place where Francis Kavanagh had died! Ah, well!

G.o.d rest him for a fine Irishman, a lawless lover, a true friend, and a brave man! The mist cleared from Carden's eyes and his usual unfeeling, not to say stony, expression returned. He cast another alert look over the country, and instantly espied at some distance a broken-down cattle kraal, and near by it the stooping figure of a Kaffir gathering _mis_.

In a straight line from there, pitched on the side of a kopje, and by reason of its colouring hardly distinguishable from the bush about it was a grey stone house; a light spot in front of it might have been the flicker of a woman's dress. There was also the gleam of a fire.

"That's a farm, Swartz. Whose place can it be?"

Swartz gazed in the direction indicated, and his stolid countenance took on a certain degree of interest.

"_Ach wot, ja_! That must be old Johannes de Beer's, the transport rider's place, yes! I heered he had come to live about here, but he won't be no good to us, Baas. _A slegte kerel_! Says he hates the rooi-neks and would like to shoot them like _schelm_ wherever he meets them on the veld."

"Ah! What part is he from?"

"The Transvaal, Baas. But he's different from other Boers. He lived in Delagoa Bay when he was a young _kerel_ and went a trek once on a Portuguese gunboat and learnt a lot of _slegte_ ways from these dago sailors. I've heard that he is all covered with red and blue anchors and animals that he had made on himself."

"Very interesting," said Carden dryly. "We may as well see what this genius can do for us, Tal. If he won't put us up for the night we may at least be able to buy some bread to eat with our buck. Come on."

"Gad! I'm glad to stretch my legs again," said Talfourd getting stiffly out of the cart. Preceded by the bounding dogs they made their way to the house. As they drew near they recognised the typical Boer farm--a low sprawling building with high _stoep_ and verandah. The white thing Carden had noticed was, as he had supposed, the dress of a woman sitting on a wooden bench by the door. About thirty yards from the house was a fire with a large three-legged pot over it, and another woman, a Kaffir with a shrewd withered face squatted beside it stirring with a long metal spoon. A blue vapour rose from the pot and the scent of roasting coffee beans was on the air. One lonely, sinister-looking tree grew by itself to the left of the stoep and a baboon chained to it barked hoa.r.s.ely at them as they approached. The old Kaffir regarded them with unfriendly eyes, but the woman in the verandah rose and came down the steps and they saw that she was a young girl, slim and straight in a pink print dress with her face far back in a print sunbonnet. All that could be distinguished in the failing light was that like most Boer girls she had a fine complexion. Carden took off his hat and shook hands with her in the Boer fashion, addressing her in good Dutch.

"_Dag Jefrouw_! Is this Johannes de Beer's place?"

"_Jah Mynheer_. This is _Greis-Kopje_ [Grey-hill] farm," she answered.

Her voice was surprisingly soft and melodious, and it seemed to Carden that he had heard one like it before.

"Our cart has broken down, and we want to know if Mr de Beer can put us up for the night. Perhaps we could speak to him?"

"He has gone to Pretoria," said the girl. "There is only Grietje, Yacop, and me here."

"We cannot do anything for you," said the old woman who had approached, and stood by with the spoon in her hand. "This is not an hotel, and the old Baas would be angry if we took you in." She scowled at them, but when she saw Swartz who had come up behind them her features slightly relaxed, and she gave him a curt nod.

"This is pretty tough," said Carden, putting his hat on the back of his head in an absent-minded way and laughing a little. "Well! We'd better go back to our buck, I suppose, and make a fire in the open. We can get some sleep anyhow."

But the girl suddenly began to speak. Her speech had a queer little twist to it that made it unusual, but the ugly Dutch fashion of clipping the ends of words betrayed that she was colonial and jarred Carden's fine ear.

"Oh, no," she said excitedly, "Grietje is mad. You mustn't go away. Of course we will do all we can for you. Come inside. Don't mind Grietje.

Would you like some coffee?"

"Wouldn't we?" said Talfourd. "And if we could only have some soap and water--"

Carden said nothing but stared keenly into the girl's "cappie" trying to see her face. She led the way indoors and they followed her, Talfourd limping with weariness. But fatigue was gone from Carden's face.

Something in the way the girl walked and in the lines of the slim young figure in the faded print dress refreshed him like wine.

From the verandah they entered a large low room remarkably unlike the usual _Eat-kammer_ of a Boer house. It is true there were guns in the corner, karosses on the furniture, and skins on the floor; but the things were arranged with taste, and there were flowers about; a big jar of wild jasmine on the chimney-piece with long fronds trailed upwards over a fine pair of koodoo horns nailed near the ceiling, and on the table a native bowl full of leaves and bright wild geraniums.

"What a capital room!" said Talfourd full of enthusiasm; but Carden always and ever remained silent.

"If you will sit down I will see about a room for you," said the girl, in her soft voice and bad accent. They protested that they wished to give no trouble, but she opened a door and disappeared, returning after a matter of five minutes to lead the way to a bedroom which astonished them even more than the _Eat-kammer_ had done. It contained only one bed, a very white and nice one, but there was a sofa, large and comfortable-looking, covered by a beautiful leopard kaross. Rough dark tables had white calico cloths edged with narrow lace upon them. A white wooden shelf on the wall held a few books and again there were flowers everywhere.

"If you do not mind using my room to wash and rest in until supper time," said the girl, "there will be two rooms got ready for you by to-night. Please lie down and rest if you wish to."

She left them and they stood staring at the bed with its white counterpane. It was so simple and dainty, so obviously a girl's bed.

Talfourd threw himself on the sofa.

"H'm!" said Carden. "I suppose I've got to camp on the floor? It won't be the first time anyway."

In the meantime he poured out water in the white enamel bowl and got rid of some of the dust under which he was hidden. Afterwards he wiped up with his handkerchief the splashes he had made, and left everything as dainty as before.

"Be careful to leave the wash-hand stand as you find it Talfourd," he said, with something very like command in his voice. But there was no response from the weary Talfourd who was sleeping like a child. Carden smiled and looked about him for wherewith to do his hair, but when he saw the little wooden brush and white bone comb he made shift to groom his back head with the flat of his hand, after which he carefully hid the brush and comb on the principle that what was too good for him was certainly too good for Talfourd. He had discarded his tie in the heat of the day, and several b.u.t.tons of his thin silk shirt were undone exposing a tanned, muscular throat; he carefully fastened them up, and though they came undone again a moment or two later he did not notice it so concentrated was he on his thoughts, whistling softly under his breath while he moved about the room. When he had quite finished he roused Talfourd, told him to get a bustle on him, and opening the door went back to the living-room.

Candles had been lighted, and the table laid with a spotless white cloth, cups and saucers, tin plates, bone knives and forks, and a large loaf of the brown meal bread known as _simmels broot_. A fine savoury smell of riet buck crisping and singeing on red embers came from outside where Swartz and Grietje, now reinforced by the old Kaffir who had been picking up _mis_, were officiating over the fire. Carden sat down by the open window, and presently a door from another part of the house opened and the girl came in, carrying a pot of coffee. She had taken off her cappie and by the flickering candlelight Carden saw the smoky black hair growing above her brows like the glossy spread wings of a raven; the bar of golden freckles that lay across her nose; her silky curved mouth; dewy, mist-coloured eyes that like all eyes that have looked long on great s.p.a.ces were full of dreams of forests and rivers, and seemed to reflect the shadows of far blue mountains. G.o.d had been good to her. She was lovely as a flower.

She sat down on the other side of the table and she and Carden looked at each other. The pupils of the man's eyes expanded, giving a curious intensity to his glance, and something in hers seemed to leap out like a swift radiant spirit to him and become his. She gave a deep sigh and her lids closed, as though some living vital thing gone out of her, she were dead, or asleep. For an instant she stayed so, then rose quietly and went out of the room. Carden breathing heavily like a man who has been running, and with a rushing sound in his ears, heard her speaking to the servants at the fire, and a moment later Talfourd came in with the bustle he had been told to acquire.

The girl sat with them at dinner, serving them daintily to the luscious venison, and cutting big slices of the _simmels broot_ that tasted like wheat with the heat of the sun still in it. Later she poured them out cups of the coffee whose beans had so lately been roasted over Grietje's fire. She had little strong hands burnt a pale brown by the sun.

Afterwards the two men walked up and down smoking in the moonlight that was bright as daylight only softer and more tender. It transformed the walls of the mean farmhouse so that they seemed to be made of alabaster with the shadowy branches of the lonely tree etched in ebony upon them.

In the distance the broken-down kraal looked a gracious ruin. A little wind had risen and drifting wraiths of cloud gave the impression that the moon was racing across the sky with one lone silver star following her deathlessly. When they came back to the verandah they found the girl sitting on the wooden bench, and with her permission they sat beside her.

"By Jove! What a night!" said Talfourd, and feeling well after a rest and an excellent meal began in a very fine tenor voice to sing:

Have you forgotten, love, so soon, that night, that lovely night of June, When down the tide so idly dreaming, we floated where the moon lay gleaming?

My heart was weary and oppressed, by some sweet longing unconfessed, When like an answer to my sighing, your hand in mine was gently lying.

When he had finished, the girl said in a low tremulous voice, "Sing again!"