A Veldt Vendetta Part 5

Brian reascended to his seat, and relieved me of the reins. I, the while, faithful to my plighted word, showed no sign of ever having seen the child before, seeming indeed to see a certain reminder of the same in her sparkling pretty little face as she half-shyly affected to make my acquaintance. Brian kissed her tenderly, and we drove on. But before we had had gone far he turned on me suddenly.

"Holt, I don't know how to thank you, or what to say. I've just heard from Iris what you did yesterday. Man, you saved her life--her _life_, do you hear?--and what that means to me--to us--why, blazes take it, you've seen her!--I don't know how I can convey the idea better."

He was all afire with agitation--indeed, to such an extent as to astonish me, for I had set him down as rather a cool customer, and not easily perturbed. Now he continued to wax eloquent, and it made me uncomfortable. So I endeavoured to cut him short.

"All right, old chap. It isn't worth jawing about. Only too glad I was on hand at the time. Besides, nothing at all to a fellow who can swim.

I say, though, I was admiring the way the little girl was at home in the water; still, she's small, and those beastly breakers have a devil of an undertow, you know. She oughtn't to be allowed out like that with n.o.body to look after her."

"That's just it. But she bound me to secrecy, like she did you, for fear of not being allowed in again. I made her promise not to do it again though, as a condition of keeping dark."

And then he went on to expatiate on Miss Iris' swimming perfections, and indeed every other perfection, to an extent that rather prejudiced me against her if anything, as likely to prove a spoilt handful. However, it got him out of the grat.i.tude groove, which was all I wanted just then.

That couple of days' journey was quite one of the most delightful experiences of my life. Our way lay over beautiful rolling country dotted with flowering mimosa, and here and there intersected with a dark forest-filled kloof; and bright-winged birds flashed sheeny from our path, and on every hand the hum of busy insects made music on the warm air. Yes, it was warm; in the middle of the day very much so. But the evening was simply divine, in its hushed dewiness rich with the unfolding fragrance of innumerable subtle herbs, for we took advantage of a glorious moon to travel in the coolness. Now and again we would pa.s.s a large Kafir kraal, whose cl.u.s.tering beehive-shaped huts stood white in the moonlight, and thence an uproar of stamping and shouting, accompanying the rhythm of a savage song, showed that its wild denizens were holding high festivity at any rate; and the sound of the barbarous revel rising loud and clear upon the still night air, came to me with an effect that was wholly weird and imposing.

"Seems as if I had suddenly leaped outside civilisation altogether," I remarked as we pa.s.sed one of these kraals, whose inhabitants paused in their revelry to send after us a long loud halloo, partly good-humoured, partly insolent. And I gave my companion the benefit of my preconceived notions of the Kafir, whereat he laughed greatly.

"It's funny how these notions get about, Holt," he said. "Now you have seen a glimpse of your meek, down-trodden black--only he's generally red--since you landed, and you can the more easily realise it when I tell you he'd cut all our throats with the greatest pleasure in life if he dared. There are enough of them to do it any night in the year; but, providentially, there's never any cohesion among savages, and these chaps won't trust each other, which is our salvation, for they simply swarm as to numbers. What do you say? Shall we outspan and make a night of it on the veldt? There's an accommodation house a mile or so further on, but it's a beastly hole, and the people none too civil."

Of course I voted for camping, and as Brian's forethought had provided a supply of cold meat and bread and cheese, as well as a bottle of grog, we fared (relatively) sumptuously, and thereafter the last thing I knew was my first pipe dropping out of my mouth very soon indeed after I had lighted it.

We inspanned early the next morning, and as we progressed our way became more hilly. Thick bush came down to the road in many places, and twice we forded a drift of a river, whose muddy and turbid current rose to the axles. The high broken country, copiously bush-clad, was delightful to the eye, but oh, the heat of the sun in those scorching valley bottoms, where, when we were not jolting over uneven ma.s.ses of stone, were wallowing painfully through inches and inches of thick red dust. Now and then we would pa.s.s a string of transport waggons, or a traveller on horseback, and in the middle of the day we outspanned at a farm of the rougher kind. Towards evening we entered a long, wild, beautiful valley resonant with the cooing of doves and other sounds of evening peace, the bleating of homing flocks and the lowing of cattle; and as we rounded a bush-clad spur and a homestead came into view I felt no surprise that Brian Matterson should turn to me with the remark--

"Here we are at last, Holt; and there's Beryl, on the look-out for us."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BERYL.

He reined up the Cape cart at the gate of a picturesque verandah-fronted house which stood against a background of wild and romantic bush scenery. Not for this, however, had I any eyes at that moment; only for the personality which was framed as it were within a profusion of white cactus blossoms which overhung the garden gate.

"Well, Beryl!" he sang out, as we got out of the trap. "Here's an old school chum I picked up by the merest fluke down at East London. I brought him out here to see a little African life, so for the present I'll hand him over to you. Give him a cool chair on the stoep, and a ditto drink, while I go and see to the outspanning, and to things in general. Dad still away, I suppose?"

"Yes. He'll be back this evening, though. I'm expecting him every minute."

"So long, then."

Now I have already explained that I am by nature a reticent animal, and may add that I have a sneaking horror of being taken for a susceptible one. Wherefore I had refrained from questioning Brian on the way hither, as to the outward appearance or inner characteristics of his elder sister, and he, while mentioning the fact that he had another sister, who kept house for them--for their mother was long since dead-- and a younger brother, had not entered into details.

But it would be idle to pretend I had not been indulging, and that mightily, in all sorts of speculation upon the subject, and that within my own mind. Would she resemble the little one to whose aid I had come--prove a grown-up replica of her? If so, she would be something to look at, I concluded. Yet, now that I beheld her, my first impression of Beryl Matterson was a strange mingling of interest and disappointment. Tall and very graceful of carriage, she stood there, with outstretched hand of welcome. The tint of the smooth skin was that of a dark woman, yet she had eyes of a rich violet blue--large, deep, thoughtful--and her abundant brown hair was drawn back in a wavy ripple from the temples.

But that her glance, so straight and scrutinising as it met mine, became melting and tender as it rested upon her brother, I should have set her down as of a cold disposition, and withal a trifle too resolute for a woman, especially for one of her age. As it was, I hardly knew what to think. She did not greatly resemble Brian, who though also tall and handsome was very dark; yet I suspected his to be the gentler disposition of the two.

"You are very welcome, Mr Holt," she said. "How strange that Brian should have met you down there."

"It was not only strange but providential, for I was literally a s.h.i.+pwrecked mariner thrown up on your sh.o.r.e without a dry st.i.tch on me."

And I told her briefly the plight I had found myself in, when Brian had come to the rescue. She listened with great interest.

"Well, I am more than ever glad he did. But what an experience! The landing one, though, I have been through myself; the bar at East London can be too terrific for words. By the way, we have a little sister staying down there now with some friends. We thought the sea-bathing would do her good, and she's so fond of it. Did you see her, perhaps?"

"Yes. She met us outside the town to say good-bye. What a pretty child she is."

"She is, and nicely she gets spoiled on the strength of it," laughed Beryl, but the laugh was wholly a pleasant one, without a tinge of envy or resentment in it.

We chatted a little, and then she proposed we should stroll out and look at the garden and some tiny ostrich chicks she was trying to rear, and flinging on a large rough straw hat which was infinitely becoming, she led the way, down through an avenue of fig trees, and opened a light gate in the high quince hedge.

Then as I stood within the coolness of the garden, which covered some acreage of the side of the slope, I gained a most wonderful impression of the place that was destined to prove my home for a long time to come, and in whose joys and sorrows--yes, and impending tragedies of dark vendetta and bloodshed--I was fated to be a.s.sociated. Below the house lay the sheep kraals, and already a woolly cataract was streaming into one of the thorn-protected enclosures, while another awaited its turn at a little distance off. The cattle kraal, too, was alive with dappled hides, and one unintermittent "moo" of restless and hungry calves, while a blue curling smoke reek from the huts of the Kafir farm servants rose upon the still evening atmosphere. What is there about that marvellous African sunset glow? I have seen it many a time since, under far different conditions--under the steamy heat of the lower Zambesi region, and amid piercing cold with many degrees of frost on the high Karoo; in the light dry air of the Kalahari, and in the languorous, semi-tropical richness of beautiful Natal; but never quite as I saw it that evening, standing beside Beryl Matterson. It was as a scene cut out of Eden, that wondrous changing glow which rested upon the whole valley, playing upon the rolling sea of foliage like the sweep of golden waves, striking the iron face of a n.o.ble cliff with a glint of bronze, then dying, to leave a pearly atmosphere redolent of distilling aromatic herbs, tuneful with the cooing of myriad doves and the whistle of plover and the hum of strange winged insects coming forth on their nightly quests.

"Let's see. How long is it since you and Brian saw each other last, Mr Holt?" said my companion as we strolled between high quince hedges.

"Why, it must have been quite twelve years, rather over than under. And most of the time has not been good, as far as I was concerned. The financial crash that forced me to leave school when I did, kept me for years in a state of sedentary drudgery for a pittance. Something was saved out of the wreck at last, but by that time I had grown 'groovy'

and fought shy of launching out into anything that involved risk. I preferred to keep my poor little one talent in a napkin, to the possibility of losing it in the process of turning it into two."

She looked interested as she listened. The face which I had thought hard grew soft, sympathetic, and wholly alluring.

"There's a good deal in that," she laughed. "I must say I have often thought the poor one-talent man was rather hardly used. By the way, when Brian was sent to England to school it was with the idea of making a lawyer or a doctor of him, but he would come back to the farm. It was rather a sore point with our father for quite a long time after, but now he recognises that it is all for the best. My father is not what the insurance people call a 'good' life, Mr Holt."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. What is wrong? Heart?"

"Yes. But I am boring you with all these family details, but having been Brian's school chum seems to make you almost as one of ourselves."

"Pray rid yourself of the impression that you are boring me, Miss Matterson--on the contrary, I am flattered. But I must not obtain your good opinion under false pretences. The fact is, Brian and I were not exactly school chums. There was too much difference between our ages-- at that time, of course; which makes it all the more friendly and kind of him to have brought me here now."

"Oh, that doesn't make any difference. If you weren't chums then you will be now, so it's all the same."

Then we talked about other things, and to my inquiries relating to this new land--new to me, that is--Beryl gave ready reply.

"You will have to return the favour, Mr Holt," she said with a smile.

"There are many things I shall ask you about by-and-by. After all, this sort of life is a good deal outside the world, and I have never been to England, you know. I am only a raw Colonial."

I forget what answer I made; probably it was an idiotic one. But the idea of a.s.sociating "rawness" with this well-bred, self-possessed, attractive girl at my side, seemed so outrageous that in all probability I overdid the thing in striving to demonstrate its absurdity.

On regaining the house we found Brian, who had just returned from counting in the flocks. He was not alone. Two Kafirs--tall, finely-built savages, their blankets and persons coloured terra-cotta red with ochre--stood at the steps of the stoep conversing with him, the mellow ba.s.s of their sonorous language and their far from ungraceful appearance and att.i.tude lending another picturesque element to the rich unfamiliarity of the surroundings. They, however, were just taking their leave, bestowing upon us a quick, inquisitive glance, and a farewell salutation as they turned away.

"Two more of Kuliso's wandering lambs, Beryl," said Brian, with a significant laugh, as we joined him. "Yet none of ours, or sheep either, have vanished this time, so I suppose we ought to consider ourselves fortunate. The count is correct. By the way, Holt, I'm afraid one of the vicissitudes common to this country has deferred supper for a little. We can't do better than sit out here, so long."

There were cosy cane chairs upon the stoep, and as we sat chatting I said--

"Who is Kuliso?"

Brian laughed.

"One of the chiefs of the Ndhlambe location just east of us. A bad egg personally, and his clan is made up of 'prize' thieves and stock-lifters."

"But you, Miss Matterson," I went on. "Is it safe for you to go about alone among such neighbours?"