The old chief's eyes brightened, as now d.i.c.k Selmes began to display before him all the things he intended he should take home with him.

There was a new blanket for himself--and for his wives, why, d.i.c.k seemed to have cleaned MacFennel's store out of its whole stock of beads.

Mouth accordions too, for the delectation of his younger children, shining things in gorgeous red cases--why, the delight in Tyala's household promised to be as widespread as it was unexpected. These were made over for porterage to some of Tyala's tribesmen who were hanging respectfully around, and then the old man got up to go.

"He is young and the son of a great man," he said, smiling kindly at d.i.c.k. "Therefore he is generous."

"Well, d.i.c.k, you've met your first Kafir chief," said Harley Greenoak, as they watched old Tyala jogging away on his under-sized pony, a group of the late rioters in respectful attendance, some mounted, some on foot.

"Jolly old boy," p.r.o.nounced d.i.c.k, heartily. "Are they all like that?"

For answer there was a laugh. The inquirer had met his first chief; he was destined soon to meet others--men of a very different stamp, and under very different circ.u.mstances. Then his question would answer itself.

"Here's a pretty mess," declared the innkeeper, glancing discontentedly around. "Talk about a battlefield; why, we've got both killed and wounded here."

"Hallo!" sang out d.i.c.k. "Why, my chap has mizzled."

It was even so. The man, to protect whom d.i.c.k had so impulsively interfered, at the risk of his life--at the risk of all their lives--was no longer to be seen. He must have been only temporarily stunned, and, recovering consciousness, for reasons of his own had taken himself off while their attention had been centred on the old chief.

"Ungrateful beggar," went on d.i.c.k. "He might have had the decency to say good-bye to us."

"Probably he didn't know anything of what had happened," said Greenoak.

"You must remember he was already unconscious when you put in your oar."

"Oh--ah, I forgot that," rejoined d.i.c.k. And then he thought no more about it.

"I think we'll inspan and get on," said Greenoak. "I'll report the affair at Komgha, and they'll send out some police, and the doctor, if he isn't away over the Kei, that is. Well, d.i.c.k, we've started you with the sight of a first-cla.s.s row," he added.

"It just was a first-cla.s.s one," answered d.i.c.k. "But the after effects are a little beastly, eh? Some of these poor devils must be abominably hurt."

"That, of course. But John Kafir, like other people, if he wants his fun, has got to pay for it. Such of these fellows as the Police scoop up as soon as they get right again will be put in the _tronk_ for their share in to-day's racket."

"The mischief they will! Why? It was a fair fight."

"That's all right, d.i.c.k. But faction fights, however fair, are not exactly allowed on British territory, which this is. Beyond the Kei it's a different matter."

"We'll go on there, won't we?"

"Oh yes. The best way will be to join some Police patrol. Chambers, the Inspector in command of A. Troop, is in camp at Komgha now, and he'll work it for us if any one can. Mind you, although I'm no scaremonger, it would be rather risky going far into the Gcaleka country just now, just the two of us, and I'm responsible to your dad for your safe return, you know, d.i.c.k."

"I say, old chap, suppose we stow that responsibility question for a bit," laughed d.i.c.k. "Makes a fellow feel too much in leading-strings, don't you know."

Harley Greenoak said nothing, and the cart being inspanned, they reckoned with the hotel-keeper and took the road again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE BIG GUN PRACTICE.

"Bang! Boom!"

Rock and frowning krantz rolled back the reverberations in swooping echo as the first seven-pounder spoke, launching its whistling shrapnel across the deep, thickly-bushed valley of the Tsolo River. Hardly had the echoes died away than the second gun spoke.

Simultaneously with its roar, branches and stones were seen to split and fly, on the opposite hillside, some six hundred yards away.

Simultaneously, too, a deep-chested e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of wonderment broke from the throats of more than double that number of human beings. But the mere handful of brown-clad, helmeted men stood calm and alert, feeling perhaps a little grim, as they marked the effect of the gun practice upon the ochre-smeared groups which dotted the hillside hard by. More and more Kafirs came hurrying up from near and far, eager to witness the fun of what was to them an entirely new experience. For this was no battle, only a "demonstration" on the part of the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police, whose recently formed battery of artillery was delighted to have a chance of showing the turbulent inhabitants of the Transkei what they might hope to expect in case of--accidents.

With each successful shot--and the new artillerymen were making wonderfully good practice--a gasp of admiring amazement ran through the entranced spectators like the breaking of a wave on the sh.o.r.e. These had increased till there could not have been less than a couple of thousand, reddening the slopes like a swarm of ants. They were not armed, except with sticks; and without his kerrie a Kafir rarely moves.

The Police Commandant had sent word to all the princ.i.p.al chiefs, inviting them to witness the gun drill, and some had accepted. Besides the artillery, there were three full troops of mounted men.

Tall and bearded, his stature and smart uniform and shining sword impressing the savages no less than his calm imperturbability of demeanour, the Commandant stood, among three or four Inspectors. Two others made up the group, and these, old friends of ours--Harley Greenoak and his charge, d.i.c.k Selmes. A little way from these squatted a knot of chiefs and councillors, eagerly discussing, in a low hum, the effect of every shot. They were all old or elderly men, differing outwardly in no way from the commonest of their people. They wore the same red blanket, and some the ma.s.sive ivory armlet. But the faces of all were remarkably shrewd and intelligent.

"Well, Greenoak, so you couldn't induce old Kreli to show up?" said the Commandant, naming the great and paramount chief of all the Transkeian, and also of the Kafir tribes within the Colonial border. "Even you couldn't manage that, eh?"

"Not even me," was the laconic reply.

"Well, I never supposed you would. He's got a long memory, and that warns him that it may be no safer for his father's son within a white man's camp than it was for his father before him."

"Why? What happened to his father, Commandant?" eagerly struck in d.i.c.k Selmes, scenting a yarn.

"Shot--'while trying to escape.'"

"But wasn't he trying to escape?" said d.i.c.k, upon whom a certain significant cynicism of tone underlying this remark was not lost.

"I didn't say he wasn't, and history agrees that he was," answered the Commandant, drily. "But then, you see, Kreli can't read history, and wouldn't believe it if he could. So he'd rather be excused coming to see the new Police artillery make very fair gun practice, and I for one don't blame him. Why, there's my old friend, Botmane," he broke off, as his glance rested on the group of potentates above mentioned. Then to an orderly, "Bring him here, Harris, I must have a talk with him."

"Who's he?" asked d.i.c.k.

"One of Kreli's big _amapakati_, or councillors," answered Greenoak.

"In fact the biggest."

"Oh!" and he looked with vivid interest as the Kafir, an old man with a pleasant face, rose from his place in the group and strode forward, which interest deepened as he listened to the subsequent conversation.

This he was able to do, as the Commandant, though perfectly at home in the vernacular, chose, for reasons of his own, to use an interpreter.

But the said conversation was of no political importance, being a mere exchange of compliments, with here and there a reminiscence. The old Kafir expressed unbounded wonder at the gun practice. The white people could do anything--he declared, as he was shown the working of the guns--could kill men as far distant as anybody could see. "What was it done with?"

"Show him the powder," said the Commandant.

This was done, and the old councillor dipped his fingers, not without awe, into the black, large-grained stuff. No wonder the guns could shoot so far with stuff like that, he remarked.

"Give him a big handful to take borne and show his chief. He can tell him what he has seen to-day," said the Commandant.

Most savages are more or less like children over the acquisition of a novelty, and now as old Botmane rejoined his brother magnates the whole group of these craned eagerly forward to look at this mysterious and wonderful stuff which he held in the corner of his blanket, and many a deep-toned exclamation of suppressed excitement rose above the hum of animated discussion. The Police looked on in semi-contemptuous amus.e.m.e.nt.

The practice was over now, and the swarms of red-ochred savages began to melt away; though a goodly proportion remained on the ground to discuss what they had seen. Meanwhile, the Police were mounting for their return march.

With them went Harley Greenoak and d.i.c.k Selmes. The bulk of the patrol would return across the Kei to the Colonial side, but A. Troop would remain behind in camp to keep an eye on a particularly unreliable and turbulent chief named Vunisa. The officer in command of this, Inspector Chambers, and Greenoak were old friends, and it was arranged that the latter and his charge should camp with them for awhile.

At that time the Transkei was in a state of simmer, and the same might be said of the tribes inhabiting British Kaffraria. Chiefs were known to be calling in their followers; and this was done by a system that worked with marvellous rapidity. At night mysterious beacons flashed answering messages to each other from this or that lofty hill-top, and it was known that war-dancing on a real scale was going on in this or that disaffected chief's location; and notably in that of Vunisa, situated in the Gudhluka Reserve. This Vunisa was the chief over an important section of the Gcaleka tribe.