Jess Part 7

"You will have Bessie to talk to," she answered, turning her face to the window, and affecting to watch the inspanning of the post-cart in the yard on to which it looked.

"Captain Niel!" she said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Mind you look after Bessie while I am away. Listen! I am going to tell you something. You know Frank Muller?"

"Yes, I know him, and a very disagreeable fellow he is."

"Well, he threatened Bessie the other day, and he is a man who is quite capable of carrying out a threat. I can't tell you anything more about it, but I want you to promise me to protect Bessie if any occasion for it should arise. I do not know that it will, but it might. Will you promise?"

"Of course I will; I would do a great deal more than that if you asked me to, Jess," he answered tenderly, for now that she was going away he felt curiously drawn towards her, and was anxious to show it.

"Never mind me," she said, with an impatient little movement. "Bessie is sweet enough and lovely enough to be looked after for her own sake, I should think."

Before he could say any more, in came Bessie herself, saying that the driver was waiting, and they went out to see her sister off.

"Don't forget your promise," Jess whispered to him, bending down as he helped her into the cart, so low that her lips almost touched him, and her breath rested for a second on his cheek like the ghost of a kiss.

In another moment the sisters had embraced each other, tenderly enough; the driver had sounded once more on his awful bugle, and away went the cart at full gallop, bearing with it Jess, two other pa.s.sengers, and her Majesty's mails. John and Bessie stood for a moment watching its mad career, as it fled splas.h.i.+ng and banging down the straggling street towards the wide plains beyond; then they turned to enter the inn again and prepare for their homeward drive. At that moment, an old Boer, named Hans Coetzee, with whom John was already slightly acquainted, came up, and, extending an enormously big and thick hand, bid them "_Gooden daag._" Hans Coetzee was a very favourable specimen of the better sort of Boer, and really came more or less up to the ideal picture that is so often drawn of that "simple pastoral people." He was a very large, stout man, with a fine open face and a pair of kindly eyes. John, looking at him, guessed that he could not weigh less than seventeen stone, and that estimate was well within the mark.

"How are you, Captain?" he said in English, for he could talk English well, "and how do you like the Transvaal?--must not call it South African Republic now, you know, for that's treason," and his eye twinkled merrily.

"I like it very much, _Meinheer_," said John.

"Ah, yes, it's a beautiful veldt, especially about here--no horse sickness, no 'blue tongue,'[*] and a good strong gra.s.s for the cattle.

And you must find yourself very snug at _Oom_ Croft's there; it's the nicest place in the district, with the ostriches and all. Not that I hold with ostriches in this veldt; they are well enough in the old colony, but they won't breed here--at least, not as they should do. I tried them once and I know; oh, yes, I know."

[*] A disease that is very fatal to sheep.

"Yes, it's a very fine country, _Meinheer_. I have been all over the world almost, and I never saw a finer."

"You don't say so, now! Almighty, what a thing it is to have travelled!

Not that I should like to travel myself. I think that the Lord meant us to stop in the place He has made for us. But it is a fine country, and"

(dropping his voice) "I think it is a finer country than it used to be."

"You mean that the veldt has got 'tame', _Meinheer_?"

"Nay, nay. I mean that the land is English now," he answered mysteriously, "and though I dare not say so among my _volk_, I hope that it will keep English. When I was Republican, I was Republican, and it was good in some ways, the Republic. There was so little to pay in taxes, and we knew how to manage the black folk; but now I am English, I am English. I know the English Government means good money and safety, and if there isn't a _Raad_ (a.s.sembly) now, well, what does it matter?

Almighty, how they used to talk there!--clack, clack, clack! just like an old black _koran_ (species of bustard) at sunset. And where did they run the waggon of the Republic to--Burghers and those d.a.m.ned Hollanders of his, and the rest of them? Why, into the _sluit_--into a _sluit_ with peaty banks; and there it would have stopped till now, or till the flood came down and swept it away, if old Shepstone--ah! what a tongue that man has, and how fond he is of the _kinderchies!_ (little children)--had not come and pulled it out again. But look here, Captain, the _volk_ round here don't think like that. It's the '_verdomde Britische Gouvernment_' here and the '_verdomde Britische Gouvernment_' there, and _bymakaars_ (meetings) here and _bymakaars_ there. Silly folk, they all run one after the other like sheep. But there it is, Captain, and I tell you there will be fighting before long, and then our people will shoot those poor _rooibaatjes_ of yours like buck, and take the land back.

Poor things! I could weep when I think of it."

John smiled at this melancholy prognostication, and was about to explain what a poor show all the Boers in the Transvaal would make in front of a few British regiments, when he was astonished by a sudden change in his friend's manner. Dropping his enormous paw on to his shoulder, Coetzee broke into a burst of somewhat forced merriment, the cause of which, though John did not guess it at the moment, was that he had just perceived Frank Muller, who was in Wakkerstroom with a waggon-load of corn to grind at the mill, standing within five yards, and apparently intensely interested in flipping at the flies with a cowrie made of the tail of a vilderbeeste, but in reality listening to Coetzee's talk with all his ears.

"Ha, ha! _nef_ (nephew)," said old Coetzee to the astonished John, "no wonder you like Mooifontein--there are other _mooi_ (pretty) things there beside the water. How often do you _opsit_ (sit up at night) with Uncle Croft's pretty girl, eh? I'm not quite as blind as an ant-bear yet. I saw her blush when you spoke to her just now. I saw her. Well, well, it is a pretty game for a young man, isn't it, _nef_ Frank?" (this was addressed to Muller). "I'll be bound the Captain here 'burns a long candle' with pretty Bessie every night, eh, Frank? I hope you ain't jealous, _nef_? My _vrouw_ told me some time ago that you were sweet in that direction yourself;" and he stopped at last, out of breath, looking anxiously towards Muller for an answer, while John, who had been somewhat overwhelmed at this flood of bucolic chaff, gave a sigh of relief. As for Muller, he behaved in a curious manner. Instead of laughing, as the jolly old Boer had intended that he should, although Coetzee could not see it, his face had been growing blacker and blacker; and now that the flow of language ceased, with a savage e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n which John could not catch, but which he appeared to throw at his (John's) head, he turned on his heel and went off towards the courtyard of the inn.

"Almighty!" said old Hans, wiping his face with a red cotton pocket-handkerchief; "I have put my foot into a big hole. That stink-cat Muller heard all that I was saying to you, and I tell you he will save it up and save it up, and one day he will bring it all out to the _volk_, and call me a traitor to the 'land' and ruin me. I know him. He knows how to balance a long stick on his little finger so that the ends keep even. Oh, yes, he can ride two horses at once, and blow hot and blow cold. He is a devil of a man, a devil of a man! And what did he mean by swearing at you like that? Is it about the _missie_ (girl), I wonder? Almighty! who can say? Ah! that reminds me--though I'm sure I don't know why it should--the Kafirs tell me that there is a big herd of buck--vilderbeeste and blesbok--on my outlying place about an hour and a half (ten miles) from Mooifontein. Can you hold a rifle, Captain? You look like a bit of a hunter."

"Oh, yes, Meinheer!" said John, delighted at the prospect of some shooting.

"Ah, I thought so. All you English are sportsmen, though you don't know how to kill buck. Well now, you take _Oom_ Croft's light Scotch cart and two good horses, and come over to my place--not to-morrow, for my wife's cousin is coming to see us, and an old cat she is, but rich; she has a thousand pounds in gold in the waggon-box under her bed--nor the next day, for it is the Lord's day, and one can't shoot creatures on the Lord's day--but Monday, yes, Monday. You will be there by eight o'clock, and you shall see how to kill vilderbeeste. Almighty! now what can that jackal Frank Muller have meant? Ah! he is the devil of a man," and, shaking his head ponderously, the jolly old Boer departed, and presently John saw him riding away upon a fat little shooting-pony which cannot have weighed much more than himself, but that cantered off with him on his fifteen-mile journey as though he were a feather-weight.

CHAPTER IX

JANTJE'S STORY

Shortly after the old Boer had gone, John went into the yard of the hotel to see to the inspanning of the Cape cart, where his attention was at once arrested by the sight of a row in active progress--at least, from the crowd of Kafirs and idlers and the angry sounds and curses which proceeded from them, he judged that it was a row. Nor was he wrong in his conclusion. In the corner of the yard, close by the stable-door, surrounded by the aforesaid crowd, stood Frank Muller; a heavy _sjambock_ in his raised hand, as though in the act to strike. Before him, a very picture of drunken fury, his lips drawn up like a snarling dog's, so that the two lines of white teeth gleamed like polished ivory in the sunlight, his small eyes all shot with blood and his face working convulsively, was the Hottentot Jantje. Nor was this all. Across his face was a blue wheal where the whip had fallen, and in his hand a heavy white-handled knife which he always carried.

"Hullo! what is all this?" said John, shouldering his way through the crowd.

"The _swartsel_ (black creature) has stolen my horse's forage, and given it to yours!" shouted Muller, who was evidently almost off his head with rage, making an attempt to hit Jantje with the whip as he spoke. The latter avoided the blow by jumping behind John, with the result that the tip of the _sjambock_ caught the Englishman on the leg.

"Be careful, sir, with that whip," said John to Muller, restraining his temper with difficulty. "Now, how do you know that the man stole your horse's forage; and what business have you to touch him? If there was anything wrong, you should have reported it to me."

"He lies, Baas, he lies!" yelled out the Hottentot in tremulous, high-pitched tones. "He lies; he has always been a liar, and worse than a liar. Yah! yah! I can tell things about him. The land is English now, and Boers can't kill the black people as they like. That man--that Boer, Muller, he shot my father and my mother--my father first, then my mother; he gave her two bullets--she did not die the first time."

"You yellow devil!--You black-skinned, black-hearted, lying son of Satan!" roared the great Boer, his very beard curling with fury.

"Is that the way you talk to your masters? Out of the light, _rooibaatje_"--this was to John--"and I will cut his tongue out of him.

I'll show him how we deal with a yellow liar;" and without further ado he made a rush for the Hottentot.

As he came, John, whose blood was now thoroughly up, put out his open hand, and, bending forward, pushed with all his strength on Muller's advancing chest. John was a very powerfully made man, though not a large one, and the push sent Muller staggering back.

"What do you mean by that, _rooibaatje?_" shouted Muller, his face livid with fury. "Get out of my road or I will mark that pretty face of yours.

I owe you for some goods as it is, Englishman, and I always pay my debts. Out of the path, curse you!" and he again rushed for the Hottentot.

This time John, who was now almost as angry as his a.s.sailant, did not wait for the man to reach him, but, springing forward, hooked his arm around Muller's throat and, before he could close with him, with one tremendous jerk managed not only to stop his wild career, but to reverse the motion, and then, by interposing his foot with considerable neatness, to land him--powerful as he was--on his back in a pool of drainage that had collected from the stable in a hollow of the inn-yard.

Down he went with a splash, amid a shout of delight from the crowd, who always like to see an aggressor laid low, his head b.u.mping with considerable force against the lintel of the door. For a moment he lay still, and John was afraid that the man was really hurt. Presently, however, he rose, and, without attempting any further hostile demonstration or saying a single word, tramped off towards the house, leaving his enemy to compose his ruffled nerves as best he could. Now John, like most gentlemen, hated a row with all his heart, though he had the Anglo-Saxon tendency to go through with it unflinchingly when once it began. Indeed, the incident irritated him almost beyond bearing, for he knew that the story with additions would go the round of the countryside, and what is more, that he had made a powerful and implacable enemy.

"This is all your fault, you drunken little blackguard!" he said, turning savagely on the Tottie, who, now that his excitement had left him, was snivelling and drivelling in an intoxicated fas.h.i.+on, and calling him his preserver and his Baas in maudlin accents.

"He hit me, Baas; he hit me, and I did not take the forage. He is a bad man, Baas Muller."

"Be off with you and get the horses inspanned; you are half-drunk," John growled, and, having seen that operation advancing to a conclusion, he went to the sitting-room of the hotel, where Bessie was waiting in happy ignorance of the disturbance. It was not till they were well on their homeward way that he told her what had pa.s.sed, whereat, remembering the scene she had herself gone through with Frank Muller, and the threats that he had then made use of, she looked very grave. Her old uncle, too, was very much put out when he heard the story on their arrival home that evening.

"You have made an enemy, Niel," he said, as they sat upon the verandah after breakfast on the following morning, "and a bad one. Not but what you were right to stand up for the Hottentot. I would have done as much myself had I been there and ten years younger, but Frank Muller is not the man to forget being put upon his back before a lot of Kafirs and white folk too. Perhaps that Jantje is sober by now. I will go and call him, and we will hear what this story is about his father and his mother."

Presently he returned followed by the ragged, dirty-faced little Hottentot, who, looking very miserable and ashamed of himself, took off his hat and squatted down on the drive, in the full glare of the African sun, to the effects of which he appeared to be totally impervious.

"Now, Jantje, listen to me," said the old man. "Yesterday you got drunk again. Well, I'm not going to talk about that now, except to say that if I hear of your being drunk once more--you leave this place."

"Yes, Baas," said the Hottentot meekly. "I was drunk, though not very; I only had half a bottle of Cape smoke."

"By getting drunk you made a quarrel with Baas Muller, so that blows pa.s.sed between Baas Muller and the Baas here on your account, which was more than you are worth. Now when Baas Muller had struck you, you said that he had shot your father and your mother. Was that a lie, or what did you mean by saying it?"

"It was no lie, Baas," answered the Hottentot excitedly. "I have said it once, and I will say it again. Listen, Baas, and I will tell you the story. When I was young--so tall"--and he held his hand high enough to indicate a Tottie of about fourteen years of age--"we, that is, my father, my mother, my uncle--a very old man, older than the Baas"

(pointing to Silas Croft)--"were _bijwoners_ (authorised squatters) on a place belonging to old Jacob Muller, Baas Frank's father, down in Lydenburg yonder. It was a bush-veldt farm, and old Jacob used to come down there with his cattle from the High veldt in the winter when there was no gra.s.s in the High veldt, and with him came the Englishwoman, his wife, and the young Baas Frank--the Baas we saw yesterday."