A Frontier Mystery Part 14

I felt grateful but foolish, having no mind to be taken seriously. But before I could stutter forth any reply, which was bound to have been an idiotic one, she went on, tactfully:

"For instance that boy you sent us--Ivondwe. Why he's a treasure.

Everything has gone right since he came. He can talk English, for one thing."

"Can he? That's an accomplishment I should never have given him credit for, and I don't know that it's altogether a recommendation. You know, we don't care for English-speaking natives. But you mustn't talk it to him, Miss Sewin. You must talk to him in the vernacular. How are you getting on, by the way?"

"Oh, indifferently. You might have given me a little more help, you know."

The reproach carried its own sting. Of course I might. What an a.s.s I was to have thrown away such an opportunity.

"Yes, he's a first-rate boy, Glanton," said the Major. "I don't know what we should do without him now."

"You haven't started in to punch his head yet, eh Falkner?" I said, banteringly, rather with the object of turning attention from my share in this acquisition.

"The curious part of it is that Arlo won't take to him," went on Miss Sewin. "He's on perfectly good terms with the other boys but he seems to hate this one. Not that Ivondwe isn't kind to him. He tries all he can to make friends with him but it's no good. Arlo won't even take food from him. Now why is this?"

"I'm afraid that's beyond me," I answered, "unless it is that the instinct of a dog, like that of a horse, isn't quite so supernaturally accurate as we accustom ourselves to think."

This was a subject that was bound to start discussion, and animated at that--and soon I found myself in somewhat of a corner, the ladies, especially, waxing warm over the heretical insinuation I had made. Then the Major, drawing on his experiences as a cavalry officer, took my side on the subject of equine intelligence, or lack of it, and Falkner took up the impartial advocate line, and we were all very jolly and merry through it all, and certainly conversation did not lag.

Lunch over, the Major announced his intention of having forty winks, and the rest of us adjourned to the stoep, and roomy cane chairs.

"One thing I like about this country," p.r.o.nounced Falkner, when he had got a cigar in full blast, and was lounging luxuriously in a hammock--a form of rec.u.mbency I detest--"and that is that provided you're in the shade you can always sit out of doors. Now in India you can't. It's a case of shaded rooms, and _chiks_, and a black beast swinging a punkah-- whom you have to get up and kick every half-hour when he forgets to go on--till about sundown. Here it's glorious."

I was inclined to share his opinion, and said so. At the same time there came into my mind the full consciousness that the glorification here lay in the peculiar circ.u.mstances of the case--to wit the presence and companions.h.i.+p of these two sweet and refined girls. The elder was in creamy white, relieved by a flower or two, which set off her soft dark beauty to perfection; the other was garbed in some light blue gossamer sort of arrangement which matched her eyes and went wonderfully with her golden hair, and ladies, if you want anything more definitely descriptive I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, for what do I, G.o.dfrey Glanton, trader in the Zulu, know about such awesome and wondrous mysteries? I only know--and that I do know--when anything appeals to me as perfect and not to be improved upon--and the picture which these two presented certainly did so appeal.

Outside, the blaze of sunlight--rich, full, and golden, without being oppressive or overpowering--lay slumbrous upon the sheeny roll of foliage. Here and there the red face of a krantz gleamed like bronze, and away on a distant spur the dark ring of a native kraal sent upward its spiral of blue smoke. Bright winged little sugar birds flitted familiarly in and out among the pa.s.sion flower creeper which helped to shade the stoep, quite unaffected by our presence and conversation-- though half scared temporarily as a laugh would escape Falkner or myself. Striped b.u.t.terflies hovered among the sunflowers in front, and the booming hum of large bees mingled with the shriller whizz of long-waisted hornets sailing in and out of their paper-like nests under the roof--and at these if they ventured too low, Arlo, whose graceful white form lay curled up beside his mistress' chair, would now and again fling up his head with a vicious snap. The scene, the hour, was one of the most perfect and restful peace: little did we think, we who sat there, enjoying it to the full, what of horror and dread lay before us ere we should look upon such another.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE MYSTERY OF THE WATERHOLE.

Suddenly Arlo sprang up, barking furiously.

"Shut up, you brute," growled Falkner, for this sudden interruption had, as he put it, made him jump. But the dog heeded him not, as he sprang up and rushed down the steps still giving vehement tongue.

"Be quiet, Arlo, do you hear!" ordered his mistress. "It's only Ivondwe."

The calm clear voice commanded obedience where Falkner's bl.u.s.ter did not. To the furious barking succeeded a series of threatening growls, not loud but deep. In the midst of which the innocent cause of the disturbance appeared, smiling, and as little perturbed by this sudden and rather formidable onslaught, as though it were a matter of an ordinary kraal cur.

To the physiognomist this Ivondwe was a remarkably prepossessing native--rather handsome in the good-looking style of his race. He had a pleasant, open countenance, good-humoured withal, and when he smiled it would be hard to equal his display of magnificent white teeth. Though somewhat past his first youth and the owner of a couple of wives he did not wear the head-ring; for he was fond of earning money in doing spells of work for white men, such as waggon driving, or the sort of job on which he was now engaged: and this being so he held, and perhaps rightly, that the ring would not be exactly in keeping. I had known him well for some time and had always had a high opinion of him.

Now he saluted, and addressing himself to Falkner, in very fair English, asked leave to go over to a neighbouring kraal after the cattle were in.

There was a merrymaking there, on the strength of the wedding of someone or other of his numerous kinsfolk.

"So, Ivondwe," I said, in the vernacular, when he had got his answer.

"So you speak with the tongue of the Amangisi, and I knew it not?"

He laughed.

"That is so, Iqalaqala," he answered. "Yet it is well for Umsindo, who is long since tired of talking to deaf ones. _Au_! How shall he talk yonder--_kwa_ Majendwa?"

Umsindo, meaning a man who is given to swagger, was Falkner's native name, though he didn't know it.

"That we shall see," I said. "It may be that by then his tongue will have become loosened. But now, while he is away you must do well by these here. They treat you well, and their hands are very open--so open that soon you will be for building a new hut."

He laughed, and owned that such might indeed be the case. All the while the great white dog was walking up and down behind him, eyeing his calves and snarling malevolently.

"The dog," I went on. "He is very unfriendly towards you. Why?"

"Who may say? The dogs of the white people are seldom friendly to us, and our dogs are seldom friendly to the whites. And this dog is very white."

I got out a large native snuff tube I always carried, and gave him some.

"Come up to Isipanga before we start," I said. "I have a present there for him who should serve these faithfully."

"You are my father, Iqalaqala," and with this formula of thanks, he once more saluted and went his way.

"What have you been talking about all this time?" said Edith Sewin. "By the way isn't it extraordinary that Arlo won't take to Ivondwe? Such a good boy as he is, too."

"Perhaps he's a thundering great scoundrel at bottom," said Falkner, "and Arlo's instinct gets below the surface."

"Who's a thundering great scoundrel at bottom, Falkner?" said Mrs Sewin's voice in the doorway.

"Eh. Oh come now, aunt. You mustn't use these slang terms you know.

Look, you're shocking Glanton like anything."

"You'll shock him more for an abominably rude boy who pokes fun at his elders," laughed the old lady. "But come in now and have tea. What a lovely afternoon it is--but a trifle drowsy."

"Meaning that somebody's been asleep," rejoined Falkner mischievously, climbing out of his hammock. "Oh well. So it is. Let's go for a stroll presently or we shall all be going to sleep. Might take the fis.h.i.+ng lines and see what we can get out of the waterhole."

"Fis.h.i.+ng lines? And it's Sunday," said Mrs Sewin, who was old fas.h.i.+oned.

"Oh I forgot. Never mind the lines. We can souse Arlo in and teach him to dive."

"We can do nothing of the kind," said Arlo's owner, decisively. "He came within an ace of splitting his poor dear head the last time you threw him in, and from such a height too. What do you think of that, Mr Glanton?" turning to me. And then she gave me the story of how Falkner had taken advantage of the too obedient and confiding Arlo--and of course I sympathised.

When we got fairly under way for our stroll--I had some difficulty by the bye in out-manoeuvring the Major's efforts to keep me pottering about listening to his schemes as to his hobby--the garden to wit--the heat of the day had given place to the most perfect part of the same, the glow of the waning afternoon, when the sun is but one hour or so off his disappearance. We sauntered along a winding bush path, perforce in single file, and soon, when this widened, I don't know how, but I found myself walking beside Miss Sewin.

I believe I was rather silent. The fact is, reason myself out of it as I would, I was not in the least anxious to leave home, and now that it had come to the point would have welcomed any excuse to have thrown up the trip. Yet I was not a millionaire--very far from it--consequently money had to be made somehow, and here was a chance of making quite a tidy bit--making it too, in a way that to myself was easy, and absolutely congenial. Yet I would have s.h.i.+rked it. Why?

"What is preoccupying your thoughts to such an alarming extent," said my companion, flas.h.i.+ng at me a smile in which lurked a spice of mischief.

"Is it the cares and perils of your expedition--or what?"

"By Jove--I must apologise. You must find me very dull, Miss Sewin," I answered, throwing off my preoccupation as with an effort. "The fact is I believe I was thinking of something of the kind--ruling out the 'perils.' Do you know, I believe you've all been rather spoiling me here--spoiling me, I mean, for--well, for my ordinary life. But-- anyhow, the memory of the times I have known lately--of days like this for instance--will be something to have with one, wherever one is."

I was stopped by a surprised look in her face. Her eyes had opened somewhat, as I had delivered myself of the above rather lame declamation. Yet I had spoken with quite an unwonted degree of warmth, when contrasted with my ordinary laconic way of expressing myself.