Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER TWO.

  THE MYSTERY.

  For some time the thought uppermost in the mind of the survivor was thatof relief. An incubus had fallen from him; a plague spot that for thelast two or three years had been eating into and embittering his life,and rendering its otherwise achieved success null and void.

  He did not regret what he had done. He had given the other everychance, and the other had refused to take it. If ever an act ofself-defence had been committed it was this one. Self-defence, yes; forsooner or later the dead man's exactions would have culminated in hisown ruin and suicide. Even from the physical side of it the other haddrawn a weapon upon him. And, in sum, what more loathsome and poisonousanimal exists in the world than a blackmailer? This one had richlyearned his fate.

  That was all very well, but in came another side to the situation. Howwould the law regard it? Well, he supposed that in this wild,out-of-the-way part things were done of which the law never got wind atall. The country, of course, was within the administration of Britishjurisprudence, but then, as he had told the slain man, they had not beenseen together, and he had done his best to destroy all possibility ofthe discovery of any _corpus delicti_.

  But as he held on through the dark and solemn forest path he grew lesselate. The hideous end of the dead man seemed to haunt him, the agonydepicted on that livid distorted countenance, the whole seemed to riseup before him again in these gloomy shades. He concentrated hisattention on the surroundings, vividly interesting in their wildness andnovelty, in their strange denizens, specimens of which in the shape ofbird or animal would now and again dash across his way, but still thehaunting face was there.

  The thing was absurd, he kept saying to himself. Men shot their fellowsin battle in defence of their country or of their country's cause, andthought no more about it. Some even bragged of it. Again, in a navalengagement, when a hostile ship was sunk, did not the other side do allit could to rescue the survivors struggling in the water? Well, thiswas precisely an analogy as regarded his own case, with this difference,that the rescued in the naval engagement had not the power to injuretheir rescuers further, whereas the man he had slain had, and certainlyhad the will. Yet, at the last moment, he had honestly attempted torescue him, at any rate from that horrible fate.

  What was this? Had he taken a wrong path in the course of hisreflections? For his way seemed suddenly barred. A fallen trunk,massive and rotting with age lay across it, and there seemed no wayround it but cutting one through a dense wall of creepers and coarsegrass. Even then the path seemed to end.

  He dismounted and, hitching his horse to a bough, climbed on to thefallen tree-trunk to reconnoitre. A snake glided off it, hissing, buttoo rapidly for him to be able to distinguish the species. No, therewas no way beyond the trunk. It had evidently been disused since it wasblocked, and some other taken. That other way he must have missed, andthe only thing to do would be to find it.

  Acting upon this idea he remounted and rode back upon his trail. Aftergoing some distance it occurred to him that the surroundings wereunfamiliar, for he had neglected that safe rule that in travelling on astrange way for the first time, it is well to look back occasionally toaccustom oneself to it from the contrary direction for purposes ofreturn; wherein the simile of the "hand to the plough" emphatically doesnot hold good.

  Ah, here it was! He had left the path even as he had thought. Here wasthe right one. Accordingly he put his horse into it, and thendiscovered that his said horse was going lame. Carefully he examinedall four hoofs. No, there was no stone or anything of the kind.

  This was a blank outlook. The still atmosphere of the forest seemedmore fever-breathing than ever, and the sky had darkened. A boom ofthunder came rolling through the stillness, not so distant either, thena gleam and then another sullen roll. He started. This was no joke.He was in for a sudden storm, and among all these tall tree-trunks too.If only he could reach some native kraal.

  But, then, he had heard that the natives were restless, and that it wasnot altogether safe for one man alone to go among many. He was wellarmed, certainly, but what is one among many? He had sufficient foodfor one meal, and a flask. By way of putting a more cheerful light onthe situation he took a pull at the latter.

  "A beastly place to camp in," he said to himself, looking around."Faugh! It simply reeks of fever. If only one could find somewheremore open."

  Now the lightning began to gleam vividly down through the tree-tops, andthe thunder crashed in short, angry barks; but no rain had fallen asyet. It was one of those most dangerous storms of all--a _dry_ storm.Suddenly a big yellowwood, barely thirty yards off, burst into splintersand sparks as a wreath of flame ran down it into the ground. Thethunder-crash that accompanied was awful. The wayfarer's steed startedviolently and backed, nearly throwing its rider, then stood stock still,trembling and snorting.

  "Oh, blazes, that's nasty!" growled the latter. "Well, I suppose if onehas to go under one has, but I'd rather not just at present. Hullo!what's that?"

  Far a sound had reached him from in front--a sound uncommonly like thebarking of dogs. The horse had heard it too, for it pricked up its earsand snuffed the air. By now it was going dead lame.

  A few big drops came pattering through the trees, then ceased. Thethunder-rolls grew less frequent and less loud. The storm was passingover.

  Now the barking of dogs sounded nearer and nearer. Instinctively thewayfarer looked to the cartridges in his revolver, then, replacing theweapon, continued to advance, yet very much on the look-out.

  The forest ended abruptly. In front, on a bare ridge or spur, runningdown from a great height, lay a small kraal, numbering four huts,enclosed within a circular thorn stockade. Beyond it again lay anunbroken mass of forest.

  The appearance of the wayfarer in the open was the signal for a rush ofdogs from the kraal gate. These were not of the ordinary nativegreyhound breed, but massive bullet-headed brutes of the Boer mastifftype, and as formidable as wolves. There were three of them, and theirsavage charge and deep-mouthed baying caused the horseman instinctivelyto grasp the butt of his revolver. He had no fancy for being pulledfrom his saddle. On the other hand, if he were to shoot one or all ofthem, would he not have human enemies to deal with scarcely lessformidable? And as though to bear out this idea, three tall,savage-looking Zulus, armed with broad assegais, strode through the gatetowards him.

  The wayfarer began to think he had got into a bad fix. He had sixrevolver shots and a rifle bullet, as against three human and threefour-footed enemies, and the chances were all in favour of the latter,out in the open like this, and mounted as he was on a lame horse. Butthe natives began by calling off the dogs, which was reassuring; yetthey seemed to be barring his way, while talking to him volubly. Hereagain he was in a quandary, for except for a word or two of ordinary usehe could understand no Zulu. There was one argument, however, which hejudged to appeal to all mankind, wherefore he produced a capacioustobacco pouch.

  But even that met with no response. The demeanour of the trio was thereverse of friendly, and behind them the three great, evil-lookingbrutes were stalking up and down, their hackles raised, and mutteringand growling, as though impatient for the word to spring upon thestranger. Then after a consultation among themselves, one of the menturned and went into the kraal again.

  The wayfarer was nonplussed. It was obvious that they were incapable ofunderstanding each other, for even to signs they seemed impervious.

  At last, however, the other man reappeared, and made it apparent, byvery unmistakable signs, that he should dismount and enter.

  This he accordingly did, trying not to show the while that he was keenlyon his guard against treachery. They signed him to a hut, that heshould enter it. He crept through the low door way. The interior wasdark after the daylight outside, and he took a minute or two to getaccustomed to the semi-gloom. Then he realised that the place containedone man, and he a European.

  He was squatted
on the floor, native fashion, smoking a pipe. He was anold man apparently, for his hair and thick beard were white, yet theface somehow did not seem quite to correspond. It looked younger, butthere was an expression in it which was very curious, one of mingledmelancholy and malevolence, at least so decided the stranger. But noword or movement of welcome did he make towards the latter, who,perforce, had to open the conversation.

  "Well, this is very jolly," he began, "stumbling upon a white man. Thefact is I can't talk the lingo, and couldn't ask the way for one thing."

  "Where are you bound for?"

  The voice, dead, dull, expressionless, was peculiar. But it was arefined voice.

  "I wanted first to get to Ezulwini."

  "You were going in exactly the contrary direction, that's all."

  The other started. Had this mysterious personage been aware of hisprogress all along? he wondered. The thought was rather disquietingunder all the circumstances. The man was a puzzle. He seemed to preferhis unexpected guest's room to his company.

  "My horse has gone dead lame," went on the latter. "He may be all rightin the morning. But, meanwhile, I shall have to throw myself upon yourhospitality, or camp outside in the veldt."

  The other was silent for a moment. Then he said--

  "You are welcome--on one condition."

  "And that?"

  "That you pledge me your word of honour--you are a gentleman, I see, andwill keep it--that you mention no word to any living soul, under anycircumstances whatever, that you have been here, or, in short, that youhave ever seen me in your life."

  "Well, of course I will, if you wish it," answered the traveller, verymuch mystified.

  "But I do wish it," was the reply, given with some fierceness. "And youwill do it. Do you know that at a word from me you would never leavethis place alive? You would simply disappear."

  Substantially the very words he had uttered to that other, who _had_disappeared. There was a creepy suggestiveness about it all that madehim feel more than uncomfortable.

  "You needn't threaten me," he rejoined, rather shortly. "If I pass youmy word, as you yourself have just said, I shall keep it."

  "I know you will. And let me tell you that if you had been as someothers I know you would not be here at all. In fact, although you haveexactly seven bullets at your immediate disposal your friends wouldnever have seen or heard of you again."

  The mystery deepened. The new arrival was conscious of a very uncanny,not to say awe-inspiring effect in the piercing, unfriendly glance fromthe other's eyes. The day had been a pretty eventful one and nomistake.

  "Look here," he answered, in a burst of frankness. "This world's adevilish rum place, and I've lived long enough in it, and seen enoughdevilish rum sides of it, to have learnt enough to respect otherpeople's secrets. So you may rely upon me when I give you the fullundertaking you ask for."

  The other nodded, then uttered a loud hail, in response whereto a nativeboy appeared, and having received a laconic direction soon reappeared,together with a large bowl of native beer.

  "This is the best I can offer you. I don't know if you've ever triedit, but it's rather good, always provided it's fresh."

  "Yes, I have once. Thanks awfully. Well, here's luck."

  The effect on the wayfarer of this homely interchange of good-fellowshipwas that it seemed to put him and his strange and rather sinister hoston a better footing. He took a big drink of the refreshing brew and setdown the bowl. Then he lighted his pipe.

  He was almost growing confidential under the influence of rest andrefreshment. But it occurred to him that this strange being wasunusually reticent. For instance, he had not even asked him his name orwhere he was from, or indeed anything. So taking his cue he confinedhimself to generalities, and, except that the other was rather laconic,some conversation became possible.

  Finally supper appeared, in the shape of grilled beef on a woven grassmat, together with some roasted mealies, and a renewed supply of_tywala_. The new arrival did full justice to this, then suggestedgoing to see after his horse.

  "Oh, your horse is being well taken care of," answered his host."However, come and see for yourself."

  As they stood up outside the stranger noticed that his host was a tallman, who, notwithstanding his apparent age, walked without a droop. Ata word from him the three big dogs, which had sprung up from somewherewith a growl, slunk back again into silence. The horse was tied to apole inside the fence, and had evidently been eating his fill ofmealies.

  "You'd better turn in in my hut. You'll find it a trifle morecomfortable, perhaps, than turning in with one of the Zulus, and there'sno spare hut."

  "Why, thanks awfully. Of course I shall," was the hearty response.

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  The stranger woke early, and all the events of the previous day cameback upon him. He was rid of an incubus, for which now, in the clearbroad light of a cloudless and sparkling day he felt unfeignedlythankful, but his eccentric host--where was he? The mat on which he hadslept was unoccupied. Oh, well! The other had got up earlier, that wasall. He would follow suit.

  Outside he found his host, in converse with a Zulu, not one of the threemen who had met him on his arrival.

  "Good-morning. I wonder how my horse is to-day," he said.

  "He's about all right. I've had him led up and down, and he doesn'tseem to show any limp. I'll send a man to guide you over the mostdifficult part of the way after breakfast. You needn't mistrust him,it's sufficient that you have been my guest."

  It was all that the wayfarer could do to refrain from asking for hishost's identity, but something kept him from doing so; possibly he borein mind that his said host had refrained from questioning him as to his.They talked on commonplaces. But after breakfast, when his horse wassaddled up and the guide stood waiting, his entertainer said--

  "You didn't lose this yesterday, did you?" exhibiting a double-barrelledshotgun.

  He was conscious of a slight paling, but hoped it had not been observed.Yet at the same time he was perfectly certain it had.

  "No," he answered.

  "Ah, well. Then I'd better take charge of it until the owner turns up.And, remember, you have given me your word." And the straight,piercing, compelling glance seemed to scorch.

  "Why, of course I have, and you may rely upon my keeping it. Manythanks for your opportune hospitality. Good-bye."

  The hand which he had put forth was taken coldly, almost limply.

  "Good-bye," was the listless answer; the speaker turning awayimmediately, almost abruptly.