Bankerpitt had scarcely strength to say, "Well, I'm d.a.m.ned!"

The party turned away, tired and hungry, and marched in silence to the clump of trees near the spruit below the house. There was no other water near, so they made camp for the night there.

It was dark. Occasionally the brighter gleams of the fire lighted up the circle of sullen faces. There was nothing to eat or drink, so they had settled down to a monotonous chorus of curses on the renegade he had turned his back on his own colour. One by one each added his quota of bitter, unmeasured abuse until their vocabularies, comprehensive as they were, began to give out, and only now and then a mere exclamation of disgust, or a well-brooded curse, would break the heavy silence.

There being nothing to cook, there was nothing to do at that time of evening but to brood on their wrongs. They did this thoroughly until a faint rustle in the wood made them look round, and then a child's voice close behind the group gave the Kaffir salutation "Makos!" Someone raised a brand from the fire, and by its light they saw two _umfaans_ bearing on their heads a large earthen bowl each. One bowl contained fresh milk, the other a stew of fowls and stamped mealies.

The boys had the look of bright intelligence characteristic of the Zulu race, but when Bankerpitt asked sharply, "Who sent this?" they exchanged one glance, and a cloud of the densest stupidity settled on their faces.

Bankerpitt repeated his question, dragging one urchin closer to the fire. The reply, given in a thin, childish treble, was:

"It is food, white man! It is here!"

"Tell me!" he said fiercely, giving the child's arm a shake, "does it come from that white dog up there?"

Even in the urchins of the race there is the instinct of evasion which enables them to baffle the closest inquiries.

"It is food for the white man. It is here!" was all that Bankerpitt's bullying could elicit.

"If we take it, it's because we must; but, by G.o.d! we'll pay him for it, same as we would any other blasted n.i.g.g.e.r!" exclaimed Bankerpitt savagely; and he drew from his leathern belt-pouch the three shillings it contained and thrust them into the _umfaan's_ hand. The coins were dropped like hot coals, and the child said:

"I want no money, white man; I bring a gift."

But the men were hungry and took the food; and presently the two _umfaans_ drew nearer to the fire, and, squatting on their haunches, awaited with ox-like patience the emptying of their bowls. When at last the boys stood up to go, the youngest of the party, who had been a silent and amused witness of his leader's attempt to get information out of them, said something in a low tone, to which one boy replied:

"Inkosikaas."

A soft significant whistle was the only comment.

"What was that, Geddy?" said Bankerpitt quickly.

"I asked who sent them with the food."

"Well, who did?"

"He says 'The missis'!"

"Shrine of the Mighty!"

That was the first experience of Induna Nairn.

The second came this wise, about a year later.

There had been a row in Delagoa about some cattle which had been stolen.

The rightful owners took their own way about getting them back, for they had more confidence in themselves than in the Portuguese; but, unfortunately, just at the last moment, an accident happened which made trouble for them. That was why they had been across the border away in Swazie country for so many months, and that was why they were coming back over the mountains and in a quiet way, for they were not sure of the reception which might await them.

One of them was Geddy, the youngster of the former party.

Geddy had not forgotten his experience of Nairn's "hospitable roof," and had given his companion, with considerable force and numerous ill.u.s.trations, a fair picture of the well-remembered night. It is not surprising that they decided to give "the d.a.m.ned white n.i.g.g.e.r's" house the "go-by."

Nairn's house stood on the track; in fact, the only feasible road up the Berg was a bridle-path cut by Nairn up to his house; thence the ordinary native paths led in all directions, and--by reason--one or more led to the Kaap. In order to pa.s.s the house in mid-trek they made their morning off-saddle below the Berg, intending by noon to be some miles beyond the Peak. Near the Berg there are two climates, one for "below"

and one for "on top," and it was quite reasonable and natural to rise, as they did, out of the placid spring morning on the flats into a first-cla.s.s thunderstorm with high wind and driving rain as soon as they reached the exposed plateau. The tired horses refused to face the sheets of rain, and snorted and shook with fright at the lightning stabbing here and there and everywhere, and the deafening crashes of thunder. There was nothing for it but to dismount and, as the poor brutes turned their tails to the storm, to crouch to leeward of them for such shelter as they could give, and pray to Heaven that hail would not follow the rain.

Drenched, sopping, numbed and pierced by the cold wind that succeeded the storm, they resumed their ride half an hour later. Their clothes were setting hard in the wind, their blankets--strapped over the pommels--carried pounds weight of water, and the pulpy saddles clung like indiarubber.

The poor horses toiled on, slipping and sprawling along the greasy, smooth-worn Kaffir path, and when they rounded a little koppie that flanked Nairn's house, and came suddenly on the well-worn track that led to the house itself--not twenty yards off--they p.r.i.c.ked their ears, and with a low whinny of welcome and joy trotted towards the house. Geddy pocketed his pride and, bowing to circ.u.mstances that were too much for him, allowed his horse to follow the other's lead. He did not, however, dismount as the other did, but sat in the saddle with an air of neutrality, awaiting the turn of events.

Geddy was prepared for many possible developments, and--by reason of the feeling description given him of the previous visit--his companion was also forearmed against contingencies, and was ready with replies suited to any form of incivility; but when Nairn stepped out on to the stoep looking infinitely amused, and remarked frankly, "By Gad! you are two miserable-looking objects!"--when this happened the two just looked down at themselves and then at each other, and finally burst into laughter more genuine and prolonged than the ostensible cause would seem to warrant.

The house must have contained four rooms; but they only saw two. It was a very quiet place. Oddly enough there were no dogs about, and the fowls did not seem to be as self-a.s.sertive there as Swazie fowls usually are. There were no noises at all about the place, not even the welcome sounds of life. All seemed to be toned down, _weighed_ down, to about the level of sociability which had marked Nairn's manner on the first visit. Geddy, feeling a little mean, it is true, was careful not to betray any indications of having been there before, but while they were getting into dry clothing in Nairn's bedroom, he drew his companion's attention to a large calabash that stood on the window-sill half full of milk. It had been cracked, and there was a small V-shaped nick in the rim, below which, and encircling the gourd itself was a delicate network of plaited bra.s.s, copper, and iron wires.

"That was the one the milk came in that night," said Geddy, in a whisper. "I remember spilling some on account of that nick, and then I noticed the wire."

His companion nodded. It was not an important nor even a very interesting discovery.

The younger waited a little, and then, slightly disgusted at the other's slowness, said:

"Well, either he sent the grub to us himself or--"

"Or what?"

"Or--Where's the missis?"

They took in the room at a glance; but there was no answering evidence there. And when they joined Nairn they found that there were easy-chairs in the dining-room; so there they sat and smoked, and watched the rain set in as the regular spring drizzle does above the Berg.

The chairs, like the rest of the furniture, were rough-made from bushwood; but it seemed odd that a hermit should have three. There was a bookcase in the room, and it was full of well-bound and well-worn books, "mostly odd volumes--very few series," as Geddy remarked afterwards. There were a good many books of science, and all the poets he could recall; and there were books in Latin, French, Greek, and German. Somehow he did not like to ask the real questions he wanted to put about the books. He did not quite know how far to go. In reply to one question, Nairn had said dryly that he had brought them with him, and was apparently indisposed to say more. He was not an easy man to draw.

During the day they had evidence of the respect in which Nairn was held by his dependents. He spoke to them in the lowest possible voice and in the fewest possible words, and never--except once, when something had occurred which annoyed him--never looked at, or even in the direction of the individual addressed. On that occasion he was asking a question of a tall and remarkably good-looking Swazie woman.

She stood like a bronze statue while he spoke, and when he looked at her and his eyes blazed anger, although his voice did not alter, the colour rose to the woman's face, and turned her brown skin a reddish-bronze.

Her head was slowly lowered, and the only answer was a faint whisper of the word, "Inkos--chief!" The incident was trifling, but Geddy noticed it, and noted that his way with his boys and the men about the place was the same, and began to see why they called him "Induna Nairn."

As the rain had not abated Nairn insisted upon their remaining overnight. He was pleasant, courteous, and most interesting, full of the strangest and most intimate knowledge of the country and the natives. He frequently ill.u.s.trated remarks by references to other countries and other people, but neither of his guests cared to put the direct question as to whether he had been to those countries or only read of them. He gave no information about himself Geddy was not satisfied with this, and with his sense of what is due to one's host somewhat dulled--doubtless by the recollection of his previous visit-- took every opportunity of leading up to those topics which Nairn most avoided, but which Geddy hoped would throw a light upon the man himself.

Beaten on the subject of the books, baffled when he led up to personal experiences, foiled gently but firmly at every attempt, Geddy at last got an inspiration and laid for a bold stroke.

They were at dinner, and the peculiarly savoury character of the stew recalled to the youngster again the question that had been puzzling him all along. Summoning all his nerve, he said with cheery zest:

"By Jove, Nairn, after months of roast mealies and tough game--without salt, too--this does taste delicious!"

"Glad you like it," said his host quietly. "Staple dish, you know.

Just stewed fowl and stamped mealies!"

"Yes, by George! but such a stew! Who--who's your cook?"