A Frontier Mystery Part 11

In the solitude as I took my way through the thorns the recollection of Hensley came upon me again, and I confess, as I thought upon it there, under the midnight moon--for I had started back rather later than I had intended--a sort of creepy feeling came over me. What the deuce had become of the man? If he had got a fit of mental aberration, and taken himself off, he would have left some spoor, yet no sign of any had been lighted upon by those who had again and again made diligent search. I looked around. The bush sprays seemed to take on all manner of weird shapes; and once my horse, shying and snorting at a big hare, squatting up on its haunches like a big idiot, bang in the middle of the path, gave me quite an unpleasant start. The black brow of the krantz cut the misty, star-speckled skyline now receding on my left behind--and then-- my horse gave forth another snort and at the same time s.h.i.+ed so violently as to have unseated me, but that my nerves were--again I confess it--at something of an abnormal tension.

A figure was stealing along in the not very distinct moonlight; a human figure or--was it? Suddenly it stopped, half in shadow.

"Hi! Hallo! Who's that," I sung out.

There was no answer. Then I remembered that with my mind running upon Hensley I had used English. Yet the figure was that of a native. It wanted not the blackness of it in the uncertain light; the stealthy, sinuous movement of it was enough to show that. Yet, this certainty only enhanced the mystery. Natives are not wont to prowl about after dark with no apparent object, especially alone. In the first place they have a very whole-hearted dread of the night side of Nature--in the next such a proceeding is apt to gain for them more than a suspicion of practising the arts of witchcraft--a fatal reputation to set up yonder beyond the river, and, I hesitate not to a.s.sert, a very dangerous one to gain even here on the Queen's side.

The figure straightened up, causing my fool of a horse to snort and describe further antics. Then a voice:

"Inkose! Iqalaqala. Be not afraid. It is only Ukozi, who watches over the world while the world sleeps--ah--ah! while the world sleeps."

I must own to feeling something of a thrill at the name. This Ukozi was a diviner, or witch doctor, whose reputation was second to none among the Natal border tribes--ay and a great deal wider--and that is saying a good deal. Now of course the very mention of a witch doctor should arouse nothing but contemptuous merriment; yet the pretentions of the cla.s.s are not all humbug by any means, indeed I have known a good few white men--hard bitten, up-country going men with no nonsense or superst.i.tion about them--who never fail to treat a genuine native witch doctor with very real consideration indeed.

"Greeting, father of mystery," I answered, with some vague idea that the meeting all so unexpected and somewhat weird, might yet be not without its bearings on the fate of Hensley. "You are bent upon _muti_ indeed, when the world is half through its dark time and the moon is low."

"M-m!" he hummed. "The moon is low. Just so, Iqalaqala. You will not go home to-night."

"Not go home!" I echoed, meaning to humour him, and yet, in my innermost self, conscious that there was a very real note of curiosity that could only come of whole, or partial, belief in the question. "And why should I not go home to-night?"

He shrugged his shoulders impressively. Then he said:

"Who may tell? But--you will not."

I tried to laugh good-humouredly, but it was not genuine. Yet was not the thing absurd? Here was I, letting myself be humbugged--almost scared--by an old charlatan of a witch doctor, a fellow who made a comfortable living out of his credulous countrymen by fooling them with charms and spells and omens, and all sorts of similar quackery--I, a white man, with--I haven't mentioned it before--an English public school education.

"Here, my father," I said, producing a goodly twist of roll tobacco.

"This is good--always good--whether by a comfortable fire, or searching for _muti_ materials under the moon."

He received it, in the hollow of both hands, as the native way is. I saw before me in the moonlight what was not at all the popular conception of the witch doctor--a little shrivelled being with furtive, cunning looks, and snaky eyes. No. This was a middle-aged man of fine stature, and broadly and strongly built: dest.i.tute too of charms or amulets in the way of adornments. His head-ring glistened in the moonlight, and for all clothing he wore the usual _mutya_. In fact the only peculiarity about him was that he had but one eye.

"What has become of Nyamaki?" I said, filling and lighting my pipe.

"U' Nyamaki? Has he gone then?" was the answer which, of course, was a bit of a.s.sumed ignorance.

"Now how can the father of wisdom ask such a question?" I said. "He-- to whom nothing is dark!"

Ukozi's face was as a mask. He uttered a single grunt--that was all.

"The whites will offer large reward to the man who finds him," I went on.

"Will he who sits yonder"--meaning my recent entertainer--"offer large reward?" was the answer, a sudden whimsical flash illuminating the dark, impa.s.sive face.

"That I cannot say. But I should think it probable. And now you are seeking midnight _muti_ so as to obtain such reward. Take care," I went on, chaffing him. "To wander at midnight would not be safe _la pa_,"

pointing in the direction of the Zulu country. "But here we are under the Queen."

"The Queen! _Au_! Even the Queen cannot do everything."

"She just about can though," I answered decisively.

"Can she find Nyamaki?" he said, putting his head on one side.

This was a facer. I didn't know what the deuce to answer. While I was hesitating he went on:

"_Au_! Well, Iqalaqala, turn back and make your bed with him yonder, for you will not go home to-night _Hamba gahle_."

"_Hlala gahle_, father of mystery," I answered lightly touching my horse with the spur.

You will think it strange I should make so light of his warning, yet as I resumed my way up the valley, no thought of material danger came into my mind as I pondered over it. I would show him that wise as he was, and great his reputation, yet he did not know everything. I would have the crow of him next time we met, when--

My horse had suddenly c.o.c.ked his ears, then uttering a loud snort he stopped dead--so suddenly indeed that I as nearly as possible pitched over his head. Yet, there was nothing in sight.

The path, here rather steep, narrowed between high thick bush, just over which on either hand, rose two straight but entirely insignificant krantzes.

"He has seen a snake, a big mamba perhaps," I decided. "Well, let the brute crawl away, as he's sure to do if alarmed. Then we'll get on again."

But we didn't. I shouted a little, and swished at the bushes with my whip. Then I spurred my horse forward again. The confounded animal wouldn't budge.

"Here, this won't do," I said to myself feeling angry. Then I got off.

If the fool wouldn't go in the ordinary way perhaps he would lead.

Would he? Not a bit of it; on the contrary he rucked back at his bridle so violently as nearly to tear it out of my hand. I got into the saddle again.

"Now you've got to go, d.a.m.n it!" I growled, letting him have both rowels till I thought I could hear the bones squeak.

In response he first plunged violently, then kicked, then reared, finally slewing round so quickly as nearly to unseat me. And now I became aware of a strange sickly scent, almost like that of a drug--yet how could it be? Then, as it grew stronger, it took on a vile effluvium as of something dead. Yet; I had pa.s.sed over that very spot but a few hours back, and nothing of the kind had been there then. The horse was now standing quite still, his head towards the way we had come, all in a sweat and trembling violently.

And now I own that some of his scare began to take hold of me. What did it mean--what the very deuce did it mean? What infernal witchcraft was this that could hold me up here on a path I had ridden several times before, on this identical horse too? Yet, here in the still ghostly midnight hour alone, the affair began to grow dashed creepy. I made one more attempt, and that a half-hearted one--then giving the horse the rein let him take his own way, and that way was straight back to Kendrew's.

Some thought of making a _detour_, and pa.s.sing the bewitched point by taking a wide sweep, came into my mind, but that would have involved some infernally rough travelling, besides the moon wouldn't last much longer, and who could say whether the result might not turn out the same, for by now the witch doctor's declaration had carried its full weight. So I was soon knocking Kendrew out of his first sleep, with literally a lame excuse to the effect that my steed had gone lame, and it was no use trying to get over two hours of rough road with him that night.

"All right, old chap," sung out Kendrew, in a jolly voice, as he let me in. "Have a gla.s.s of grog first, and then we'll take him round to the stable. You can turn in in any room you like."

I hoped he wouldn't notice that neither then nor on the following morning did my horse show the slightest sign of lameness. But I had made up my mind to say no word to him of what had occurred--and didn't.

CHAPTER TEN.

FALKNER PUGNACIOUS.

"Well but--who are you? What's your name? Ain't ashamed of it, are you?"

"Ashamed of it? I'll darned soon let you know if I am or not, and teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head into the bargain."

Such was the dialogue that came to my ears very early on the morning following the events just recorded. The voices were right in front of my window and I chuckled, for I knew them both--knew one for that of my present host, the other for that of no less a personage than Falkner Sewin.

I repeat, I chuckled, for there was a side of the situation which appealed to my sense of humour. Falkner Sewin's temper and dignity alike were ruffled. There was going to be a row. Falkner had long wanted taking down a peg. It was highly probable that the said lowering process would now be effected.

In about a moment I was at the window. The contending parties, by neither of whom was I observed, were drawn up in battle array. Falkner, who had apparently just arrived on horseback, had dismounted, and was advancing upon Kendrew in a sort of prize ring att.i.tude. The latter for his part, simply stood and waited, his face wearing an expression of indifference that might be extremely provoking. No, I was not going to interfere--not yet. A little bloodletting would do Falkner no harm--or, for the matter of that, either of them.