I was secretly not a little pleased with myself, as the buck, having been cleaned, was loaded up behind my saddle, and we took our way homewards, for Brian declared that we might be all day and not get anything like so good a chance again, without beaters and with only three dogs. Moreover, it was rather out of season, and they had come out solely on my account. I, however, was amply content; indeed, I sneakingly thought it just as well not to spoil the effect of my first prowess by potential and subsequent misses.

Yes, I felt decidedly satisfied with myself and at peace with all the world, as we drew near the homestead an hour or so later, with my quarry strapped behind my saddle. I heeded not--was rather proud, in fact--of the widening patch of gore which the movement of the horse caused to gather upon my trouser leg during our progress. The "fellow just out from home," the "raw Britisher," had vindicated himself. Even that young rascal George seemed to treat me with a shade of newly-fledged respect, and the very intonations in the voices of a couple of Kaffirs hanging around, as we rode up, were intelligible to me as witnessing to my prowess. Beryl and her father, who were sitting on the stoep when we arrived, came out to meet us.

"Well done, Mr Holt!" said the former. "I'm so glad you've had some luck."

"I think it was due to your last aspiration, Miss Matterson," I answered, feeling with a satisfaction wholly uncalled for by the occasion that somehow or other I had gone up in her estimation.

"Got him just above the krantz in the Zwaart Kloof, did you?" commented her father. "That's the place where you'll nearly always get a chance.

I suppose this is your first experience of this kind of sport; but I can tell you there's many a man, not a bad shot either, who doesn't fall into it just so soon. George, take the horses round--let's see, keep Bles up though, I may want him later. And now we'll go in to dinner."

Throughout that welcome repast I was plying my host eagerly with questions as to the conditions of colonial life, and the vagaries of stock-farming in general; and wondering what a long while ago it seemed since I started for that fateful row at Whiddlecombe Regis, an unconscious voyage of discovery which should terminate in this.

"There are a sight too many Kafirs near us," he said, in answer to one of my questions. "That's the great drawback. They take too much toll of our stock, and besides, they have been getting restless lately. Some people set up a periodical scare, but I don't believe in that sort of thing. As they are here we must rub along with them as best we can, and I must say they bother me less than they do--or seem to do--some others.

But you never know what to expect with savages."

"I suppose not," I answered, thinking of the tussle I had witnessed that morning, and remembering the malignant and vengeful looks of the defeated barbarian as he slunk out by the cattle kraal. "But couldn't they render the position--well, rather impossible for you, here, for instance, if they were to combine."

"That's just it--they can't combine. But if you know how to take them, and not expect to find angels under a red blanket and a daub of _root klip_, you can pull with them as well as with anybody else. Only you must never for a moment let them imagine you're afraid of them."

I little thought then how near was the time when I should witness Septimus Matterson's theory tested--and that severely. Yet that was to come, and it was only the beginning of a series of stirring events calling for readiness of resource and cool judgment and iron courage.

The sun was shining now, the sky unclouded. Yet was the storm behind, gathering afar.

CHAPTER TEN.

TWO PACTS.

It will be remembered that my first impressions as regarded Beryl Matterson savoured somewhat of disappointment. By the time I had dwelt a week beneath the same roof I could only marvel how such could have been the case. Now I had dwelt beneath it a month, and the prospect of life apart from her presence seemed not worth contemplating. To such a pa.s.s had things come.

What a time that had been--golden, idyllic! When I was not accompanying Brian or his father upon their rides or walks, on stock supervision or sport intent, I would inveigle Beryl forth on the plea of being put _au courant_ with the flora and fauna of the country. Nor was the plea a fict.i.tious one, for I had always had a leaning towards natural history, albeit precious little time or opportunity for indulging the same; but now, with such a companion, and such a taste in common! Ah, those long rides, the glorious sense of freedom and glowing enjoyment, the exhilaration of the atmosphere, the deep unclouded blue of the heavens, the rolling bush country--earth, air, foliage, all athrill with pulsating life, animal or insect life, never silent, never for a moment still--small wonder that those days should go by as in a very dream of Paradise!

But real life is not idyllic, only its episodes, and they but rarely; wherefore, fearing to outstay my welcome, I mooted the subject of moving on. Brian's blank stare of amazement was something to behold.

"Why, Holt, you've only just begun to know us," he said, "and it would be affectation to suppose you are not enjoying your stay, because any one could see that you are, even if you hadn't said so yourself. You can't leave us yet. You mustn't think of it--must he, dad?"

"Certainly not," declared Septimus Matterson with all his wonted decision. "Why, Iris would cry her eyes out. She's quite fallen in love with you, Holt."

For the little girl had returned home, and her seaside adventure--with me in the role of rescuing hero--had been made known. She had bound Brian to secrecy on the subject during her absence, lest her amus.e.m.e.nts should be restricted and herself placed under an irksome surveillance.

Further than that he refused to be bound, nor did she herself desire it.

On receipt of which tidings I really have the most confused recollection of what was said to me by each and all, or of the ba.n.a.lities I stuttered out as the nearest approach to a "suitable reply." The only definite thing that lives in my memory is the physical agony I strove to repress what time Septimus Matterson's iron grip enclosed my own far from delicate paw, while he declared that his house was henceforth as much my home as it was that of his own children, whenever and as long as I chose to make use of it--a declaration which went far to neutralise the excruciating experience which emphasised it, remembering that the said home was that of Beryl also. Even George was graciously pleased to approve of me, and in the result ceased to play me monkey tricks or to make me the b.u.t.t of his covert impertinence.

"Man, Mr Holt, but that was fine!" he p.r.o.nounced in reference to the episode. "_Ja_, I'd like to have been there! But I thought fellows from England couldn't do anything of that sort."

"Let it be a lesson to you then, George," I said with dignity, "that 'fellows from England' are not necessarily a.s.ses."

Then I felt foolish, for the remark savoured of a touch of complacent brag, and Beryl was a witness. But she seemed to read my inner confusion, and smiled rea.s.suringly.

"There was Trask," went on the imp; "when he first came out he couldn't hit a house unless he was shut up inside it. He couldn't sit a horse either. _Ja_, we used to have fun out of Trask."

"I should say _Mr._ Trask, George," said Beryl.

The correction was received with a lordly contempt, as the young rascal went on--

"Can you sit a bucking horse, Mr Holt?"

"Did you ever hear what the man said when he was asked if he could open oysters, George?" I said.

"No. What?"

"I've never tried."

He looked puzzled, then annoyed. Beryl and Iris broke into a peal of laughter.

"Don't see where any joke comes in," he grunted. "But why not have a try now, Mr Holt? There's Bontebok up in the stable. He always bucks when you first get on him. I'll go and tell Sixpence to saddle him up just now."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, George," p.r.o.nounced Iris decisively.

"You're a great deal too cheeky. I wonder Mr Holt stands it. Besides, we want him to go out with us."

That dear little girl! I was fond of her already, but more than ever now that she had come to my rescue in that whole-hearted and tactful fashion. For I did not want to make an exhibition of myself and furnish forth a circus entertainment with Beryl for audience; and it would have been difficult, unaided, to have backed out of what was in effect a challenge, without jeopardising my reputation.

"Another time, George. Another time," I answered loftily.

"Right you are; I'll tell them to keep Bontebok up," came the ready response. "He'll be livelier in the morning."

The young villain, you see, was not going to let me down so easily.

"But I may not be. Those circus tricks are all very well for an unfledged young monkey like you, George, but a middle-aged buffer isn't always on for that sort of game."

"Middle-aged buffer! That's good," jeered the young rascal. "Why, you and Brian were at school together."

"Oh, George, will you scoot?" interrupted Iris, emphasising the injunction with a far from gentle push. "You're getting such a bore, you know. Go and make yourself useful in some way, if you can. Get the air-gun and go and shoot some mouse birds. Brian and dad both want some tails to clean their pipes with."

"Can't. Dad'd object. It's Sunday."

"Well, anyhow--scoot. I don't want you. So long."

"I'm on for a swim in the dam," was the answer. "I'll go and rout out Brian."

Iris, you see, ruled the house, including George. Including me, I might add; but for me her rule was light. She was almost more grateful to me for keeping my own counsel upon it than for getting her out of her perilous predicament. Anyhow, we were great friends, and she teased me with the same freedom and whole-heartedness that she teased Brian, who idolised her; but in her bright, pretty, engaging little ways there was none of the covert impudence that characterised Master George's attempts at banter.

"I hear you are going to stay with us altogether, Mr Holt," she broke out suddenly an hour later as we were resting, having gained the objective of our Sunday afternoon stroll--a beautiful spot deep down in a kloof, where a pile of rocks all festooned with maidenhair fern overhung a large water-hole, and on the lower side steep upsweeping slopes of foliage cut a sharp V of green and gold against the azure of an unclouded sky, while the varied call and whistle of birds kept up a continuous echo of melody. Whoever it was who gave rise to the saying that South African birds have no song is guilty of libel, for the varying and melodious cheeriness of the bird voices, at any rate in bush country, const.i.tutes one of its greatest charms, and the very unfamiliarity of these is in effective keeping with the wildness of the surroundings.

"Well, for some little time, at any rate," I answered.

"I'm glad. You're rather a good chap, you know, Mr Holt."

Beryl and I exchanged glances, she intensely amused, while I laughed outright.