Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion
Page 20
CHAPTER TWENTY.
SERGEANT DICKINSON'S FIND.
Meanwhile some curious and somewhat startling circumstances weredeveloping. Sergeant Dickinson, N.P., stationed at Makanya, was--as weheard Harry Stride say in substance--an astute officer. So astute washe as to render him unpopular with a section of the natives, and notablywith those who were disaffected. Twice, indeed, had his life beenattempted by these, but with firm faith in the proverb, "Threatened menlive long," such attempts had not seriously affected him. They were"all in the day's work," and only served to create a little excitementin an otherwise rather monotonous round.
Harry Stride's find of the saddle below the Bobi drift had come to himas a godsend. Could he work up a case out of it? He thought about it agood deal, and round and round; but this was after he had started withone of the four troopers under his command on a patrol immediately, andthe two were threading the several hours of difficult and rugged forestpath in the direction of the find.
He had no difficulty in locating the exact spot. Stride's descriptionhad been lucid and accurate--the drift itself, of course, was well-knownto him.
"The thing to do, Symes," he said, "is to examine both banks right theway down. If the saddle was here there may be other things further on.We'll take this side first."
Carefully Dickinson quartered the river bank, the trooper leading bothhorses. It was rough going, but both were young and hard. Suddenly thetrooper exclaimed--
"Look there, Dickinson!"
He was pointing to the other side. Something like a strip of clothingwas fluttering from a bush hardly above water level. When the river washigher it would have been beneath it.
Now a strip of clothing in that position, amid the wildest part of thevery wild Makanya forest, was a thing to attract attention. The nativesfrequently wore clothes, it was true; still, under the circumstancesSergeant Dickinson thought it worthy of note. And just as he had sodecided, something else caught his attention.
"Symes," he said quickly, "I'm going to swim across. I fancy there'ssomething worth finding on the other side."
"Swim across?" said Symes, with an expletive. "I wouldn't. The river'sfull of blooming crocs."
"I know. But we'll give 'em a holy scare first."
"Why not ride round by the blanked drift and come down the bank?" saidTrooper Symes. "This is a plaguy rotten deep hole."
"Because of that krantz. It comes right down to the water, and to dodgeit means the devil's own delay getting here. And if what I see is whatI think, why, every minute is important."
He had thrown off his tunic--he knew better than to throw off all hisclothes to swim a crocodile-infested river, for with this obnoxioussaurian, as with the wily shark, experience goes to show that a clothedman is safer than an unclothed one; possibly there is something alarmingin the artificiality of his clothes--or is it the bad fit of his tailor?Now he drew his revolver and so did the trooper. Both fired severalshots into the water at various points.
"But what in blazes d'you think you do see?" said Symes.
"I'll tell you when I get to the other side," and Sergeant Dickinsontook the water with a mighty splash.
It was not very wide there, though smooth and deep. A few long, strongstrokes and the swimmer was on the other side, holding his revolverholster high above water in one hand, for he of all people did not careto be unarmed in that locality.
Eagerly, excitedly, he climbed up the bank. An exclamation ofsatisfaction mingled with utter disgust escaped him.
"Symes," he called out. "You've got to go back to camp as hard as youcan push your horse; hitch mine up to the bush yonder, but firmly. Getmy kodak--see it's not been used since I filled it yesterday--and thenget back here as hard as ever you can."
"Kodak! I'm blanked! You might let on what you've found," grumbledSymes.
"It's a head, man, a white man's head. I can't bring it across theriver, it's in such a disgusting condition that the damn thing'd tumbleto pieces. Ugh! Must take its likeness to establish identity. So putyour best leg forward."
Trooper Symes at once laid himself out to sustain the traditionalreputation of his rank. He swore.
"Don't blab the affair in camp," called out his superior, as he started.
The latter, left alone, began eagerly, with his investigations.Anything more revolting than the aspect of his find can hardly beimagined. Yet considering that it must have been in the water severaldays, and several more since it had been stranded through the subsidenceof the river, it was surprising in what a recognisable state the swollenfeatures were. Yet, the horror and repulsion of this revolting sightwas merged in Dickinson's professional exultation as he examined it longand attentively. It had not been severed by any sharp instrument, butpresented the appearance of having been _torn_ off. This pointed to theagency of crocodiles. Yet why had they left it? Here was a mystery tobe unearthed, a clue to go upon. Here was the _corpus delicti_. Thebullet hole in the broken saddle which Stride had brought him wasanother link in the chain. Were there no others?
First there was the strip of clothing which he had seen from the otherside. It he examined. It was of khaki-like material, something akin tothat employed for the uniform of the Force, and yet different. Ah, whatwas this? Trailing in the river was the fragment of a coat, hitched toa thorn. In his eagerness to get at it he nearly fell into the water.
There was a pocket. Eagerly the sergeant's hand investigated this, onlyto come in contact with what seemed a mass of pulp. He drew it forth.It slipped through his fingers and fell into the river--once it had beenpapers, but the immersion had reduced it to pulp, yet not quite all ofit so escaped. One fragment remained, and it seemed to have been partof an extra strong envelope. This he examined eagerly. It bore ablurred and faded scrawl, most of which had entirely disappeared. Bydint of the most patient and careful scrutiny Dickinson succeeded inmaking out--
H. Gold Box Jo
The rest had gone with the other fragment of the envelope--had run offto pulp.
"H. Gold--something. Box--something. Jo--hannesburg," was how hepieced this scanty clue together. "Well, Johannesburg is all `gold,' orit's supposed to be," and he grinned to himself at this lame joke. "ButI wonder what's the other half of the name--Goldstein or Goldschmidt, orGoldberg or Gold--what? Then, again, there must be tens of thousands ofP.O. boxes there too, and it's clearly one of these. But how the deuceone is to trace any of the thousands of children of Israel whose namesbegin with `Gold' is another side of the joke."
He carefully copied the fragment into his notebook, imitating as nearlyas possible, and that was very nearly indeed, the character of thewriting. Then he looked around in search of further fragments. Therewere none.
Dickinson got a couple of sticks, for he could not touch the loathlything, and having first lighted his pipe, managed to get the head into apossible position for photographic purposes. Then he sat down--at arespectable distance--and began to study the features.
"One of the children of Israel, if ever there was one, and no mistakeabout it," he decided. "Ugh, I've looked at the ugly thing longenough."
Another pipe was filled and lighted. He felt hungry, and the stuff hehad brought with him for lunch was in his holster on the other side. Hedid not care to swim the river alone, with no one to help scarepotential crocodiles. He felt thirsty too, but he would have to feel agreat deal more so before letting himself drink from the water that hadheld that dreadful thing facing him. He cut some boughs and placed themover it to keep off the flies, then returned to his seat in thedemi-shade of a thorn-tree, and proceeded to elaborate theories with allhis might--not that there was much to go upon as yet.
He stood a good chance for the next Sub-Inspectorship which should fallvacant; could he but work up this case successfully it would be themaking of him. There was a girl over in Natal whom he wanted to marry,and to whom he was more than half engaged; but they had agreed to waitfor the Sub-Inspectorship. It wa
s hot, very hot. Would his comradenever come back? The hours wore on. The ripple and murmur of the riverwas soothing. Dickinson felt drowsy. Presently he slid more and morefrom his sitting posture and slept, and dreamed of the girl over inNatal.
He slept on and on, now hard and dreamlessly. But by that time SergeantDickinson, N.P., was in greater peril than he had ever been in his life.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Yonder now, Shumilana," whispered Mandevu. "The distance is nearenough. It is not safe to go nearer, but at such short distance, forone who was taught to shoot when in the _Nongqai_, [in this instance theZululand Native Police], and turned out of it through him who liesyonder, it is not possible to miss."
And the two dark figures crouched down upon the rock which overlookedthe sleeping Dickinson at about two hundred yards, while the dischargedpoliceman stealthily drew forward his Martini rifle and carefullysighted it.
Wake up, Dickinson, for this man is one of the few natives who can use arifle with accuracy of aim, and he has been taught by the ruling race.And he is drawing a fine "bead" on the two hundred yards sight. He heldthe same rank in his corps that you hold in yours, and it was throughyour agency that he was--rightly--degraded and dismissed the Force. Heis as cool-nerved as you are yourself, and is not likely to miss. Wakeup, if you would ever see the girl over in Natal again. Wake up,Dickinson!
Just then a lizard runs over the face of the sleeper, causing him tohalf jump up, half roll over. Bang, crash! and the bullet embeds itselfin the trunk of the thorn-tree, which a second before had beensupporting the weight of his body. It takes only another second for himto throw himself flat behind a mound of loose stones surmounted by agrowth of short bush.
Sergeant Dickinson is as brave a man as there is in the Force, and thatis saying a great deal. He realises now that he is in a tight corner.The rascal, whoever he may be, _can_ shoot; moreover, he has a rifle,whereas he himself has only his regulation revolver. The enemy can keepbeyond range and stalk him, from a distance, at leisure. And to enforcethis side of the situation bang comes another bullet, right through thegrowth of bush which surmounts the loose stones. But a Martini is aslow-firing rifle, and the target, with lightning-like resource, hasflattened down behind the stones.
"Good line that, damn him," he growls, as the air caused by the hummingmissile is distinctly perceptible above his head. "Well, I'm done atlast. He can't go on missing all day."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I thought thou couldst shoot true, Shumilana," whispers Mandevu."_Whau_!"
The last, _staccato_. For a bullet has splattered hard against the rockupon which the two are lying. It has not come from the man in yonderflimsy cover, but from across the river. Another follows sharp, and itsplinters the stock of Shumilana's piece, causing him to drop it with agrowl of pain, for the shock has strained the muscles of his wrist andnumbed his whole arm. The two savages drop from their lurking-place andglide away like snakes into the thicker bush, only barely in time toavoid another bullet which rips viciously over them. And Trooper Symeschuckles as he rides down to the river bank, where the other horsewhinnies excitedly at the reunion.
Dickinson's first remark was characteristic.
"Got the kodak, Symes?"
"Of course. Here it is."
"Well, I'll bring it through."
"No fear. It'll save time if I do."
Holding the case high above his head, Symes was through in a minute.
"It's a case of sharp's the word if we're to catch the light," saidDickinson, and forthwith he proceeded to uncover the ghastly relic."There," he went on, having taken half-a-dozen snapshots at every angle,"we've got the workings of something of a case."
"Faugh! Ugly-looking devil, any way you look at him," pronounced Symes."A blanked `Sheeny' if ever there was one."
Characteristically again, then and only then did Dickinson refer to thevery narrow escape he had had.
"What made you bring the rifle, Symes?"
"Dunno. Thought we might get a chance at a buck going back. Lucky Idid."
"Rather; they'd have done for me. I hadn't a chance. Shake, old chap."
The two comrades shook hands, and then thought no more about the matter.It was all in the day's work.
"I wonder," said Dickinson, when they had regained the other side--theyhad buried the head under a pile of stones, "I wonder who the swinecould have been who was sniping me. He knew how to shoot, by the Lord!Shouldn't wonder if it's some discharged _Nongqai_. I always held it amistake teaching those chaps to shoot."
Symes agreed--with language, as usual. Then they had a hurried snack,and rode off--two very wet police--to find some safer and more openlocality for their night camp. But that, too, was all in the day'swork.