"The company didn't come into possession, then?" said Mr Strong.

"Well, do I look as if I had a fortune of one hundred and fifty thousand golding sovereigns, which we reckoned was the value of that stone? Not much! No, sir."

"Well, did you ever see the diamond?"

"I'll tell you. Sam and me we struck the spoor at Euphorby, follered it fifteen miles in an' out of the Kowie bush, away over to the Kasouga, and ten miles to the Kareiga--in an' out of the thickest bush--sleepin'

out o' nights. Back ag'in to the Kowie bush, over into the Fish River, without settin' eyes once on the blanged thing. One month we were on the spoor, and the food run out, so's we'd got to raise more capital, which we riz by selling Sam's plough and my harrow--the two of 'em bringing in twenty-five shillings. Then we ran ag'inst the mine after Sam had taken a horn o' Cango--and his ribs were broken in. Yes, the fust thing we knowed one night thet bull charged us out of a patch of bush in the open. Well, I took Sam to a farmhouse, and picked up the spoor, and two nights after came on the bull standin' in a vley on the flats over yonder. My! He were jes' standing there shooting the water over his mountain-high body, with his big ears flapping, when he turned his head, and I seed that diamon' shinin' in his forehead like a blood-red star. I tell you that mine lit out a yell and came arter me like a rock hurled from the hilltop. The land was as flat as the palm of your hand, and the only thing was ter double. Well, I did that, and slipped into the vley, and the ole bull, arter ramping around, stood there on the brink listenin', while his trunk went twistin' about to catch my wind. He kep' me there till the cold got into my bones, and then, when the dawn was breaking, off he made for the Kareiga again.

Arter that Sam and me we called in fresh capital, an' Jerry Wittal joined us with a piebald mare and twenty-five sheep. Part o' the money was paid to mend Sam's ribs, and then we went arter the ole bull ag'in.

This time he went west, through the Addo and on to the Knysna. Six months we kep' on arter him, sometimes he came arter us; and at last he smashed up the company one morning by takin' us as we slep'. Yes, sir.

That crittur, he waited till the cold of the mornin', when we couldn't see for the sleep, and he pounded Jerry into the groun'. He did that, and ef he hadn't a screamed in his joy he might a done for us; but Sam and me, we dodged roun' a tree an' blazed inter him. Sam right there said the company must go inter liquidation, an' he worked his way back home as a handy-man from farm to farm. Poor Sam! His nerves went, and in less than a year he was dead, sure enuf. Of course all this huntin'

got about, and a chap from Port Elizabeth said he would help me refloat the company; but when I giv' him all the facts blow me if he didn't try to 'jump' the claim."

"How was that?"

"Why, he went off on the hunt with a couple o' n.i.g.g.e.rs, and afore I knowed about it he'd been out three days in the bush. It makes me laugh now. Wha' yer think? I came across him without his gun, or his hat, or his kit, making tracks for home. He found the bull sure enough, but the bull chased him up a yellow-wood tree and kep' him there one day and a night."

"Did he see the diamond?"

"Oh, yes; he seed too much of it; but he didn't want any more of that sort o' minin'--and 'tweren't long afore I chucked the job, too."

"How was that?"

"Well, you wouldn't believe me if I tole you. At any rate it's bedtime; and if you young ones don't roost now you'll never hold your guns straight in the mornin'. So long!"

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

ABE'S DIAMOND MINE.

We were still at the camp near the bush by the sea, and the week's hunt was ended. The "boys" had gone off to a neighbouring kraal to dance and eat and drink throughout the night, and we were left in the great quiet of a South African evening. As usual, Long Jim had squeezed from his concertina all the melancholy airs he knew, and Amos Topper had trotted out all his well-worn arguments against the _Ukolobola_--the Kaffir system of selling girls into wedlock in exchange for cattle; a system which he warmly contended was the root of all the stock-thieving.

"A darned good system," said Abe; "one that's based on reason and justice; that's so."

"Hear the old boomer!" said Amos scornfully; "anyone would think he'd got a parcel o' daughters to marry off fer cattle."

"Go slow, Amos Topper, and maybe you won't stumble. A good system, says I; and why? 'cos it's lasted all these centuries--since and before Jacob he collected a heap o' goats for his wife. See yer, when a white man marries a girl he don't give nothin' for her, but he asks her father how much he's going to give the girl. That's what a white man does, and lor' lov' yer, more often than not he swallows up all her money, and then beats her, the skunk. Now a black man is different. When he goes courtin' he don't ask the father how much the girl's goin' to bring to the hut--not he. What he does is to ask the father how much he wants for the girl. 'Five cows,' says the father 'for the girl is nice an'

fat.' Well, the young buck he's got to get them five cows, and if he takes one outer a white man's kraal that's due to his impatience--it don't prove the system is wrong. Well, the five cows is paid over, an'

the girl goes to the young buck. As usual, the pair has children--and the cows has calves. Maybe the husband beats his wife. What then; why, sir, the wife takes her children and goes back to her father. 'I've come back,' she says, 'and I'm going to live on them cows and calves.'

The father he can't say nothin'; 'cos why, 'cos he took those same cows in trust for his daughter 'gainst she should come, back to him on account of her husband's bad treatment. That's so. The _Ukolobola_ is better'n a magistrate for keeping the peace 'twixt husband and wife.

That's why I say 'tis a good system, an' a just system."

"'Tis well known," said Amos, "that Abe Pike's got no cause to kick against Kaffir customs, because he keeps no cattle worth havin'--nor nothin' else, for that matter."

"By the way, Uncle Abe," I said quickly, to prevent the coming storm; "you promised to tell us how it was you gave over searching for that diamond mine."

"Meaning that bull elephant," said Amos Topper, still aggressively; "and I do say this, of all the yarns I heard there's none to beat that for downright contrariness to what is reasonable. Who ever heard of a bull elephant rampaging round with a red diamond stuck in his forehead?"

"Humph!" grunted Abe. "If we was to believe nothin' you never yeard on we'd be a pack o' blamed jacka.s.ses, and no mistake. Now, I tell you that same elephant is a-tramping around now over yonder in the Addo bush, with that same red diamond a-gleamin' in his forehead, if so be the hide ain't growed over it."

"Why don't you get a permit from Government and shoot him, then!"

"Not me: not Abe Pike. Oh, no! I tole you how he flattened out ole Harkins, an' stove in my partner's ribs, an' laid out another chap what j'ined the company with a yeller horse, an' skeered off that Port Elizabeth fellow what tried to 'jump' my claim. Well, that showed this yer walkin' diamond mine were dangerous, but, lor' bless yer, the _schreik_ he gave me was somethin' that sent the everlastin' shivers up an' down my backbone. I'll tell you how 'twas. When the company was busted up I was the only chap what held shares, an' as there was no market for 'em I calkerlated to do the prospectin' myself. So I went on a reg'lar expedition into the bush with a new castin' o' bullets, a horn o' powder, a tin box o' caps--them being muzzle-loading days--an' a kit o' one sheepskin kaross, with a roll o' tobacco, five pounds o' coffee, an' sugar, an' as much Boer meal as I could buy, with a pot an'

_cometje_. I reckoned to shoot my own meat an' pick up berries, besides gettin' a square meal at a farmhouse now an' ag'in. So I sot out into the Addo, an' gettin' to the middle of it, planted my kit in a holler tree. That was a Sunday. Then I scouted aroun'. Monday I seed nothin'. Tuesday I came on a family party o' two tigers an' their cubs.

The ole woman, steppin' on her toes, marched me off the premises, an' I darsn't shoot for fear o' skeerin' the elephant. I had to march back'ards, an' the thorns they jest had a picnic with my shirt, I tell you; an' I got sich a cramp in my stummick that I couldn't hunt any more that day. Wednesday I came on elephant spoor--fresh spoor--and follered it for four hours without ever seein' a patch o' the animile. Thursday I came on spoor ag'in within twenty yards o' where I camped. Yes, sirree; that crittur had come up as near as that, and he'd stood there for a long time, maybe watchin' me. Well, I lit out on the tracks and follered 'em in an' out an' roun' about all through the mornin' into the afternoon, the tracks keeping so fresh that I kep' on with the trigger at full c.o.c.k. In the evenin' the spoor led me right back to my holler tree, and blow me if that crittur hadn't been overhauling my goods.

Yes, that's so. The kettle it were hung twenty feet from the ground.

The kaross it were peppered all over with holes, where he'd drove his tusk through. The Boer meal were all eaten up, except for a sprinkle here and there; and the tobacco were chewed up and spat out. I dried it and smoked it, and it had a flavour of boots most terrible. Well, I tell you, this made me _quei_, but when I seed, arter looking more carefully, that this yer fool elephant were my diamon' mine itself I jes' picked up. 'Cos, what's the loss of a few shillin's worth of things when that diamon' 'ud bring in enough to buy up a whole street full o' grocers' shops."

"How did you know it was the elephant you wanted?"

"How did I know! 'Cos I seed, that's how, by the size of his hoofs and the plain writin' that he'd only one tusk, same as my bull. That's how!

Friday I up and follered ag'in afore sunrise, and I tell yer I hadn't gone mor'n half-an-hour before I diskivered that he were follerin' me.

Yes. I were standin' to listen, and I yeard the rumbling of his stummick. I yeard it plain--and jes' crawled along so's not to crush so much as a dry leaf. I yeard that rumble ag'in--but blow me if I could see him, an' I crawled an' crawled, poking the big gun afore till the sweat it run down my back. There was the spoor and there was the rumble, but--there was no elephant. I began to feel shivery, and looked over my shoulder like a man does in the dark, and--by gosh!--I seed that red diamon' gleamin' out of the leaves behind me. An' jes' below it and on each side were two other gleamin' objects--the eyes of the bull hisself. Well, he giv' a scream, I rolled over--an' the next I yeard he were thundering by, smashing down the trees and yelling out most horrible. Abe Pike didn't stop there, I tell you. He jest sneaked off, and when he yeard the bull stand--which was plain to hear from the stillness--Abe he stopped to. I did that."

"Why didn't you go back and shoot him?"

"Sonny, you never had a railway engine runnin' arter you, did you?

Well, you try, and then settle with yourself whether your nerves would be worth much for a spell. No, sir; I didn't go back to shoot him, but I found the biggest yellow-wood and I climbed up. That's what I did, and that bull he found out. Yes, sir, he picked up my scent and he tree'd me. But, by gum, d'ye think he'd show hisself? No, gentlemen, he jes' kep' away in the thick o' the bush, goin' roun' and roun' an'

stopping sometimes for a blow. Once I saw the sparkle of the diamon', when he was doin' a spell o' listenin' and watchin', and I pulled straight at it. I hit him hard, the ole cuss, an' he fetched a yell an'

went smashin' off. The sound o' him runnin' away did me good. I loaded up and picked up the blood-trail, and was goin' so hot on that that I'm blowed if I didn't a'most run inter him. I were slippin' along, and from the corner of my eye I saw the point of his tusk on my left. The ole chap had turned on his spoor; but his tusk saved me, for I dodged roun' a big tree and brought the gun up. D'ye think he'd charge? He jes' slipped back by inches and stole away as silent as a hare, whiles I had my eyes gummed on the thick cover where he'd stood. He jes' slipped away and made a circle to come on me from the rear. He did that, and if I hadn't edged away to see better inter the cover he'd a nabbed me--for bymby I saw he'd gone, and on follering on the spoor I seed where he'd turned back. I tell you that gave me the creeps, and I made off for a small krantz near by where there's a stream. I crawled inter a cave there and went off ter sleep, because of the tiredness in my bones; and Sat.u.r.day mornin' I woke up hungry an' stiff in the j'ints, and I laid off for the camp. Blow me, if that blamed bull hadn't been there ag'in.

The kettle were clean gone this time, and all the other things was smashed to nothing--so there wasn't a smell, let 'lone a mouthful. I were that savage I jes' went hot-foot on the old boomer's spoor ag'in, an' this time he were travellin'. He went straight on for fifteen miles, over the ridge, inter a deep kloof--where he laid in grub--and then set off, nose on, for another five mile towards Alicedale, where he had a bathe in a pool. All this time I hadn't seen even the flap of his ears, and I were still on his spoor, when I just flung myself inter a hump o' gra.s.s and chawed on to a stick o' _biltong_. Then I went to sleep, 'cos I couldn't keep my eyes skinned, but the morning cold woke me in the small hours, and the fust thing I seed were a blazing eye looking at me outer the dark. It sparkled and flickered and blinked, with the red heart of it contractin' an' expandin'. In the drowsiness I lay there, thinkin' 'twas the mornin' star, when I yeard the rumble of a elephant's inside, an' I knew that ole bull were a standing over me; maybe had been standin' there for hours waitin' for me to wake so's he could enjoy seein' me shake.

"Afraid! Well, I think so. And the shakes went scooting up an' down my backbone, an' my heart nearly stopped and I could skasely breathe. Then I felt about for my gun with one hand, then with the other, and then with each foot; but, by gosh! the wepin weren't there, an' the cole chills were chasing each other up an' down my bones, an' the ole bull laafed in his stummick, while that busted red diamond glowered at me. I thought o' poor ole Harkins flattened out, an' I jest pulled the plug outer the powder-horn, then I got out the flint an' steel, an' lay there watching the outline of the ole cuss come clearer an' clearer out of the darkness an' saw the shine of his wicked little eyes. He laafed in his stummick ag'in, and the coil of his trunk came out. I got the flint ready over the powder, and the stir of my body made him suspicious. His big ears went out like sails, and he made a step forrard. Then I struck with the steel, an' turned over on my back. He brought his trunk down 'ker--whack,' on my sitting place, rolling me over an' over--and when I rubbed the dust outer my eyes I yeard him smashin' through the trees.

The puff and flame of the powder must ha' skeered him bad, but I didn't wait beyond a second to search for my gun, and I seed the stock one side of a tree and the barrel bent up a yard away. He had moved it away, and were waitin' for me to wake. Then I lit out for the water an' hid away.

That was Sat.u.r.day. On Sunday I took the back tracks, without a wepin or anythin', and blow me ef that bull didn't reg'lar hunt me. He did that, an' in the afternoon he caught me up and druv me inter a big tree.

I jes' managed to reach the first bough when, ker-blunk, he came up ag'inst it an' nearly shook me off. By gum! the way that bull went on was a caution. He let off steam through his nose, stamped his feet, dug his tusk in the ground, twisted his little tail, and b.u.t.ted that tree till its roots heaved up the ground. In his walk he wore down a circle as big as a cattle kraal, smashin' all the trees down, and trampling the leaves and branches and trunks inter a ma.s.s. And every now and then he'd wheel round and come smash ag'inst my tree till he started the wound in his forehead where my bullet struck, an' the blood poured down his face. I never seed such wickedness an' temper, never, and I crawled up to the top branch, for the sight of him made me queer. All through that Sunday afternoon he kep' up that smash-jamble, an' in the night he fetched up some water outer his stummick an' washed his face; then, with that diamon' shinin' red outer the dark, he stood there, still as a rock, keeping guard. That night I went empty in my head, an' got back my senses in starts when I were slippin'. In the mornin' I jest gave him my trousers.

"It was a inspiration, that's what. A flash came inter my brain from the blue sky, an' I gave him my trousers. Lor', the scream he gave when he fell on 'em, trampled 'em, knelt on 'em, jabbed his tusk inter 'em, and then danced 'em outer sight through the ma.s.s o' leaves into the yearth beneath. Then he kep' on going away and comin' back with a rush, till I got giddy, and fin'ly jest slithered to the ground. That time he didn't come back, and I krept away outer the Addo bush, living on roots and leaves like a animile. That's so. I got on a Wednesday to a Kaffir clearing, most like a wild beast, all kivered with ticks and sores."

"And what became of the diamond?"

"Well, the Abe Pike Diamon' Mining Company went to smash. That diamond's still in the Addo bush, and if any o' you would like to float the company I'm not sure but I wouldn't jine you again. I guess that ole bull's a hundred an' fifty years old, an' maybe he's not so blamed active. So long!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

HOW ABE LOST HIS WATER BARREL.

Abe Pike was laying a new floor to his shed. He had at last, after many years, brought that wonderful structure to some semblance of a covered shelter, and now he was stamping down the red earth taken from ant-hills. This earth makes a firm floor, as it binds well and grows harder from use.

"Yes, sonny," said the old man, "when animiles or insecks take a work in hand they do it better'n men. See this yer earth. Well, every grain of it's been worked up by the jaws of a ant, and covered with a nateral mortar. It's been all milled month in and month out, mostly after a fall o' rain, each tiny pellet mined out o' the smoking ground and carried by the little chaps way up the tunnels out inter the sunlight and glued to its place on the risin' mound. An' in the buildin' of the dome them critturs don't forget the chopped straw, and when they've carried their temple high above the groun' they don't forget, too, to narrow the circle till they come to the finishin' peak. Yes, sir, I tell you, there's more wonder in one of em ord'nary ant-hills than there is in the biggest cathedral ever built, an' yet here I be spreading the remains of such works over the floor of this yer shed."

"But ants always keep to the same designs, Abe."

"Not they. In diffrent countries they have diffrent kinds o' hills; but when they find the sort that's best fitted for the climate they sticks to it, which is morn men do. No, sonny; the animiles an' the insecks know what they start out to learn without goin' to school for sixteen years, same as some young ones do that I know of, and then can't tell a field of wheat from a barley crop. As for me, I've had no schooling; but I know how to do what I want to do."

"How long have you been over this shed, Abe?"