A Frontier Mystery

The clamour redoubled but of it I took no notice. I filled my pipe deliberately, and handed the pouch to Falkner.

“What are they saying?” he asked. I told him.

“Well, we ain’t going to give up the dog,” he said. “I’ll see them damned first,” and in his excitement he appended a great deal more that it is not expedient to reproduce.

“I’m with you there,” I said. “And now,” relapsing into the vernacular, as a ringed man came forward – he was an evil-looking rascal, and I recognised him as having been among those who had troubled us before. “And now to begin with – who claims him?”

“Udolfu.”

“Udolfu? Well how long has he had him, and where did he get him?”

“That is nothing to you, Umlungu. He is Udolfu’s dog, and we are come for him. So give him to us.”

“Do you think you could take him yourselves and alive?” I said banteringly, for the savage and frenzied barks of Arlo within the waggon pretty well drowned our talk.

“We will take him, I say. Bring him out.”

“Bring him out – bring him out,” roared the crowd, brandishing assegais and rapping their shields, in an indescribable clamour.

“Hau! Umfane! I will cut thee into little pieces,” cried one fellow, seizing my boy Tom by the throat and brandishing a big assegai as though he would rip him up.

“Have done!” I said pulling my revolver and covering the savage. “See. We hold plenty of lives here.”

Falkner too had drawn his and was eagerly expecting the word from me to let go.

“Hold!” roared the spokesman, in such wise as to cause the aggressive one to fall back. “Now, Umlungu, give us the dog.”

“First of all,” I said, “if the dog belongs to Udolfu, why is not Udolfu here himself to claim him? Is he afraid?”

“He is not afraid, Umlungu,” answered the man, with a wave of the hand. “For – here he is.”

A man on horseback came riding furiously up. With him were a lot more armed Zulus running hard to keep pace with him. In a twinkling I recognised we were in a hard tight place, for the number around us already I estimated at a couple of hundred. He was armed this time, for he carried a rifle and I could see a business-like six-shooter peeping out of a side pocket. It was our old friend, Dolf Norbury.

“Hallo, you two damned slinking dog thieves,” he sung out, as the crowd parted to make way for him. “Here we are again you see. Not yet within British jurisdiction, eh?”

There was a banging report at my ear, and lo, Dolf Norbury and his horse were mixed up in a kicking struggling heap.

“I don’t take that sort of talk from any swine, especially outside British jurisdiction,” growled Falkner, hurriedly jamming in a cartridge to replace the one he had fired.

There was a rush to extricate the fallen man, and ascertain damages. It turned out that he had not been hit but his horse was killed. He himself however seemed half stunned as he staggered to his feet. Then up went his rifle but the bullet sang high over our heads in the unsteadiness of his aim.

“Put up your hands!” I sung out, covering him before he could draw his pistol. “Hands up, or you’re dead, by God!”

He obeyed. Clearly he had been under fire enough.

“Go in and take his pistol, Sewin,” I said, still covering him steadily. “If he moves he’s dead.”

It was a tense moment enough, as Falkner walked coolly between the rows of armed savages, for to drive half a dozen spears through him, and massacre the lot of us would have been the work of a moment to them, but I realised that boldness was the only line to adopt under the circumstances. Even then I don’t know how the matter would have ended, but some sort of diversion seemed to be in the air, for heads were turned, and murmurs went up. Still no weapon was raised against us.

“I’ve drawn his teeth now, at any rate, the sweep!” said Falkner with a grin, as he returned and threw down the discomfited man’s weapons. “I say Dolf, old sportsman,” he sung out banteringly. “Feel inclined for another spar? Because if so, come on. Or d’you feel too groggy in the nut?”

But now I had taken in the cause of the diversion. The opposite ridge – that between us and the river – was black with Zulus. On they came, in regular rapid march, hundreds and hundreds of them. They carried war shields and the large umkonto or broad stabbing spear, but had no war adornments except the isityoba, or leglet of flowing cow-hair.

Those of our molesters who had been most uproarious were silent now, watching the approach of the newcomers. Dolf Norbury sat stupidly staring. The roaring bark of Arlo tied within the waggon rose strangely weird above the sudden silence.

“I say,” broke out Falkner. “Have we got to fight all these? Because if so, the odds ain’t fair.”

For all that he looked as if he was willing to undertake even this. Whatever his faults, Falkner Sewin was a good man to have beside one in a tight place.

“No,” I said. “There’s no more fight here, unless I’m much mistaken. This is a King’s impi.”

It was a fine sight to see them approach, that great dark phalanx. Soon they halted just before the waggons, and a shout of sibongo went up from the turbulent crowd who had been mobbing and threatening us but a little while since.

The two chiefs in command I knew well, Untúswa, a splendid old warrior and very friendly to the whites, and Mundúla, both indunas of the King.

“Who are these?” said the first, sternly, when we had exchanged greetings. “Are they here to trade, Iqalaqala?”

“Not so, Right Hand of the Great Great One,” I answered. “They are here to threaten and molest us – and it is not the first time some of them have visited us on the same errand. We are peaceful traders in the land of Zulu, and assuredly there are many here who know that this is not the first time I have come into the land as such.”

A hum of assent here went up from the warriors in the background. Those I had thus denounced looked uncommonly foolish. Still I would not spare them. It is necessary to keep up one’s prestige and if those who are instrumental in trying to lower it suffer, why that is their lookout, not mine.

“He is a liar, chief,” interrupted Dolf Norbury, savagely. “These two have stolen my dog and I and my people have come to recover him. Before they came in to try and steal my trade. That is where we quarrelled before.”

Untúswa heard him but coldly. As I have said, Dolf Norbury was not in favour with the more respectable chiefs of Zululand at that time. Quickly I put our side of the case before this one.

“This I will look into,” he said. “It is not often we have to settle differences between white people, especially Amangisi (English). But the Great Great One, that Elephant who treads the same path as the Queen, will have order in the land – wherefore are we here,” with a wave of his hand towards his armed warriors; from whom deep-toned utterances of sibongo went up at the naming of the royal titles. “With the matter of the trade, I have nothing to do. But, Iqalaqala, Udolfu says you have stolen his dog, though had it been his lion he had said, I think he would have uttered no lie, for in truth we could hear his roars while yet far away,” added the old induna with a comical laugh all over his fine face. “Now bring forth this wonderful beast, for we would fain see him.”

“Get out the dog, Sewin,” I said. “The chief wants to see him.”

“Yes, but what the devil has all the jaw been about? It’s all jolly fine for you, but I’m not in the fun,” he growled.

“Never mind. I’ll tell you presently. Leave it all to me now. You’ve got to, in fact.”

Falkner climbed into the waggon, and in a moment reappeared with Arlo, still holding him in his improvised leash. At sight of him the warriors in the impi set up a murmur of admiration.

“Loose him,” said Untúswa.

I translated this to Falkner, and he complied. The dog walked up and down, growling and suspicious.

“See now, Udolfu,” said Untúswa, who had been watching the splendid beast with some admiration. “This is your dog. Now call him, and take him away with you.”

“Arno!” called Norbury. “Here, Arno, old chap. Come along home. Good dog.”

But the “good dog” merely looked sideways at him and growled the harder.

“Arno. D’you hear? Come here, sir. Damn you. D’you hear!”

The growls increased to a sort of thunder roll.

“Whau!” said Mundúla. “That is a strange sort of dog to own – a dog that will not come, but growls at his master when he calls him instead.”

“I have not had him long enough to know me thoroughly,” said Dolf. “Those two, who stole him from me, have taught him better.”

“Call him in the other direction, Falkner,” I said.

This he did, and the dog went frisking after him as he ran a little way out over the veldt, and back again, both on the best understanding with each other in the world.

“Au! the matter is clear enough,” pronounced Untúswa. “The dog himself has decided it. He is not yours, Udolfu. Yet, Iqalaqala, may it not be that those with whom you last saw the dog may have sold him?”

“That is quite impossible, leader of the valiant,” I answered. “From those who own him no price would buy him. No, not all the cattle in the kraals of the Great Great One. Further, he has not even got the sound of the dog’s name right,” and I made clear the difference between the “l” and the “n” which the other had substituted for it.

“Au! That is a long price to pay for one dog, fine though he is,” said Untúswa with the same comical twinkle in his eyes. “Well, it is clear to whom the dog belongs. You,” with a commanding sweep of the hand towards the riotous crowd who had first molested us, “go home.”

There was no disputing the word of an induna of the King. The former rioters saluted submissively and melted away. Dolf Norbury, however, remained.

“Will the chief ask them,” he said, cunningly, “why they had to leave Majendwa’s country in a hurry, and why they are bringing back about half their trade goods?”

“We did not leave in a hurry,” I answered, “and as for trade goods, the people seemed not willing to trade. For the rest, we have plenty of cattle, which are even now crossing Inncome, driven by boys whom Muntisi the son of Majendwa sent with us.”

“That is a lie,” responded Norbury. “They had too many eyes, and looked too closely into what did not concern them. They had to fly, and now they will carry strange stories to the English about the doings on the Zulu side.”

This, I could see, made some impression upon the warriors. However, I confined myself simply to contradicting it. Then Norbury asked the chief to order the return of his weapons.

“I need no such order,” I said. “I am willing to return them, but – I must have all the cartridges in exchange.”

He was obliged to agree, which he did sullenly. As he threw down the bandolier and emptied his pockets of his pistol cartridges he said:

“Glanton, my good friend – if you value your life I warn you not to come to this section of the Zulu country any more. If it hadn’t been for this crowd happening up, you’d both have been dead meat by now. You can take my word for that.”

“Oh no, I don’t,” I answered. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself, and I fancy I’ll go on doing it. So don’t you bother about that. Here are your shooting-irons.”

“What about my horse? You’ve shot my horse you know. What are you going to stand for him?”

“Oh blazes take you and your impudence,” struck in Falkner. “I’m only sorry it wasn’t you I pinked instead of the gee. Outside British jurisdiction, you know,” he added with an aggravating grin. “Stand? Stand you another hammering if you like to stand up and take it. You won’t? All right. Good-bye. We’ve no time to waste jawing with any blighted dog-stealer like you.”

The expression of the other’s face was such that I felt uncommonly glad I had insisted on taking his cartridges; and at the same time only trusted he had not an odd one left about him. But the only weapon available was a string of the direst threats of future vengeance, interspersed with the choicest blasphemies, at which Falkner laughed.

“You came along like a lion, old cock,” he said, “and it strikes me you’re going back like a lamb. Ta-ta.”

I talked a little further with the two chiefs, and then we resumed our way, they walking with us as far as the drift. As to the state of the border Untúswa shook his head.

“See now, Iqalaqala,” he said. “One thing you can tell your people, and that is that any trouble you may have met with in the land where the Great Great One rules has not been at the hands of his people but at those of your own.”

This was in reference to all sorts of reports that were being circulated with regard to the so-called enormities of Cetywayo, and the hostility of his people; and the point of it I, of course, fully recognised.

I made the chiefs a liberal present, out of the remnant of the things we were taking back with us. We took leave of them at the drift, and the whole impi, gathered on the rising ground, watched us cross and raised a sonorous shout of farewell. Under all the circumstances I was not sorry to be back over the border, but I decided to trek on a good bit before outspanning lest Dolf Norbury should yet find means to play us some bad trick.

And then – for home!

Chapter Twenty Three.

“Welcome Home!”

I envied Falkner as he parted company with me, for he wanted to go straight home, and my store was all out of his way in the other direction. We had returned by the same route as that by which we had gone, skirting the border and re-crossing by Rorke’s Drift; and no further incident worthy of note had befallen us.

“See here, Falkner,” I said, as he would have left me in cool offhand fashion. “We’ve made this trip and taken its ups and downs together, and more than once I’ve had reason to be glad that you were along. But if we haven’t got on as well as we might during the last part of it, really I can’t see that it is altogether my fault. Nor need we bear each other any ill-will,” and I put out my hand.

He stared, then shook it, but not cordially, mumbling something in a heavy, sullen sort of way. Then he rode off.

It had been a temptation to accompany him, and he had even suggested it, but I saw through his ill-concealed relief when I declined. I had plenty to attend to on first arriving home again, and it struck me that neglect of one’s business was hardly a recommendation in the eyes of anybody.

Yes, I had plenty to attend to. The waggons had to be off-loaded and kraals knocked into repair for holding the trade cattle, and a host of other things. I paid off Mfutela and his son, and sent them back well contented, and with something over. But Jan Boom, when it came to his turn, seemed not eager to go.

Then he put things plainly. Would I not keep him? He would like to remain with me, and I should find him useful. There were the trade cattle to be looked after, to begin with, and then, there was nothing he could not turn his hand to. He would not ask for high wages, and was sure I should find him worth them – yes, well worth them, he added. Had he not been worth his pay so far?

I admitted readily that this was so, and the while I was wondering why he should be so anxious to remain? There seemed some meaning underlying the manner in which he almost begged me to keep him, and this set me wondering. Going back over our trip I could not but remember that he had proved an exceedingly willing, handy and good-tempered man, and my earlier prejudice against him melted away.

“I will keep you then, Jan Boom,” I said, after thinking the matter out for a few minutes.

“Nkose! There is only one thing I would ask,” he said, “and that is that you will tell me when three moons are dead whether you regret having kept me on or not.”

I thought the request strange, and laughed as I willingly gave him that promise. I still held to my theory that he had broken gaol somewhere or other, and had decided that he had now found a tolerably secure hiding-place; and if such were so, why from my point of interest that was all the better, if only that it would keep him on his best behaviour.

All the morning of the day following on my return I was busy enough, but by the early afternoon felt justified in starting to pay my first visit to the Sewins.

As I took my way down the bush path I had plenty of time for thought, and gave myself up to the pleasures of anticipation. Those last words: “You will come and see us directly you return. I shall look forward to it,” were ringing in a kind of melody in my mind, as my horse stepped briskly along. And now, what would my reception be? It must not be supposed that I had not thought, and thought a great deal, as to the future during the couple of months our trip had lasted. Hour after hour under the stars, I had lain awake thinking out everything. If all was as I hardly dared to hope, I would give up my present knockabout life, and take a good farm somewhere and settle down. If not – well I hardly cared to dwell upon that. Of Falkner in the light of any obstacle, strange to say I thought not at all.

From one point of the path where it rounded a spur the homestead became momentarily visible. Reining in I strained my eyes upon it, but it showed no sign of life – no flutter of light dresses about the stoep or garden. Well, it was early afternoon, hot and glowing. Likely enough no one would be willingly astir. Then a thought came that filled my mind with blank – if speculative – dismay. What if the family were away from home? The stillness about the place now took on a new aspect. Well, that sort of doubt could soon be set at rest one way or another, and I gave my horse a touch of the spur that sent him floundering down the steep and stony path with a snort of surprised indignation.

We had got on to the level now and the ground was soft and sandy. As we dived down into a dry drift something rushed at us from the other side with open-mouthed and threatening growl, which however subsided at once into a delighted whine. It was Arlo – and there on the bank above sat Arlo’s mistress.

She had a drawing block in her hand and a colour box beside her. Quickly she rose, and I could have sworn I saw a flush of pleasure steal over the beautiful face. I was off my horse in a twinkling. The tall, graceful form came easily forward to meet me.

“Welcome home,” she said, as our hands clasped. “I am so glad to see you again. And you have kept your promise indeed. Why we hardly expected you before to-morrow or the day after.”

“It was a great temptation to me to come over with Falkner yesterday,” I answered. “But, a man must not neglect his business.”

“Of course not. It is so good of you to have come now.”

“Good of me! I seem to remember that you would look forward to it – that last night I was here,” I answered, a bit thrown off my balance by the manner of her greeting. That “welcome home,” and the spontaneous heartiness of it, well it would be something to think about.

“Well, and that is just what I have been doing,” she answered gaily. “There! Now I hope you feel duly flattered.”

“I do indeed,” I answered gravely.

“And I am so glad we have met like this,” she continued, “because now we shall be able to have a good long talk. The others are all more or less asleep, but I didn’t feel lazy, so came down here to reduce that row of stiff euphorbia to paper. I have taken up my drawing again, and there are delightful little bits for water-colour all round here.”

The spot was as secluded and delightful as one could wish. The high bank and overhanging bushes gave ample shade, and opposite, with the scarlet blossoms of a Kafir bean for foreground, rose a small cliff, its brow fringed with the organ pipe stems of a line of euphorbia.

“Lie down, Arlo,” she enjoined. “What a fortunate thing it was you were able to recover him. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Of course you don’t, because no question of thanking me comes in,” I said. “I would sooner have found him as we did, than make anything at all out of the trip, believe me.”

“And your trip was not a great success after all, Falkner tells us?”

“Oh we did well enough, though I have done better. But to return to Arlo. The mystery to me – to both of us – was how on earth he ever managed to let himself be stolen.”

“Ah. That dreadful witch doctor must have been at the bottom of it. I only know that one morning he – Arlo not Ukozi – had disappeared, and no inquiry of ours could get at the faintest trace of him. His disappearance, in fact, was as complete as that of that poor Mr Hensley.”

“Old Hensley hasn’t turned up again, then?” I said.

“No. Mr Kendrew is getting more and more easy in his mind. He’s a shocking boy, you know, and says he’s too honest to pretend to be sorry if he comes into a fine farm to end his days on,” she said, with a little smile, that somehow seemed to cast something of a damper on the delight of the present situation.

“Confound Kendrew,” I thought to myself. “Who the deuce wants to talk of Kendrew now?”

“Tell me, Mr Glanton,” she went on, after a slight pause. “You got my letter I know, because Falkner has told us how he got the one mother wrote him. Did you think me very weak and foolish for allowing myself to get frightened as I did?”

“You know I did not,” I answered, with quite unnecessary vehemence. “Why I was only too proud and flattered that you should have consulted me at all. But, of course it was all somewhat mysterious. Is Ukozi about here now?”

“We haven’t seen him for some days. Do you know, I can’t help connecting his non-appearance with your return in some way. He must have known you would soon be here. Father is quite irritable and angry about it. He says the witch doctor promised to let him into all sorts of things. Now he pronounces him an arrant humbug.”

“That’s the best sign of all,” I said, “and I hope he’ll continue of that opinion. When elderly gentlemen take up fads bearing upon the occult especially, why, it isn’t good for them. You don’t mind my saying this?”

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind. Why should I have bothered you with my silly fears and misgivings – at a time too when you had so much else to think about – if I were to take offence at what you said? And it seems so safe now that you are near us again.”

What was this? Again a sort of shadow seemed to come over our talk. Was it only on account of some imaginary protection my presence might afford that she had been so cordially and unfeignedly glad to welcome me?

“I think you may make your mind quite easy now,” I said. “This Ukozi had some end of his own to serve, possibly that of stealing the dog, which he knew he could trade for a good price in Zululand, and probably did. I suppose Falkner gave you a full, true and particular account of how we bested the precious specimen who claimed him.”

She laughed.

“Oh, he’s been bragging about that, and all your adventures – or rather his – up there, in quite his own style.”

“Well, there was nothing for either of us to brag about in the way we recovered Arlo,” I said. “If the King’s impi hadn’t happened along in the nick of time I own frankly we might never have been able to recover him at all. It was a hundred to one, you understand.”

Again she laughed, significantly, and I read into the laugh the fact that she did not quite accept Falkner’s narratives at precisely Falkner’s own valuation.

“How did Falkner behave himself?” she went on.

“Oh, he was all right. He was always spoiling for a fight and on one occasion he got it. I daresay he has told you about that.”

“Yes,” she said, with the same significant laugh. “He gave us a graphic account of it.”

“Well he has plenty of pluck and readiness, and a man might have many a worse companion in an emergency.”

“It’s nice of you to say that. I don’t believe he was a bit nice to you.”

“Oh, only a boy’s sulks,” I said airily. “Nothing to bother oneself about in that.”

“But was that all?” she rejoined, lifting her clear eyes to my face.

“Perhaps not,” I answered, then something in her glance moved me to add: “May I tell you then, what it was that caused our differences, who it was, rather?” And I put forth my hand.

“Yes,” she said, taking it. “Tell me.”

“It was yourself.”

“Myself?”

“Yes. Do you remember what you said that last evening I was here? I do. I’ve treasured every word of it since. You said I was to come and see you directly I returned, and that you would look forward to it.”