The Fire Trumpet Part 19

"H'm, that's unfortunate, because there's nothing to eat unless we fall to on the stirrup-leathers. Wait a bit, though. By Jove!" He fumbled in one of the numerous pockets of his shooting-coat, and produced a packet done up in whitey-brown paper, which being unfolded, disclosed a large and somewhat demoralised sandwich, considerably the worse for wear. "Not a very inviting morsel," he remarked, surveying the battered comestible. "Yet it may do at a pinch to keep the wolf from the door.

Though,"--he added to himself--"that amiable quadruped is likely to give the door a deuced wide berth considering the mortal funk he was in when he shot through it just now."

The girl laughed, quite in her old joyous, light-hearted way. "I should think so," she cried. "We'll go halves."

"We'll do nothing of the sort," said her companion. "I'll give you ten minutes, and if there's a crumb left of that antique sandwich by then I'll--well, I'll go out again and see how the horses are getting on."

"But--"

"No 'buts.' Really I'll go."

This awful threat was effective, and being ravenously hungry, Ethel speedily made short work of the sandwich, protesting to the last against the other's decision. But he was firm.

"Two people under one umbrella, both get wet," he observed, sententiously. "What will feed one will starve two. I'm going to have a pipe instead. Lucky that greedy beggar Jack didn't know I had any more provender yesterday, or he would inevitably have cadged it. I had forgotten it myself till this moment."

"I wonder what has become of the others," said Ethel.

"Safe at home, long ago. They'll think we went back to Van Rooyen's,"

he replied.

"But we might, you know; the storm seems to be over now."

"Not to be dreamt of," answered he, decisively. "It's pitch dark, and raining in a way that would set the patriarch Noah spinning yarns about old times if he were with us. We should be wandering about the _veldt_ all night, instead of being snug by a good fire."

"I suppose so," acquiesced the girl, "and, do you know, I'm getting so sleepy."

"Glad to hear it," was the reply; and placing one of the saddles near the fire, Claverton arranged a corner of his ample cloak over it so as to form a pillow. "Lie down here," he said, "you can imagine yourself in a railway carriage or anywhere else that's infamously uncomfortable;"

and as she obeyed he wrapped the cloak well round her, and returned to his former place.

Presently she opened her eyes--"Arthur."

"Well?"

"Promise you won't leave me--or I shan't be able to sleep a wink."

"Why, I thought you were fairly off. It's twelve o'clock."

"No--I'm not--Promise!"

"All right--I won't budge."

"Thanks;" and in a few moments her regular breathing told that she had forgotten her troubles in sleep.

Claverton piled some more wood on to the fire and drew in closer, s.h.i.+vering slightly, the fact being that he was nearly wet through-- having given up his cloak as we have seen. Then he proceeded to fill his pipe.

"Poor little thing," he mused, contemplating the slumbering form of his companion in adversity. "What a fright she was in--and small blame to her. Wonder what the beast could have been," and getting up, he went and examined the soft ground by the door to see if it had left any spoor. "Yes--I thought so: a wolf, and a d.a.m.ned big wolf, too." [Note 1.]

He returned to his seat by the fire and sat dreamily smoking. "What a pretty picture she makes," he thought; and in good truth she did, as the long lashes lay in a dark semicircle on the rounded cheek, while the full red lips were parted ever so lightly, and the firelight danced and flickered with a ruddy glow on the golden head of the sleeper.

"Very good fun now, no doubt, that is if it were not so infernally cold," he went on, "but the situation may begin to look awkward in the morning, when we are besieged by the kind inquiries of friends.

However, the gentle s.e.x knows devilish well how to take care of itself, that's one comfort. 'Self-preservation is the first law of woman,' I truly believe to have been the original rendering of the proverb--the reason of its alteration is but too obvious. But a.s.suredly the child would have been dead, or deuced near it, by morning if we hadn't found this place, whereas now, in half-a-dozen hours' time she'll wake up fresh as paint, and probably abuse me like the prince of pickpockets, and swear it would have been much better to have slept out in the _veldt_ all night. That's the way of them."

A flash of lighting lit up the room with a fitful gleam, and a loud roll of thunder shook the old house to its very foundations. The storm, as frequently happens in those regions, had been travelling in a kind of circle, and was now returning in all its former fury.

"Will it wake her? She has had enough scare for one night," he thought, uneasily glancing towards her. But no; thoroughly wearied out, Ethel never moved as the rickety cas.e.m.e.nts rattled to the fierce gusts which howled round the building, and Claverton felt relieved. Presently he got up and went to the window. All was pitch dark outside, but every now and then the sky would be ablaze with a sudden flash--blue, plum-coloured, and gold, in its vivid incandescence--the hill tops stood out as if cut in steel against the misty background, while beneath yawned the intersecting rifts of black, chasm-like kloofs, every leaf and twig wet and s.h.i.+ning, as clearly definable as at noonday. A panorama of weirdness and desolation. Then pitchy blackness and the long heavy roll of the storm king's artillery. Claverton resumed his seat, and the thunder crashed and roared outside, the lightning played in vivid gleams, and the rain fell in torrents with a noise like the rush of many waters; but within, silence, only broken by the soft, regular breathing of the sleeper, and the plash of a big drop on the floor, for the tattered thatch was not so watertight as might be wished.

And the night wore on. The fire burnt low, leaving the angles of the ghostly old room in shadowy darkness, while now and again a scratching noise might be heard as some creeping thing made its way through the thatch or along the beams. The storm lulled, and then pa.s.sed, and, save for the murmur of falling rain, perfect silence prevailed outside, and still the chilled watcher sat there, upright and motionless. Then he fell into a doze. The dismal bark of a jackal was now and again borne from the lonely bush; but not a sound escaped him as he sat there, till at last the first faint s.h.i.+ver of dawn thrilled upon the hushened air; a red glow in the east, then a blood-coloured streak on the few light clouds which,--but for the soaked earth, were the sole traces of a night of fierce tempestuousness.

Claverton rose and went out softly, so as not to arouse his companion, to where he had tied up the horses. Those long-suffering animals p.r.i.c.ked up their ears and whinnied at his approach, and, except that one of them had got its leg over the reim, were just as they had been left the night before. Then he went back to awaken Ethel. A smile was upon her lips, and as he stood over her a gleam of sunlight shot in at the open door and played upon the beautiful face. He lingered a few moments, for he could hardly bring himself to arouse her; but time was flying, the sun was up, and they must be going. So he said, quietly but distinctly: "Time to be off, Ethel."

The girl started slightly, opened her eyes, then started again in bewilderment. He watched her with an amused expression.

"Where am I?" she exclaimed, sitting upright and looking round. "Oh, I remember. I thought it was all a dream."

"Well, we must be getting home. I'm just going to take the horses down into the kloof and give them a drink, and then we'll make tracks."

He went out, and Ethel got up and looked around. "What a selfish little wretch I am!" she thought, as her eyes rested on the relics of the night's doings, the dying embers of the fire, beside which lay the empty pocket-flask, and the bit of paper and string whence the opportune sandwich had been extracted, and then on the cloak which she had just thrown off. "I took everything from him, and left him to sit there all night, cold and wet and hungry. I wish it had to come all over again, that I might sit out in the rain and the thunder and lightning all night. That's what I'd do, I swear I would," she ended, vehemently.

A trampling of hoofs outside showed that the object of her meditations was returning.

"Now then, I'll just put the saddles on and we shall get home in nice time for breakfast," he said; "but, first of all, we'll see how our friend of last night got in."

"What, did that actually happen? I thought I dreamt it."

Claverton laughed. "I intended you should," he said. "It would never have done for you to have thought about it all night long; but it was a fact, nevertheless. Come and look here."

He pointed out three great footmarks just inside the doorway, left by the terrified animal as it rushed out; then bursting open the door of the other room, they went in.

"There's no outlet," he said, looking around. "Stay--yes, here's a hole behind the fireplace; but it could never have got in there. No; here's the key to the mystery," as they came upon the mangled carcase of a half-grown kid. "This little brute must have got in somehow, and the wolf, attracted by its yelling, charged through that door," showing one which opened into the room from without; "then it must have banged to and caught him in a trap. Pity I wasn't able to shoot the scoundrel!"

Ethel shuddered at the recollection. "Let's start," she said, turning towards the door.

He put her into her saddle and they left their opportunely-found shelter. The sun was now up, and, as they ascended the side of the kloof, the whole landscape sparkled and glowed beneath the scorching beams, every leaf and blade of gra.s.s studded with diamonds; and the birds carolled forth gaily in the glad morning air, and doves shook out their soft plumage, and cooed to each other on the wet sprays, and it was difficult to realise such a culmination to a night of storm and terror. Just before they reached the road a strange fancy moved Claverton to turn and look back upon their late haven of refuge, and then a clump of bush hid it from view. He little thought when and under what circ.u.mstances he should see it again.

"What was the joke just now, when I woke you up?" he asked, as they rode along.

"Joke? Why--when?" she exclaimed, wonderingly.

"Oh, only that you were having a downright good laugh all to yourself.

I thought it a pity to disturb you, so had the grace to give you a few minutes longer, in reward for which I claim to know what it was about."

She looked at him curiously for a moment, and a faint flush suffused her cheek; then she broke into a ringing laugh. "I don't believe I was laughing at all," she said; "and, if I was, I intend to keep the fun all to myself this time. But what will uncle and aunt say when we get home?"

"Say? Oh, that the very best thing we could do was to have--gone back to Van Rooyen's--got under cover like sensible people," answered he, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone.

Ethel was silent for a few moments. She was not quite easy in her mind.

"I was in a great hurry to get home last night, but now it doesn't seem quite so delightful," she thought, with a sort of strange bitterness; and she wondered how in the world she could ever have allowed herself to be so frightened. But meanwhile there was Seringa Vale, and the adventure, or misadventure, was at an end.

Greatly to Ethel's relief, neither anxiety nor surprise were manifested on their return.

"Hullo!" sang out Hicks. "You were fortunate in being so far behind.