A Frontier Mystery

“How depressing?” I interrupted, for I had never given Falkner Sewin credit for sufficient imagination to feel depressed by such a mere accident as surroundings.

“Well, it was. The cliffs seemed to meet overhead as if they were going to topple down on you, don’t you know, and there wasn’t a sound, except the wind howling round the rocks every now and then like a jolly spook. Then, all of a sudden my horse rucked back at his bridle – we were leading the horses, you know – so suddenly as nearly to pull me on my back – as it was I dropped my pipe on the stones and broke it – and before I had time even to cuss, by George, I saw a sight.

“We had got into a sort of caldron-shaped hollow, something like our waterhole at home would look like, if it was empty, and – by the Lord, Glanton, there, against the rock where the water should have fallen over if there had been any to fall, was the body of a wretched devil of a nigger – spread-eagled upright, and staring at us; in fact literally crucified – for we found that the poor beast was triced up to pegs driven firmly into cracks in the rock. Good Lord! it gave me a turn. In some places the flesh had all fallen away, showing the bones, and what remained was bleached almost white. Here, send the bottle along again. The very recollection turns me sick.”

“How long did he seem to have been there?” I said. “Could you form any idea?”

“Not well. Besides I was in too great a hurry to get away, and so was Jan Boom, I can tell you. What d’you think it meant, Glanton? Mind you, those devils up in the kraal must have known of it, because it occurred to me afterwards that that was their reason for not wanting us to go that way.”

“Very likely. The chap may have been planted there after he was dead, you know,” I answered – not in the least thinking so. “Some peculiar and local form of sepulture.”

“I don’t believe it,” rejoined Falkner quickly. “The expression of the face was that of some poor devil who had come to a most beastly end and knew it – and it haunts me.”

“Well, why didn’t you investigate further, while you were at it?”

“Didn’t feel inclined. But – I’ll tell you what, Glanton, we might go back there to-morrow. I’m sure I could find the way, and at any rate Jan Boom could. Then such an experienced beggar as you could see to the bottom of it perhaps. Eh?”

“I’ve no wish to do anything of the sort, in fact it would have been just as well if you had missed that little find to-day altogether. And I should recommend you to keep your mouth shut about it – to Tom for instance. You may rely upon it Jan Boom will. They have curious customs in these parts, and some of them they don’t in the least like nosed into and talked over. By the way, here’s Mrs Sewin’s letter I was telling you about.”

“By Jove, yes – I forgot. Well, I’ll like to hear something of them at home, if only to help me to forget that beastly thing. Let’s see what the old lady says.”

He read me out bits of the letter as he went on – just ordinary bits of home talk, but there was no word bearing upon the mystery set forth in his cousin’s letter. Suddenly he looked up.

“Hallo Glanton! So Aïda has been favouring you, I find.”

“Yes. A letter from your cousin came at the same time as this.”

“I say though, but you kept it devilish dark,” he said, nastily. In fact, his tone reminded me of the earlier days of our acquaintance.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘devilish dark,’ Sewin, but I’m quite sure I don’t like the expression,” I answered shortly. “Let me remind you however that you’ve ‘had the floor’ ever since you came back, with that yarn of yours. Could I have got in a word edgeways?”

“Well, what news does she give you?” he jerked out, after an interval of silence, during which he had been viciously rapping his pipe against the heel of his boot as he sat.

“Just about the same as what you’ve been reading out to me.”

“That all?”

It was as much as I could do to keep my temper. Falkner’s tone had become about as offensive as he knew how to make it, and that is saying a great deal – this too, apart from the fact that I resented being catechised at all. But I remembered my promise to his cousin not to quarrel with him, and just managed to keep it; only then by making no reply.

There was silence again. By way of relieving it I sung out to Tom to come and take away our plates, and the relics of our meal. Falkner the while was emitting staccato puffs from his newly lighted pipe, and as I settled down to fill mine he suddenly broke forth:

“Look here, Glanton, I’m a plain-speaking sort of chap and accustomed to say what I mean. So we’d better have it out now, once and for all.”

I didn’t affect ignorance of his drift. I merely nodded, and he went on. “Well then, I’ve noticed that you and Aï – my cousin – have been getting uncommon thick of late. I didn’t think much of it, but now, when it comes to her writing to you on the quiet, why I think it’s time to have some say in the matter.”

“In the first place the only persons entitled to have any ‘say in the matter’ as you put it are Major and Mrs Sewin,” I said. “In the next, you should withdraw that expression ‘on the quiet.’ It’s an insult – to your cousin.”

“Oh well, since you put it like that, I withdraw it,” he growled. “But as for – er – the matter in hand, well, I warn you you are poaching on someone else’s preserves.”

“Might I, as a matter of curiosity, ask who the ‘someone else’ may be?” I said, conscious at the same time of a wholly unaccustomed sinking of the heart.

“Certainly, and I’ll tell you. It’s myself.”

“That’s straight anyway,” I rejoined, feeling relieved. “Then I am to understand I must congratulate you – both – on an engagement?”

He started at the word “both.”

“Er – no. Not exactly that. Hang it, Glanton, don’t I put things plain enough? I mean I was first in the field, and it isn’t fair – in fact I consider it beastly dishonourable for you, or any other fellow, to come trying to upset my coach. Now – do you see?”

“I think I understand,” I said, feeling softened towards him. “But as regards myself, first of all you had better be sure you are not assuming too much, in the next place, you are just in the position of anybody else, and can’t set up any such plea as prior rights. See?”

“No, I’ll be hanged if I do,” he snarled. “I’ve told you how things stand, so now you’re warned.”

“I’m not going to quarrel with you,” I answered. “We are all alone here, with no chance of anybody overhearing us or at any rate understanding us if they did. Yet I prefer talking ‘dark’ as the Zulus say. Let’s start fair, d’you hear? Let’s start fair – and – now you’re warned.”

He scowled and made no answer. In fact, he sulked for the rest of the evening – and, to anticipate – long after that.

I went outside before turning in, leaving Falkner in the sulks. The rain had ceased, and bright patches of stars were shining between the parting clouds. The fire had died low, and the conversation of the boys had dropped too. I can always think best out in the open, and now I set myself hard to think over these last developments. By its date the letter must have been nearly a week on the road. Well, there was not time for much to have happened in between. Then what Falkner had just revealed had come to me as something of an eye-opener. I had at first rather suspected him of resenting me as an interloper, but subsequently as I noted the free and easy terms on which he stood with both his cousins – the one equally with the other – the last thing to enter my mind was that he should think seriously of either of them, and that one Aïda. Why, she used to keep him in order and treat him very much as a boy – indeed all her references to him when discussing him with me, even as lately as in the letter I had just received, bore the same elder sisterly tone, and I felt sure that while this held good, Falkner, in entertaining the hopes he had revealed to me, was simply twisting for himself a rope of sand. At the same time I felt sorry for him, and my not unnatural resentment of the very dictatorial tone which he had chosen to adopt towards myself cooled entirely. He was young and so boyish that every allowance must be made. At the same time I envied him his youth. As for me, well I hardly knew, but as my meditations ran on in the stillness and silence of the starlit night, clustering ever around one recollection, well I realised, and not for the first time, that life seemed very much to have been wasted in my case.

The one talent man in the parable recurred to my mind, and I will even own, I hope not irreverently, to a sneaking sympathy for that same poor devil. He might have lost his one talent, or fooled it away, instead of which, he at any rate kept it – and, after all there is a saying that it is more difficult to keep money than to make it. Now it seemed to me that I was very much in the same boat with him. I had kept my talent – so far – and was it even now too late to add to it, but – what the deuce had this got to do with Aïda Sewin, who formed the undercurrent of all the riotous meditations in which I was indulging? Well perhaps it had something.

Chapter Twenty One.

Dolf Norbury Again

When two people, trekking together beyond the confines of civilisation fall out, the situation becomes unpleasant. If each has his own waggon, well and good, they can part company, but if not, and both are bound to stick together it spells friction. For this reason I have always preferred trekking alone.

Even my worst enemy could hardly accuse me of being a bad-tempered man, let alone a quarrelsome one. On the other hand I have never laid claim to an angelic disposition, and if I had the demeanour of my present companion would have taxed it to the uttermost, since we had each been betrayed into showing the other our hand. For my part I can honestly say the fact would have made no difference whatever in our mutual relations, but Falkner Sewin was differently hung. First of all he sulked heavily, but finding that this did not answer and that I was entirely independent of him for companionship, for I would talk to the Zulus by the hour – he threw that off and grew offensive – so much so that I felt certain he was trying to pick a quarrel with me. Had it been any other man in the world this would have concerned me not one atom, indeed he needn’t have tried overmuch. But here it was different. There was my promise to his cousin, and further, the consideration that Aïda Sewin was his cousin and thus very nearly related indeed. No, on no account must we come to blows, and yet the strain upon my temper became hourly more great.

I had not been able to trek when I had intended, by reason of something beyond the ordinary native delay in bringing in my cattle; in fact in one particular quarter I had some difficulty in getting them brought in at all. In view of the troubled state of the border this looked ominous. In ordinary times Majendwa’s people like other Zulus, though hard men of business at a deal, were reliability itself once that deal was concluded. Now they were inclined to be shifty and evasive and not always over civil; and all this had come about suddenly. Could it mean that war had actually broken out? It might have for all we knew, dependent as we were upon those among whom we dwelt for every scrap of information that might reach us from outside. Otherwise their behaviour was unaccountable. But if it had, why then we should be lucky to get out of the country with unperforated skins, let alone with a wheel or a hoof to our names.

Even Majendwa’s demeanour towards me had undergone a change, and that was the worst sign of all; for we had always been good friends. All his wonted geniality had vanished and he had become curt and morose of manner. I resolved now to take the bull by the horns, and put the question to Majendwa point-blank. Accordingly I betook myself to his hut, with that object. But the answer to my inquiries for him was prompt. The chief was in his isigodhlo, and could not be disturbed. This sort of “not at home” was unmistakable. I returned to the waggons.

Now an idea struck me. Was there more in that gruesome discovery of mine – and Falkner’s – than met the eye? Was the fact that we had made it, first one of us and then the other, at the bottom of the chief’s displeasure? It might have been so. At any rate the sooner we took the road again the better, and so I announced to Falkner that we would inspan at sunrise. His reply was, in his then mood, characteristic.

“But we haven’t traded off the stuff yet,” he objected. “I say. You’re not in a funk of anything, are you, Glanton? I ask because I rather wanted to stay on here a little longer.”

I turned away. His tone was abominably provoking, moreover I knew that he would be glad enough to return, and had only said the foregoing out of sheer cussedness.

“You have your horse,” I said. “If you like to remain I’ll leave Jan Boom with you, and you can easily find your way back.”

“Want to get rid of me, do you?” he rapped out. “Well you won’t. Not so easily as that. No – you won’t.”

To this I made no answer. At sunrise the waggons were inspanned. Then another difficulty cropped up. The boys who were to have driven the herd of trade cattle, at any rate as far as the border, did not turn up. In disgust I was prepared to take them on myself with the help of Mfutela. Falkner had learnt to drive a waggon by this time and now he must do it. His reply however when I propounded this to him was again characteristic. He was damned if he would.

The knot of the difficulty was cut and that unexpectedly, by the appearance of the chief’s son, and with him some boys.

“These will drive your cattle, Iqalaqala,” he said.

“That is well, Muntisi,” I answered. “And now son of Majendwa, what has come between me and the chief that he holds my hand no more? Is there now war?”

We were a little apart from the others, and talk in a low slurred tone that natives use when they don’t want to be understood.

“Not war,” he answered; “at any rate not yet. But, Iqalaqala, those who come into a chief’s country should not come into it with too many eyes.”

“Ha!” I said, taking in the quick glance which he shot in Falkner’s direction, and with it the situation. “Too many eyes there may be, but a shut mouth more than makes up for that. A shut mouth, impela!”

“A shut mouth? Au! Is the mouth of Umsindo ever shut?”

This, it will be remembered, was Falkner’s native name, meaning noise, or bounce, and the chief’s son was perpetrating a sort of pun in the vernacular.

“But it will be this time, never fear,” I answered. “Farewell now, son of Majendwa. I, who have seen more than men think, know how not to talk.”

I felt really grateful to Muntisi, and made him a final present which he appreciated.

“You need not mistrust those I have brought you,” he said. “Only for others you cannot have too many eyes now until you reach Inncome,” he added meaningly.

Nothing of note happened and we trekked on unmolested in any way, travelling slow, for the trade cattle were fat and in excellent condition, which of course I didn’t want to spoil. Then befel an incident which was destined to give us trouble with a vengeance.

We had got into sparsely inhabited country now, and were nearing the border. One afternoon Falkner and I had struck off from the track a little to shoot a few birds for the pot – by the way Falkner had in some degree condescended to relax his sulks, being presumably tired of his own company. We had rejoined the track and had just put our horses into a canter to overtake the waggons when Falkner threw a glance over his shoulder and said:

“What sort of beast is that?”

I turned and looked back. It was a dark afternoon and inclining moreover to dusk, but I could make out something white glinting through the bush, rather behind us, but as if running parallel to our way. The bush grew in patches, and the thing would be alternately hidden or in the open again.

“Here goes for a shot, anyway,” said Falkner, slipping from his horse. He carried a rifle and smooth-bore combination gun, and before I could prevent him or perhaps because I tried to, he had loosed off a bullet at the strange beast. A splash of dust, a good deal short of the mark, leaped up where it struck.

“The line was good but not the distance,” he grumbled. “I’ll get him this time,” slipping in a fresh cartridge.

“Much better not,” I urged. “We don’t want to get into any more bother with the people by shooting their dogs.”

He made no answer, and I was glad that the bush thickened where the animal had now disappeared.

“Let’s get on,” I said. “It’s nearly dark.”

He mounted and we had just resumed our way, when not twenty yards distant, the creature came bounding forth, frightening our horses by the suddenness of his appearance. There was nothing hostile, however, in his attitude. He was wagging his tail, and squirming and whimpering in delight, as a dog will do when he has found a long-lost master, or at best a well-known friend. I stared, hardly able to believe my own eyesight. The large, wolf-like form, the bushy tail – why there could be no duplicate of this ever whelped at a Zulu kraal, that was certain.

“Arlo,” I cried. “Arlo, old chap. What are you doing in these parts, eh?”

The dog whined with delight, squirming up to us, his brush going like a flail. In a moment we were both off our horses.

“It’s Arlo right enough,” said Falkner, patting the dog, who never ceased whimpering and licking his hands. “The question is how did he get here? Eh?”

“Stolen most likely, but it couldn’t have been long ago, for Miss Sewin made no mention of his loss in her letter to me – and it’s hardly likely she’d have forgotten to mention such an important event if it had happened then.”

Somehow I could not help connecting Ukozi with this, and felt vaguely uneasy. What had been happening of late? Had the dog been stolen with any deeper motive than his own intrinsic value – to get him out of the way for instance and clear the road for the carrying out of some sinister and mysterious scheme on the part of the witch doctor?

“Of course,” assented Falkner, “we’ll take him home with us now, at all events. What a devilish lucky thing I happened to look back and see him.”

“Yes, and what a devilish lucky thing you happened to look wrong and miss him,” I answered, for I own to a feeling of petty jealousy that he should be in a position to claim the credit of having found the dog.

“Oh-ah! But a miss is as good as a mile,” he said, with a hoarse laugh. “By Jove, but won’t Aïda be glad when I bring him back to her. Won’t she just?”

“I should think so. Well we’ll have to keep a bright look-out on him till we get home.”

“How the deuce they managed to steal him beats me, I own,” went on Falkner. “Arlo was the very devil where niggers are concerned. Won’t let one of ’em come within fifty yards of him.”

This would have puzzled me too, but for what Aïda’s letter had told me – as well as for what I had witnessed myself up at the waterhole. There was at any rate one “nigger” of which the above held not good. More than ever did I connect Ukozi with the matter.

“Well, we’ve got him back,” I said, “and it’ll be our own fault if we don’t keep him.”

The dog trotted along contentedly behind our horses, wagging his tail in recognition if we spoke a word or two to him. The waggons were outspanning for the night when we reached them – according to instructions, but Arlo went straight up to Tom, whom of course he knew fairly well, wagging his tail, in a sort of “how-d’you-do” manner. He condescended likewise to approve of Jan Boom, who being a Xosa was, of course, a sworn dog fancier, but the others he just tolerated.

We inspanned before daylight, intending to make a long trek, and that evening to cross the Blood River and outspan for the night on the other side. In the then state of the border I should not be sorry to be out of the Zulu country. The trip had not been a signal success, and I began to think of it as possibly the last I should make. I thought too, of other possibilities, even as I had thought when taking my midnight up and down walk beneath the stars – a custom I had before turning in, when the weather permitted, as it generally did. The country was sparsely inhabited, as I have said, and beyond passing three or four small kraals we saw nobody.

We had started upon our afternoon trek. In another hour we should strike the drift and have crossed the border. Then one of the boys Muntisi had given me to drive the cattle came up with the pleasant news that a large body of men, armed too, was coming rapidly on behind, on our track.

I don’t know why this should have caused me uneasiness yet it did. No war had broken out as yet – this I had ascertained from such Zulus as we had fallen in with on the way. I gave orders to push on the waggons, and the cattle. Then getting out a powerful binocular I rode up to a point whence I knew I could command a considerable sweep.

The ground was open on all sides, a thin thread of mimosa along some slight depression being the only sort of cover it afforded. Cresting a rise about three miles distant I made out a dark mass moving forward along our track, and that at a rapid rate.

At any other time this would have caused me little if any anxiety, but now we had had bother enough in all conscience. I didn’t want any more of it, but that the crowd behind was in pursuit of us there was no room for doubt. It was an armed band, for by the aid of the glasses I could make out the glint of assegais and the war shields that were carried.

I returned to the waggons but saw that the pace was as good as the oxen could be put to. The cattle were ahead, going well, but the drift was a good deal further on than I should have wished it to be. Of course there was no physically defensive advantage on the other side over this one, still a boundary is a great moral force; certainly was then while the boundary dispute was awaiting the award of the commission.

“We’ll get out the rifles and cartridges, Sewin,” I said – “and have them handy, but we won’t show them. Also sling on your revolver, on the same terms. There’s a crowd coming on fast on our track – what the deuce for I can’t make out. Still it’s as well to be prepared for emergencies.”

“Oh rather,” he assented, brisking up at the prospect of a row. “I think it’s about time we read Mr Zulu a lesson.”

Chapter Twenty Two.

A Solomon – in the Zulu

Suddenly Arlo, who had been trotting along placidly beside the waggons stopped short, looking backward, and emitting low growls, which soon changed to a deep-toned, booming bark. We followed his glance. The Zulus were on the crest of the ridge about half a mile behind. I at once gave orders to the drivers to resume their normal pace. Further flight – as flight – was useless and impolitic.

“Put the dog into the tent waggon and tie him there,” I said to Falkner. “He knows you better than he does me, and might give me trouble. We don’t want him damaged at any rate.”

Even Falkner found it by no means easy to work his will with the now infuriated animal, which with hackles erect was facing in the direction of the impending aggression, making the air resound with his roaring bark; and only he managed it by his characteristically drastic methods in the shape of a double reim well laid on. As it was I thought the dog would have pinned him. However he managed to get him into the tent waggon and securely tied. Hardly had he rejoined me when the whole crowd was upon us, shouting and roaring as they surrounded the waggons, bringing them to a standstill.

“I see you!” I said, coldly sarcastic. “Well, and what is it you want now?”

For I had recognised several who had taken part in the former riot, what time Dolf Norbury had appeared upon the scene.

“Want? What we want is the dog – the white dog,” came the reply. “The dog which you have stolen, Abelungu.”

“The white dog. The dog which we have stolen,” I repeated sarcastically. “But the dog belongs to our people on the other side – and we are taking him back. If he has been stolen it is from them.”

“From them. Ha! That is a lie, Umlungu. Give us the dog, or we will take him and everything you have got besides.”

“I think not,” I said. “But as I cannot talk with a number at once, I must talk with one. Where is that one?”