VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
VAE VICTIS!
Great was the astonishment in camp when the man who had been given up ashopelessly missing, and whom everybody by this time had come to think ofas dead, turned up safe and sound. Jaded and worn out, however, hesought his tent at once, excusing himself from receiving the heartycongratulations of his friends until after the sleep of which he stoodso sorely in need.
Waking at last he opened his eyes, with a start, upon the genialcountenance of the Irish doctor.
"Hallo, McShane!"
"An' what the divil have ye been up to now, Claverton?" began thatworthy, without any further ceremony. "Here ye've managed to get offbein' made mincemeat of by the niggurs, and, not content with that, yemust get to punching a fellow's head, and now he wants to have a shot atye, av course."
"Does he?" said Claverton, drily.
"He does."
"H'm! Well, sit down and have a pipe, McShane, and we'll talk itquietly over."
"Ah! that sounds better," said the good-natured Irishman, in a tone ofrelief, for he was hoping that the affair might admit of a settlement."See here, now--what's it all about? Truscott wants to parade you, andsent me to arrange matters, and that's about the size of it. Now whoacts for you?"
"No one."
"No one? Well, then, I suppose you'll shake hands together, and sayyou're both made fools of yourselves," said McShane, brightening up.
"You're quite wrong, McShane. I'm going to give your friend the fullestsatisfaction--when, where, and as soon as he pleases," and the look inthe speaker's eyes caused the Irishman's hopes to fall to the ground."When I said no one acted for me, I meant it. I'm going to act formyself, or better still, you can act for both."
"Och! an' it's balderdash ye're talkin'," rejoined the other, angrily."How the divil can I be second to both? Bedad, an' who ever heard ofsuch a thing! I'D have nothing to say to it, I tell ye."
"Well, then, you see, McShane, it'll amount to this--that we shall goout without any seconds at all; which will probably mean that the firstof us who catches sight of the other will blaze away; for I don't trustour friend any more than I do Sandili himself. _I'm_ quite ready,however; but I don't intend to run any other fellow's head into thisbusiness. Who is there, for instance? Brathwaite--family man; Hicks,ditto; and so on. Poor Jack might have done, but he's passed on hischeque. No; as you have agreed to act for the other fellow, well andgood; I'm quite satisfied. But, I tell you, there's no one I can relyupon." And lighting his pipe he passed the match to his companion, witha hand as steady as a rock.
For a long time McShane was firm. He would have nothing to do with sopreposterous an arrangement--it wasn't fair to him--and so on. But,eventually, seeing that they were determined to fight, and wouldprobably do more mischief if left to themselves, he reluctantly agreedto act. They were a couple of fools, he thought; and would wing eachother, perhaps; but on any graver contingency the light-hearted Irishmannever reckoned.
"That's all right, McShane," said Claverton. "I shall leave everythingto you, as far as your man is concerned, and if there's any advantage tobe had it shall be yours."
Then they arranged that the affair should come off that same nighttowards ten o'clock, in a lonely glen at a safe distance from the camp,and known to both of them. But, to avoid suspicion, they agreed toleave the camp at different times, and to ride in different directions.
"I tell you what it is, Claverton, this fellow's a damned good shot,"said McShane, as he got up to leave.
"Is he? All the better--for him. But how d'you know?"
"He says so."
"Oh! I see. H'm! Brag's a good dog. He shall have every advantage,as I said before. Well--till this evening."
McShane went out, sorely puzzled, and heartily wishing he was out of it.In a moment of impulsive good-nature he had consented to act forTruscott when mad with rage. That worthy had given his own version ofwhat had occurred, and besought his good offices; and then, being athorough Irishman, there was a subtle spell hanging about a row in anyshape that was altogether too potent for him, and Truscott happened tobe an old schoolfellow of his, though he, McShane, had never liked himmuch, nor did he now. And if he had cherished any hopes of talkingClaverton over, they were scattered now. There was a deadly purpose inthe latter's speech and manner, all the more so because so quiet. No;things must take their chance.
Left to himself, Claverton sat for a few minutes in silent rumination.Then he got up, and, opening a chest, took out a polished wooden caseand unlocked it, disclosing a revolver. It was a beautifully-finishedweapon, small, but carrying a bullet of the regulation calibre, and on asilver plate let into the ebony handle were graven the initials "H.S."
"Poor Spalding!" he murmured. "You were going to cut the knot of yourdifficulties with this little article once, and so am I, but in adifferent way."
He scrutinised the weapon narrowly, clicking the lock two or threetimes, and taking imaginary aim.
The poise was perfect.
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How calm and peaceful rides the silver-wheeled chariot of night! Howtranquil, in their mysterious distance, shine the golden stars, dartinga twinkling glance down into this still, out-of-the-world hollow, wherenot even the chirp of an insect or the rustle of a disturbed leaf breaksthe absolute hush of the night! On the one hand a wall of jagged rockrises to a serrated ridge, standing out sharp and clear; on the other,the sprays of the clustering foliage are photographed in shiningdistinctness. Above, in a towering background, a great mountain peakrears itself, dim and misty, enflooded in the slumbrous moonlight. Ascene of eternal beauty--a holy calm as of another world!
But, lo! Standing within the shade of the thick foliage is the figureof a man--erect, motionless, as though petrified. For nearly an hourhas he maintained his immovable attitude; and now a suspicion of a startruns through his frame. He is listening intently, for the ring of a bitand the tramp of hoofs becomes audible. It is one of those nights whenthe most distant of sounds would seem to be even at one's elbow; and nowthis sound draws nearer and nearer, and, in addition, a word or two insmothered tones. The listener's face wears a ruthless look as twohorsemen enter the glade and, reining in, peer cautiously around.
"Perhaps our valiant friend is going to cry off," sneered one of them.
"Cry off? The divil a bit!" was the reply. "Claverton's all there, Ican tell ye. He'll turn up in a minute."
"Thank you, McShane," struck in a voice, in the same low, cautious tone,as the watcher glided from his concealment.
"Och! there ye are! Now, we'd better get to business at once. First ofall, we'd better lave the horses here close at hand in case we shouldwant them."
This was done, the three steeds being fastened securely to a smallmimosa tree.
"I say, you fellows," said the kindly Irish doctor, "is it determined togo through with it you are? Bedad, and hadn't you better shake hands,and go straight home and have a brew o' punch together? Faith, an' it'sbetter than riddlin' each other with lead."
"My dear McShane, what on earth will you propose next?" said Claverton,while Truscott's face, glowering with rage in the moonlight, was answerenough on his part.
"Ah, well I see it's blood-lettin' ye mane. Now ye'll just both o' yesign this bit o' paper. It's meself that would rather be out of it. Aduel with only one second! Why, it's like an election with only onecandidate--he gets kicked by both sides and thanked by neither, bedad."
The "bit of paper" in question set forth that Dennis McShane acted inthe matter at the joint request of both parties, and it was a precautionwhich he had deemed advisable to take in case the transaction shouldterminate disastrously, or at any future time be brought to light--orboth. Without a word each affixed his signature, and then Dennisproceeded to pace out the ground. The duel was to be fought withsix-shooters, the first three shots at twenty-five, and the rest attwenty paces.
What was it that made Truscott start and turn a shade whiter, and nearlylet his adversary's weapon fall as he took it into his hand to examineit? We have said that it was a beautifully-finished weapon, with asilver plate let into the handle, and on this, standing out distinctlyin the moonlight, were the initials "H.S." And Claverton, narrowlywatching his enemy's countenance, noted this effect and wondered not alittle. These formalities over, the doctor proceeded to reload theweapons, which were both of the same calibre. Then he placed thecombatants, twenty-five paces apart, taking scrupulous care that eachshould enjoy an equal proportion of advantage from the moonlight.
Truscott, to do him justice, was no coward. He had come there fullydetermined to slay his adversary if he could; and as for his own shareof the risk, why, that must be left to the fortune of war. But, whenhis eye fell upon those initials, something very like a shiver ranthrough him. There was something portentous in the sight of this relicof the past rising up as it were in judgment upon him, here in thislonely nook, away at the other side of the world. There was nomistaking the weapon, he knew it only too well, for he had handled itoften. It was the identical one. He would have gone so far as toobject to it; but what valid reason could he give, seeing that in sizeand calibre it was an exact facsimile of his own? No; things must taketheir chance. But he felt greatly unhinged, for all that.
Claverton, on the other hand, was untroubled by any misgiving whatever.
Stay. What is that black object crouching high up on the cliff? It isalive, for it might have been seen to move had the trio beneath beenless intent upon their errand of blood. Only a stray baboon wanderingamong the ledges of the rocks.
"Now," said McShane, withdrawing to a safe distance. "Be careful not tofire till I count three. Every shot must be signalled. Now, are youready?"
No cloud veiled the unbroken calm of the starry heavens. The silvermoon looked silently down, flooding hill and dale in her pale, clearlight, shining like chastened noontide upon that sequestered hollow andthe strip of open glade in the centre, where stood two men pointingtheir weapons at each other's hearts. It will soon shine upon a ghastlystream of ebbing life-blood, crimsoning out upon the dewy turf. One ofthose two men must die here. Which will it be?
"One--Two--Three!"
A double report, but sounding like a single one, so simultaneous is theeffect. A dull, thundrous echo rolls sullenly along the face of theoverhanging cliff. The smoke lifts slowly, and there is a sickly,sulphurous smell mingling with the cool, fresh air. Both men arestanding motionless, waiting for the second signal. As yet both areunhurt; Truscott heard his adversary's ball whiz very close past hisright ear, but his own shot was wider.
Again the signal is given. This time it is Truscott's left ear whichfeels the close proximity of the lead; and but for the fact of his ownbullet ploughing up the ground some forty yards off, he might as wellhave fired with blank cartridge for all the apparent effect. His wrathis terrible, and blazes forth in his livid, distorted countenance andstaring eyes. He can see that the other is a dead shot, and is, as yet,merely playing with him. And mingling with his wrath is a chillingmisgiving; and as he stands fronting his opponent's pitiless eyes, he isalmost unnerved. Fury, hate, and even despair, are stamped upon hisfeatures; the perspiration lies in beads upon his forehead, for he feelsthat opposite to him stands his executioner. Claverton, on the otherhand, is dangerously cool, and his eyes gleam with a deadly purpose. Itis a scene of horror, this drama being enacted in the moonlit glade.
The dark object overhead has disappeared from the cliff.
"Be jabers, but ye'd better knock off now," exclaims the Irishman, ingrave, serious tones. "The shots make the very divil of a row, echoingamong the rocks. We shall have a patrol down on us directly, or a hostof niggurs, an' I don't know which'd be the worst."
"Has he had enough?" asks Claverton, in a cold, contemptuous tone,turning his head slightly towards the speaker.
An imprecation is the only reply the other vouchsafes, and again theyexchange shots. Truscott, who is quite off his head, blinded by hishelpless rage, blazes away wildly. But he feels his adversary's ballgraze his right ear, exactly as the first had done, and his adversary'sface wears a cold, sinister smile.
Three shots have been fired. The next three will be at a shorter range.
"Haven't you two fellows peppered each other enough?" asks McShane."Well, if ye will go on ye must," he adds, receiving no reply. "It's attwenty yards now."
The distance is measured, and again the two men stand facing each other.Claverton, watching his enemy's features, can see them workingstrangely in the moonlight, and knows that he would give all he has inthe world to be safe out of it. In other words, he detects unmistakablesigns of fear; but it does not move him, his determination is fixed. Hewill shoot his adversary dead. He has, as Truscott rightly conjectured,been playing with him hitherto, and also with the desire to allow himevery chance, but the next shot shall tell. He will have no mercy onthis double-dyed traitor, who has sneaked in treacherously in hisabsence, and placed a barrier between him and his love.
No, he will not spare him. This time he will shoot him dead; andTruscott reads his doom in the other's eyes, as once more, with thedistance diminished between them, they stand awaiting the signal.
"One--T--!"
A terrific crash bursts from the brow of the overhanging height, andTruscott, with a spasmodic leap, falls backward, as the red jets offlame issue forth, to the number of a score, from the rifles of theconcealed savages. Claverton feels a hard, numbing knock on the leftshoulder, as he and the doctor rush to the side of the fallen man.
"Truscott, man, where are you hit?" is the letter's hurried inquiry; butas he lifts the other's head he is answered, for it lies a dead weightin his hand. A dark stain is oozing forth upon the moonlit sward,welling from a great jagged wound. The "pot-leg" has gone clean throughTruscott's heart; and now, as McShane lays down his head, the glazedeyes are turned upwards to the sky, and the swarthy face is livid withthe dews of death.
"He's dead as a door-nail, bedad," said the doctor. "And it's ourselvesthat'd better be lavin', and that mighty quick, or we'll get plugged,too." Even while he spoke the leaden messengers were whizzing aboutthem with a vicious "pit--pit!"
Truscott, as he had said, was dead as a door-nail, and it was clearlyuseless to remain. And now came in their foresight in keeping theirhorses close at hand. Loosening the terrified animals, which weresnorting and tagging wildly at their bridles, they mounted and dashedoff at a gallop just as a number of dark forms issued swiftly andstealthily from the bush to cut off their retreat, while the enemy onthe cliff kept up a continuous fire. Two or three assegais were thrownat them; and then the Kafirs, who could now be descried pouring down therocks in swarms, seeing that they were well mounted, and the groundahead was fairly clear, relinquished the pursuit.
"An' didn't I tell ye that we should have the niggurs down upon us?"cried McShane, turning in his saddle to look back at the peril they hadso narrowly escaped. "That poor divil's lost his number anyhow, andit's glory be to the blessed saints that we're not lyin' alongside ofhim."
"I rather think I'm hit, too. My arm feels as if it was going to dropoff," said Claverton, quietly. But he was deadly pale.
"Hit! are ye?" rejoined McShane, with an anxious glance at him. "Well,hold up till we get back to camp. It may not be very bad after all. Isit in the shoulder?"
"Yes, I think it's only a spent ball. The bone isn't touched."
"Faith, and ye'd better have knocked off and come away when I firstspoke. That poor divil would be alive and well now."
Claverton turned to him in amazement.
"My dear McShane, what _do_ you suppose I came out here for to-night?"he said, with a sinister laugh. "Not to play, did you?"
"Well, it's lucky Jack Kafir took the throuble off your hands, me bo
y,or it's on your way to the Orange River ye'd have to be now, and meself,too, likely enough. As it is it'll be murdherin' awkward."
"Why?"
"Well, what possesses three fellows to go riding off into the _veldt_ atnight--eh? An' then when the row ye had this morning comes to lake out,sure won't they be puttin' two and two together, anyway?"
"Nothing can be proved, and if it could, I don't care. Who's to provethat there was any exchange of shots, at all; and there's no mistakeabout that pot-leg that rid the earth of the greatest blackguard it everheld being _not_ a revolver ballet," replied Claverton, in a hard,pitiless tone.
"There's a good deal in that," assented the other.
It was nearly midnight when they reached the camp, and the news spreadlike wildfire that Truscott had been shot by the Kafirs, the other twobarely escaping; and before long some one appended the rider thatClaverton was mortally wounded in trying to rescue him, which reportreaching that worthy's ears, he received it with a sardonic grin, andsaid nothing. And by a curious piece of luck, the row between the twohad not got wind, the spectators of it, terrible gossips by nature,fearing consequences to themselves should it become known that they hadstood calmly looking on while their officer got a thrashing, deemed itwise to hold their peace.
"Half an inch more, me boy, and ye'd likely as not have lost an arm,"said McShane, as he bound up a jagged and furrowed wound just belowClaverton's shoulder. "It's nothing to spake of now, as long as ye keepquiet; but if ye don't thur'll be the divil to pay."
The operation finished the patient turned in, and slept a heavy,dreamless sleep for thirteen hours.
In the morning a party was despatched to bring in Truscott's body. Ittold its own tale; for in addition to being horribly cut about, afterthe time-honoured custom of the noble savage, the wound which had causedhis death gaped wide and ghastly, bearing witness, as his late enemy hadsaid, that it had been inflicted by no revolver bullet, even if the bitof pot-leg, which resembled the slug from an elephant gnu, had not beenfound. Everything belonging to the unfortunate man had been carriedoff--his horse, arms, and ammunition, even most of his clothing--indeed,when the expedition saw the spoors of the Kafirs all about the spot, theonly wonder existing in their minds was that the other two had managedto escape. So far good; and it was not until long after that thefaintest rumour of a duel having taken place began to leak out.
Meanwhile, we will return to another personage whom we have lost sightof for a space, our friend Sharkey, to wit, who, almost immediately uponClaverton's return to camp, had been reported missing, the generalimpression being that he had deserted, and, as men could not be sparedjust then, no search was made for him. But for once that interestingindividual had been maligned. It happened that morning that theattention of a patrol returning to camp was attracted by the sight of acloud of _aasvogels_ hovering above the bush. More of the great carrionbirds rose, flapping their huge white pinions and soaring leisurelyaway, and then the reason of the gathering was made plain. There, inthe long grass, half devoured by these hideous scavengers, lay theremains of the missing man, Vargas Smith, _alias_ Sharkey, _soi-disant_Cuban gentleman, late corporal in Truscott's Levy. Though the body washorribly torn, yet it was evident that the man had met his death from acouple of assegai wounds, one of which must have pierced his heart.
And this is how it came about. When Xuvani, having safely conducted hischarge within the lines of the latter's own people--a service which thepeople aforesaid repaid by opening fire upon both of them, as we haveseen--he disappeared; that is to say, he dodged down behind the bushes,and half running, half crawling, rapidly made good his retreat. And hewould have made it good, but for the fact that one man had caught sightof his manoeuvres and was determined he should not. This was our friendSharkey, who was on the extreme outskirts of the column, and who,anxious to have the fun all to himself, started off at a run to take upa position in a certain narrow place through which he judged--and judgedrightly--that the Kafir would be almost certain to pass; when he couldshoot him at his leisure.
But alas for the uncertainty of human calculations. The ex-cattle-herdof Seringa Vale was far too old a bird to be caught in any such trap asthis--moreover, he had obtained just one glimpse of his enemy runningthrough the bush to waylay him, and his eyes glared as he broke into ashort, silent laugh of contempt. Meanwhile, Sharkey, having ensconcedhimself in a snug corner, waited and listened, gun in hand, ready togive his quarry the contents of a heavy charge of buckshot in the backas he ran past. But somehow the said quarry didn't appear, and thewatcher began to grow uneasy. Slowly and cautiously he put out hishead. Then, immediately above him, sounded a fiendish chuckle whichcurdled his blood, and before he had time to turn, much less bring hisgun to bear, the Kafir sprang upon him like a tiger-cat and, quick aslightning, with two strokes of his powerful arm stabbed him twicethrough the heart. The mulatto fell, stone dead, with scarce a groan,and Xuvani, wrenching off his ammunition-belt and picking up his gun,which lay in the grass, trotted away with a sardonic grin upon hisrugged features. He had done a first-rate stroke of business; slain afoe, and possessed himself of a fairly good fire-arm and someammunition--the acme of a Kafir's desire.
Thus by an unaccountable turn in the wheel of Fate, the two conspiratorsmet their deaths on the same day; and both, moreover, through theindirect agency of the very man against whose life they had conspired.
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When Claverton opened his eyes on awaking from his heavy sleep, they metthose of George Payne, who was sitting opposite him, watching himintently.
"Hallo, George! What brings you up here? Oh-h!"
For he had forgotten his wounded shoulder, and, starting up suddenly onthat elbow, an agonised groan was the result.
"To look after you--and you seem rather to want it," replied the other,gravely.
Claverton lay back for a minute with closed eyes, and in racking pain;for he was more seriously hurt than the good-natured doctor would havehad him believe. No compunction entered his mind as his thoughtsrecurred to the affair of last night. Why should it? he reasoned. Theyhad met in fair fight, and he had certainly given the other everychance. If any one tried to rob him of his life, all the world wouldhold him justified in defending it to the uttermost. This man had triedto rob him of what he valued ten times more than his life, so he hadbeen more than justified in defending that to the uttermost. And theagglomeration of frightful perils through which he had just passed, wereindirectly owing to this man's agency. Moreover, when all was said anddone, _he_ had not shot him. He had intended to, certainly, but theKafirs had saved him the trouble and the risk by shooting him instead,by shooting them both, in fact; for all the world like in the case oftwo small boys indulging in fisticuffs, and a fond parent or sternpreceptor staying hostilities by impartially cuffing the pair of them.And, when viewed in this light, the affair struck him as so comical,that he burst into a laugh.
There was a queer look in Payne's eyes as he rose, and, going outside,intently studied the weather for a moment, apparently, that is, for, inreality, he wanted to make sure of not being heard--and then returned.
"How did the affair go off?" he asked, shortly.
"Haven't you heard?"
"Yes. That Irish fellow told me a yarn about your being attacked; butit won't wash, you know," and he winked.
"Fact--upon my oath!"
"And you didn't do for friend R.T.?"
"Devil a bit! I meant to; but the niggers were too sharp for us. Theywinged me into the bargain, as you see."
"Then _he_ didn't pink you?"
"Confound it, no. The niggers did. It's about the queerest thing, Isuppose, that ever happened."
"It is," assented Payne, lighting his pipe.
Claverton could see that the other only half believed him, but he didn'tcare.
Payne smoked on in silence for a few moments. He appeared to beintently contemplating a chip of wood
which lay on the floor, and whichhe was poking at with a riding-crop. At length he said:
"Have you any idea what brought me here?"
"H'm. A horse, most probably."
"You're a sharp fellow, Arthur Claverton," said Payne, deliberately."Now don't you go and act like a fool. Mark my words. Unless you wantto be the death of a certain young lady--I mean it, mind," and his voicesank to a great seriousness, "for that cursed telegram was nearly thedeath of her--the sooner you get on a horse and go and exhibit yourornamental visage in my town establishment, the better. Now don't be afool--d'you hear?"
The advice seemed needed, for at that moment Claverton gained at a boundthe door of the tent, where he stood bellowing for Sam.
"Blazes! I'm forgetting. He isn't here. What can we do?" he said,helplessly.
"But he is here," was the imperturbable reply, and simultaneously thatfaithful servitor entered, grinning with delight at seeing his masteragain, and firing off a tremendous congratulation in the Zulu tongue.His master cut him ruthlessly short, however.
"Sam, take that bit of paper," tossing him a fragment, on which he hadhastily pencilled a few words, "and ride as if the devil were chevvyingyou, till you pull up at the telegraph office in `King.' Now off yougo. The road's quite safe, isn't it? Can't help it if it isn't. Takemy horse and start at once, and wait there till I join you."
"Yeh bo, 'Nkos!" said the obedient Sam. His heart was in his errand,for he well knew the destination of the message he was to send.
The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier Page 49