Harley Greenoak's Charge Part 13

But he was young, and his spirits soon rea.s.serted themselves. Bowling along in the glorious air and suns.h.i.+ne, as each fresh stage pa.s.sed took them over--to him--new and varying scenes, his temporary gloom was soon dispelled. Harley Greenoak, too, was the ideal kind and tactful companion, and by the time they sighted the beautiful mountain range, the forest-clad rampart beyond which lay Kafirland--Kafirland with its delightful potentialities of stirring adventure--d.i.c.k had quite recovered his old light-heartedness. Yet this was in a measure sobered, tempered, by the recollections of one whom he had left behind him.

"Well, girlie," said old Hesketh to his niece, after the departure of the guests. "We shall miss the young 'un--eh? You'll be dull now with only an old fogey to put up with."

"Have I been dull before, Uncle Eph?" answered the girl, slipping her arm through his. "And I think this isn't the first time I've had 'only an old fogey to put up with.'"

"No, it isn't. Well, young to young--that's the role of Nature, and he is a fine young fellow that. I never saw a young 'un I took to so much."

And old Ephraim Hesketh suddenly found himself being very much kissed.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

OF A FIGHT.

"Rather different sort of country this--eh, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes. But the worst of it is there's nothing to shoot."

"There never is where there are Kafir locations," rejoined Harley Greenoak.

On either side of the road lay spread the green, undulating plains of British Kaffraria, open, or dotted here and there with mimosa. The sky, dazzling in its vivid blue, was without a cloud, and the air of the winter midday warm and yet exhilarating. The Cape cart had just left behind the steep slope of the Gonubi Hill, and was bowling along the Kei Road, facing eastward.

"Think the Kafirs really do mean to kick up a row, Greenoak," said d.i.c.k, as three ochre-smeared samples of that race strode by, favouring those of the dominant one with a defiant stare.

"I'm dead sure of it. You see, they haven't had a fight for nearly a quarter of a century, and now they're spoiling for one. I didn't care to say so while we were down in the Colony though, for fear of setting up a scare. It's simply the Donnybrook spirit. This squabble about the Fingoes is a mere pretext."

"Well, I'm jolly glad," rejoined d.i.c.k Selmes. "It would have been a proper sell to have come all this way and there to be no war after all."

"Sell? I'm hoping that same sell may be ours."

"What? You're hoping there'll be no war?"

"Certainly. Think what a row I should get into with your dad for countenancing your taking part in it, d.i.c.k."

"Oh, don't you bother about that, old chap," was the breezy rejoinder.

"Didn't the dad leave me here to see all there was to be seen, and if there was a jolly war and I didn't see something of it, why, I shouldn't be seeing all there was to be seen? Besides, I've seen nothing of the Kafirs yet."

"You'll see enough and to spare of them directly. Meanwhile you're about to begin, for here we are at Draaibosch."

Our friend d.i.c.k had about recovered his normal spirits, the enjoyment of travel, the ever-changing novelty of it at every turn, and the prospect of excitement ahead had done that for him. But he could not banish the recollection of that bright, sweet personality from his mind, nor had he any wish to. When he had done with his experiences he would find out Hazel Brandon in her own home, and would speak out boldly and in no uncertain manner. Meanwhile, advised by common-sense and Harley Greenoak, he decided to make the best of things at present, and to let the future take care of itself.

As they topped a rise the wayside inn and canteen came into view just beneath. Before the latter squatted or lounged in groups quite a number of red-blanketed figures, and the deep ba.s.s hum of their voices, and an occasional laugh, rose not unmelodiously upon the still air.

"Well, MacFennel, and how's trade?" said Greenoak, shaking hands with the innkeeper, who had come out to meet them.

"Oh, so so. What's the latest thing in scares?"

"You ought to know that better than me. You're nearest the spot."

"All the more reason why I shouldn't. More than half these scares are cooked up down in the Colony. We don't hear much of 'em up here."

"That won't be good news for my young friend there"--with a nod in the direction of d.i.c.k Selmes, who had strolled away to inspect nearer the groups of Kafirs by the canteen. "He's just spoiling for war."

"Haw--haw!" guffawed the other. "But who is he?"

Greenoak told him, and just then d.i.c.k returned.

"Faugh!" he exclaimed. "Those chaps _are_ a bit 'strong' when you get too near them."

"Yes, stale grease and red clay don't make a fragrant combination,"

laughed Harley Greenoak. "I hope you can get us some dinner directly, MacFennel; for I can tell you we both feel like it."

"Yes, it's ready now. Come on in. Bring the shooters inside. It isn't safe to leave them in the cart with all these loafers about."

The while they had been outspanning, and now, handing over the horses to a native stable-boy, they entered.

"I say, what about the war?" said d.i.c.k to the hotel-keeper, as the latter came in to see how they were getting on. "Think there'll be one?"

"Well, Mr Selmes, I don't know what to say. But one can only hope not."

d.i.c.k dropped his knife and fork, and stared.

"Hope not?" he echoed. "But think what a lot of fun we shall be done out of."

The hotel-keeper laughed good-naturedly.

"Fun?" he said. "Well, it may be fun to you, but it'll be death to some of us, as some fable-mongering feller said about something else--I forget what. It may be all very well for young gentlemen with plenty of money, wandering about the world on the look-out for excitement; but for us ordinary chaps who've got to make a living--and not an easy one at that--it spells anything but fun I can tell you. What price my place being sacked and burnt to the ground some fine night? I've got a wife and kiddies too--what if we didn't get long enough warning to clear them off to Komgha quick enough? Well, that's what war spells to us."

"By George! I never thought of it in that light," cried d.i.c.k Selmes, to whom the other's quiet but good-natured reproof appealed thoroughly.

"But--surely you'd get warning in time, wouldn't you?"

"Warning. Look at those chaps out there"--designating the groups of Kafirs, now momentarily increasing, in front of the canteen, some of them visible from the window. "Some fine day they come along just as you see them now, only with businesslike a.s.segais hidden under their blankets. Then, a sudden signal and a rush, and--where do we come in?

Kafirs don't give warning, they take you on the hop; ain't I right, Greenoak?"

Greenoak nodded. d.i.c.k Selmes was conscious of feeling rather small.

Just then, as though to emphasise the hotel-keeper's remarks, a considerable hubbub arose outside, voices were raised--many of them, and all talking at once, and through them running a note of anger; and a lot of angry and excited Kafirs all talking at once _are_ capable of raising a very considerable hubbub indeed.

"Why, they're going to have a row, I do believe," cried d.i.c.k, springing to the door, and looking out. But MacFennel never turned a hair.

"Oh, it's only some feller got too drunk in the canteen," he said.

"Been chucked out by my a.s.sistant. It often happens, but they blow off steam in no time."

In this case, however, no such safety-valve seemed to be in working order. A rush of excited Kafirs surged round the further end of the building. Blankets were thrown off, and with a tough kerrie in each hand, they fell to. Shouts and vociferations, the clash and splintering of hard-wood, and the more sickening crunch, as the latter fell in upon skull or shoulder--the moving ma.s.s swayed and leaped. At the same time, as though magically evolved, lines of Kafirs, some mounted on rough ponies, some afoot, came pouring along the hillside, shrilling war whistles or uttering loud whoops, and, arriving on the scene of action, flung themselves into the fray with a whole-heartedness that left nothing to be desired. The fight became one roaring general _melee_.

"It's only a faction rumpus," said the hotel-keeper, who had dived into an inner room to arm himself with a revolver, which, however, he didn't show. "Sandili's and Ndimba's chaps are always getting 'em up. Rotten for me too, for it gives my place a bad name."