The Fire Trumpet Part 66

A sudden rush, and a tremendous kick, and the door went down with an appalling crash, as, staggering with the shock and the impetus, Claverton half fell half rushed upon the sleeper, gripping him by the throat before he had time to move; while Sam, seizing both his hands, twisted them behind him, and rolled him over on to his stomach.

"That's it, Sam; tie him up," cried Claverton, in a steely voice, restraining with difficulty his longing to throttle the life out of the prostrate villain, who, for his part, did not yield without a struggle-- and a violent one. Indeed, it required all their efforts to hold him, for the mulatto was of powerful and athletic build.

"So!" said Claverton, approvingly, as Sam dexterously made fast the prisoner's feet with a _reim_ he had brought for the purpose, having previously pinioned his hands. "Now, Mr Vargas Smith, alias Sharkey, alias the Cuban gentleman--now, may I ask, what the devil are you doing here?"

The man regarded him with a scowl of hatred. "I was on the way to join the levy, Baas, and came in here for shelter from the rain," he replied, sullenly.

"On the way to join the levy, were you? My good friend, this is not the way to King Williamstown. That, I believe, is where you were consigned to--but never mind that. Now, I want to know, who was the _gentleman_ who has just left?"

The ruffian's yellow hide grew a dirty, livid colour. "I don't know his name, Baas," he said, falteringly.

"It's surprising how we live and learn," said the other, coolly.

"Before I count twenty you'll not only have learnt his name, but you'll have told it to me. Sam, put up that door. And Sam, go to the corner and keep watch; and let me know if you hear anybody coming. It isn't in the least likely, but there's nothing like caution. Now, friend Sharkey, what is his name? Out with it."

"Don't know, Baas," repeated the other.

"That's unfortunate for you. Now, you see this?" taking a glowing f.a.ggot from the fire and blowing upon it. "With this I am about to tickle the soles of your feet until you do know. Come! Out with it,"

and he approached his victim.

"Mercy, mercy! I'll tell you, Baas," pleaded the mulatto.

"Well?"

"It's Wallace--Cap'n Wallace, Baas."

"Oh. No lies, mind," said Claverton, with a determined look. "You know me. I stand no nonsense. Well, now, where did you first fall in with this Captain Wallace?"

"At Port Elizabeth."

"Who is he?"

"That I don't know, really, Baas," pleaded the fellow, piteously. "He's going to raise a levy and fight the Kafirs, and he wanted me to join it."

"H'm. I believe the first statement, the last is a lie. No more lies, friend Sharkey, if you please, or we shall quarrel. And now, tell me, how do you purpose earning your hundred pounds?"

The mulatto's face grew livid as death, and great beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. He knew that from this man, whose murder he had just been plotting, he need expect no mercy; and he read his doom in every line of the other's features, as he stared at his captor with the haggard and hunted expression of a trapped wild creature. Again his shaking lips reiterated a prayer for mercy.

"You were going to be very merciful to the man whom you were about to put out of this Captain Wallace's way in three months, were you not?

Who was the man, by the way?"

"Yourself. He hates you, Baas, I don't know why, I swear I don't. I think it's about some money you have that he ought to have--at least, so he says."

"Quite so. And he set you to watch me?"

"Yes."

"I see."

Then there was dead silence. It was a strange sight that the ghostly firelight flickered and danced upon in that lonely hut. The bound and prostrate-ruffian, and the quiet, refined-looking man sitting opposite him--sitting in judgment on his would-be murderer. Outside, the rain pattered with a monotonous, dismal sound, and the distant cry of a jackal floated upon the heavy night air.

"Well, now, Sharkey," said Claverton at length, "you are the greatest scoundrel that ever breathed, you know. I had almost made up my mind to amuse myself for the rest of the night by drawing figures on your carcase with this," and again he held up the glowing f.a.ggot; "but I will be merciful, and won't do that."

A look of relief came into the prisoner's eyes; but his tormentor went on:

"But, you see, you have confessed to having intended to murder me for the sake of a hundred pounds. Now, do you know what we do with murderers? We hang them; but I won't hang you." The look of relief increased, and the fellow began to murmur his thanks.

"Wait, wait, not so fast. I won't hang you. I say, because, to begin with, I haven't got a rope. But a couple of prods with this,"--touching the handle of a long, keen sheath-knife--"will answer the purpose a great deal better. For this is war-time, you know, Sharkey, and this hut is a devilish lonely place, so that when in about a month you are found here, a yarn will go the round of the papers as to how the body of a poor devil of a Hottentot--not even a Cuban _gentleman_, mind, they don't understand that distinction here--was found slain by Kafirs, with no end of a.s.segai holes in him. Or it might be safer for us to dig a hole in the next room, and quietly drop you in--alive, of course--and cover you up. It would, perhaps, be a little more trouble, but safer."

The expression of the miserable man's face, as he stared at his tormentor with a frozen, hopeless look of despair, was awful to behold, while he listened to the terrible doom which the other p.r.o.nounced upon him. Not a gleam of relenting could he trace in that stern, impa.s.sive countenance.

"Mercy--mercy," he moaned. "I will be your slave--your dog. I will kill the other man if you wish, only spare me," and his dry, bloodless lips could hardly articulate his hopeless entreaty. "Only spare my life--it is yours--I deserve to die; but spare me," and the miserable wretch grovelled on the earth.

Claverton contemplated him for a few moments with calm equanimity, unmoved by the extremity of his terror.

"Upon my word, Sharkey, I gave you credit for more gameness. Well, now, listen to me. It is as you say--you deserve to die, and your life is mine. Never mind about the other man, I won't have him hurt for anything. Now for yourself. You have gone through all the bitterness of death in the last few minutes, as I intended you should. That is enough. I will spare your life--richly as you have deserved to lose it--but listen to me. You will go from here as a prisoner, and not be released from arrest till we have joined the others. I will make no conditions with you--first of all, because you are absolutely powerless to harm me, now, or at any future time--the very events of to-night prove that; secondly, because, if I did, you would not keep them. So I forgive you completely your plot to murder me, and you shall join the corps as if nothing had happened. One word of warning, though. I shall have my eye upon you always, and wherever you may be. And remember this, in case we go into action together--_I'm not a bad shot, you know; and there's no fear of my mistaking a Kafir for any one else, or any one else for a Kafir_. Bear all this in mind, for if you are up to any more tricks, what you have just gone through is a mere joke compared with what's in store for you. You know _me_."

The prisoner looked at Claverton with a wild, superst.i.tious awe. This man must be something more than mortal, and he shuddered as he reflected that he was indeed powerless to harm him. Then, as he realised that his life was spared, the look of relief returned to his livid features. He knew the other only too well, and that every word had been spoken in no mere spirit of empty threat, but in sober earnest. And now he felt like a man who has been reprieved from under the very gallows-tree itself.

He had spoken the truth in his revelation in all good faith--indeed, he dared not have done otherwise--and had told all he knew, marvelling that he had been asked so few questions.

Claverton, meanwhile, was sitting opposite, watching his prisoner with a curious and thoughtful expression. By what stroke of luck had he been made to lose his way and brought to this place in time to overhear the plot against his own life? Who on earth could the other man be--the arch mover in the scheme? He had never seen him before; had never even heard his name; and then what the mulatto had said, about it being a question of money. Stay, could it be that some will existed of which he, Claverton, knew nothing, and under which the other would benefit in the event of his death? It seemed strange, certainly; but then his experience had taught him that nothing was too strange to be true. And then recurred to his mind, with all the force of a prophecy, the words which Lilian had spoken when first she discovered the ruffian was following them in the square at King Williamstown: "_Have you no secret enemy? No one who would owe you a grudge_?" and he had answered lightly in the negative; whereas, he was actually being dogged by two secret a.s.sa.s.sins--one of them no mere common ruffian like the cut-throat lying there before him, but a man apparently his equal in birth and station.

With whom, however, he promised himself a full and complete reckoning, all in good time.

Then the recollection of Lilian's words naturally recalled the image of Lilian herself. What was she doing then? Thinking of him ever--at that hour most likely praying for him--and he? With difficulty had he just restrained himself from an act of wild, lawless vengeance--justified, perhaps, but still vengeance--one which in earlier days he would not have shrunk from; and now, as he thought of her, his whole mood softened and he felt glad that he had spared the villain opposite, even though by doing so he might have jeopardised his own life. Not that he gave this side of the question a thought, for his experiences had made him a fatalist, and he really believed himself under a special protection for some purpose or other--be that purpose what it might. Thus musing, he fell into a doze; while the faithful Sam, having stabled the horses in the adjoining apartment, had barred up the door as well as he could, and sat, huddled in his blanket, smoking his pipe and keeping watch over the prisoner and over his master's safety.

With the first ray of dawn they were astir. The horses being saddled, the prisoner's feet were untied to allow him to walk.

"Yon dam Hottentot n.i.g.g.a?" said Sam, administering a sly kick to the crestfallen Sharkey, when his master's back was turned. "You cheek my chief, eh? Now, you try to run away, I shoot--shoot you--so. My chief, he good shot, shoot you dead--ha, ha!"

With which salutary warning they set out. Sam, in his heart of hearts, hoping that it would be disregarded, and that the mulatto would really make an attempt at escape. But that worthy was wise in his generation, and the Natal native had no opportunity of showing his skill with the new Snider rifle wherewith a paternal Goverment had supplied him on the occasion of his joining "Claverton's Levies."

A curious contrast did this grim _cortege_ present to the last occasion of his leaving that place in the early dawn, thought Claverton. Instead of the bright, laughing girl who was his companion then, he cast his eye on the sullen prisoner and his guard, and then on his own warlike equipment; and mingled, indeed, were his reflections as he found himself traversing the old roads, with all the features of the familiar landscape stretching around. There was old Isaac Van Rooyen's homestead, down in the hollow, on the right, looking just the same as of yore, except that that slow-going old Boer had built a new room on to it, probably for the accommodation of the family of one of his children, who had quartered themselves upon him. In front, in the distance, rose the frowning face of Spoek Krantz and the heights from among which it stood forth. The mountains, too, on the sky-line, wore their well-known aspect; and every feature of the surroundings, whether bush or open, seemed to bring back the past. Even Hicks' farm, whither he was now wending, was the one he himself had started to treat for, and had turned back, that day when he had heard his fate and been sent forth into banishment from all that made life for him--four years ago.

"Hallo, hallo!" cried honest Hicks, looking up in astonishment from some carpentering he was doing behind the house, as the trio rode up. "Well, this is a piece of luck! How are you, Arthur, old boy? And who the deuce have you got there?"

"A chap who joined my corps and began his service by desertion; I chanced to pick him up on the way."

Hicks looked mystified for a moment. "Oh--ah--yes, now I remember! Jim told me you had got the command of some of the greatest blackguards under heaven. That bird, by the way, looks as if he would be quite in his element among them. But I should think you'd manage to lick them into shape if any one would, eh?"

"Oh, yes. And they're not bad fellows to fight, once you get them away from the canteens. I'll manage them, never fear."

"But come in. Laura will be surprised. Don't bother about the horses, I'll see to them; and your boy will be enough to look after the prisoner, I should think."

"He will. The rascal has been licking his chops over him like a bull-terrier contemplating a cat in a tree. There's nothing he'd like better than a chance of practising at the fellow running away."

By this time they had entered the house, which was a trifle small perhaps, but comfortable, after the style of the ordinary frontier dwelling, and Claverton took in at a glance the air of neatness and domesticity that pervaded it, from the sewing-machine and work-basket on the table to the rocking-cradle standing in the corner, which latter was the sole work of Hicks' skilful hands.

And Laura? She was but little changed in appearance, and that, if anything, for the better. More matronly-looking and a trifle more demure perhaps than formerly, and if her greeting to Claverton lacked ever so slightly in cordiality, it might have been that she still cherished a latent spark of resentment against him on Ethel's account.

But, after all, there was no altering the past. Whatever was to be-- was--and there was no help for it. And being a good-hearted little woman she soon cast aside her first veil of reserve, and talked to him as in the old times, for she had always liked him, and besides, he had done her husband more than one good turn.