The Golden Rock Part 33

Slowly the young giant swung himself to the ground, and stood sullenly regarding his enemies under his straight brows.

"Take the horse, Klaas, find the baas's gun, and keep watch beyond the bush."

The Kaffir obeyed with a grin.

"Now, Piet Coetzee," said Hume, with a hard look in his keen blue eyes, and a tightening of his lips, "if you have anything to say why you should not be tied to the waggon-wheel and flogged, say it."

Coetzee flushed to his eyes, then folded his arms. "I am not a black man, that you should speak of flogging."

"It is a question of crime, and not of colour."

"Beware what you do or say," said Piet threateningly; "if you flog a Boer you will be a dead man before the sun has risen again."

"Come--have you anything to say?"

"What have I done?"

Hume picked up a rheim, made a running noose, and stepped up to the young Boer.

"I will kill you first!" hissed Piet, doubling his great fist.

"Be quiet," said Webster; "or I will shoot."

"Oh, yes; you are two to one, and I am unarmed. Cowards!"

"And you were two to one when you took away the young lady," said Hume, and he slipped the noose over the broad shoulders and tightened it.

"My G.o.d! you will not flog me?"

"I will."

"But it is a dog's punishment. It will disgrace me for ever. Shoot me."

Hume pulled the end of the rheim through the spokes, and pulled on it, then made a hitch. The young Boer placed his foot against the rim, exerted his strength, and snapped the strong hide.

"Now," he shouted furiously, "I will make you shoot," and with a bound he seized the pole of the scherm and whirled it round his head.

"What is this?" said a fresh voice, and Miss Anstrade, looking her old self, except for the angry red mark above her forehead, and the wounds on her white hands, stepped forward.

"This is one of the men who carried you away," said Hume, "and I threatened to flog him unless he could explain."

"It is not so," said Piet furiously; "you threatened me first and asked me nothing."

"Put your guns down," said Miss Anstrade.

The two friends obeyed.

She walked quietly up to Piet, and took the pole from his hand.

"You are angry," she said quietly.

"They threatened to flog me--me--a Boer in my own country. Verdomde, when my people hear of it they will whip every uitlander in the place."

"Perhaps they will ask your forgiveness; and what has brought you here?"

"I followed you," he said.

"Yes, true, you followed me, and why?"

"Because--because--" He dropped his eyes.

"Because I rode away?"

"Yes, on my horse."

"It was your horse you wanted, then?"

"Yes--no--it was you, and my horse which had run away with you."

She laughed. "I see, it was the horse that ran away with me; it was the horse that caused my hands to be torn, it was the horse that came in the night when my friends were away, and carried me off by force." The smile was on her lips still, but there was such a look of scorn from her eyes that he trembled.

"I do not understand," he said humbly.

"You know that I was taken from my friends at night, and you must understand, surely, that that was the act of robbers."

"But he said you wished to escape."

"Who?"

"That Portuguese Gobo. He told me you were of his country, and that these men were carrying you off into the desert, so that they could benefit from your death without being detected."

"Is this the truth?"

"I am a Boer," replied the young Dutchman with some dignity, "and I do not work harm to women. If the Portuguese has made a fool of me I will wring his neck."

"He is a bad man. These are my friends who have helped me in great danger, and you caused them great suffering in taking me away. You have acted like a child; but it is because I see you have been misled I forgive you."

She held out her hand, which he took in his, while a flush of manly shame spread over his face.

"Now, my brothers," she said, with a brilliant smile, "all shake hands."

Webster held out his hand frankly, but Hume refused.

"What," she said, "you will not forgive him?"

"No, madam. If he has been the tool of a man more cunning than himself, he has been a willing tool. That mark across your forehead--how did it come there?"

"From the lash of a rebounding branch, as I galloped through the bush."