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Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 10. Sham |
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_ CHAPTER TEN. SHAM The doctor suggested that after such a broken night it would be as well to have an early breakfast before they started. "Yes, capital," cried Mark. "I feel that that is just what I want to put me right." "See to it at once, then, Dan," said the doctor. "Tell some of the men to get you some wood, and I will talk to the bullock drivers. Oh, there are the two keepers. They will help you to get wood and fetch water. Mind they get it from a clear part of the river." "Ay, ay, sir!" said the sailor. "How wonderfully well that poor fellow begins to look," said the doctor. "Yes," replied Sir James, laughing; "and he thoroughly deserves the name of the Handy Mann. He is never happy unless he is doing something-- regularly valeting me and the boys. What do you say to a walk round while they are preparing breakfast?" "I am willing," replied the doctor, "and we will take Denham and his men as we go." They started off, and before they reached the two long spans of oxen where they had been turned to graze, Buck Denham's voice was heard storming at somebody. "Quarrel, seemingly, captain," said Sir James, smiling. "Or a fit of bad temper," said the doctor, "because the big fellow's night, was disturbed. Here, what's the matter, Denham?" he continued, as they reached the shady pasture where the sleek bullocks were knee deep in rich grass, evidently laying in a store for emergencies when fodder might be scarce. "Don't say that any of the cattle have strayed?" "Strayed, sir? Not they! They are all right--eight-and-forty of them. I counted them over twice to make sure, after the night's scare. My bullocks are all right. I only wish I could trust my men as well as I can them." "What has happened, then?" "You ask him, sir," replied Denham, pointing to the miserable looking little Hottentot--"a pretty sort of a half-bred animal! Look at him squatting there grinning like one of them there dog-nosed baboons." "Don't insult the man," said the doctor sharply. "What has he done?" "Man, sir! I don't call him a man," said Buck Denham. "Got nothing to do but a bit of driving now and then and to give a shout at his span, and naturally I trusted him as I was keeping my eye on the oxen to keep his on the two forelopers. I let him do it because he understands their lingo better than I do." "Well?" said the doctor. "What then?" "What then, sir? Here are we just two days out from the town, and he's lost one of them already." "Lost? Nonsense!" "Well, where is he, then, sir? He has gone." "Gone?" "Yes, sir. Sniffed at his job, I suppose, and gone off. I saw him safe enough last night; this morning he is nowhere. My foreloper he was, and now we shall have to stop here three or four days, perhaps a week, while I go back and hunt up another; and I can tell you, sir, they are precious scarce." "That's vexatious," said the doctor. "Don't be put out, Denham, I think I see how it is. The poor fellow was no doubt scared by the alarm of the lion in the night, and very likely we shall see him come creeping in before it is time to start." "Oh, thank you, sir," said the big fellow. "I am very glad you take it so easy. Some gen'lemen would be ready to jump down a poor man's throat for half this." "Indeed!" said the doctor, smiling. "Well, I don't think you will find Sir James and me so unreasonable as to bully a good servant for an unavoidable mishap." "Thank you, sir," said the big fellow, smiling. "That's done me good. I was afraid to meet you this morning, and I hope you are right, because we must have two of us to each waggon, and I don't suppose either of your servants would like to be asked to do such nigger's work. Hadn't I better start back at once and get another? It would save time if I took one of them ponies." Sir James winced as he looked at the big fellow's proportions, and glanced uneasily at the doctor, who said, smiling, "No, we will wait to see if the man turns up, and if not our two boys shall mount the ponies and canter back to the station with a note to Captain Lawton asking him to help us to a fresh foreloper." The man chuckled heartily. "Why do you laugh?" said the doctor. "Do you think the captain cannot be trusted?" "Oh, him, sir," replied the man. "Cap'n Lawton's a regular gen'leman. He'd do anything to serve a fellow-countryman. I was grinning, sir, because you thought I should be too much for the pony. Well, I am a big 'un, out and outer; but I growed so. You are quite right, sir, it would be rather hard on one of the brave little beasts, and I hope that black 'un will show up again, but I'm afraid of it. That lion last night scared him, but he'd be more scared to come and face you gen'lemen again." Meanwhile, Mark had proposed that they should go to look at the spot where he stood to fire at his disturber. This was agreed to, and as they had to pass Dan Mann, Mark put in a word or two about hurrying on the breakfast, and told him to be sure to frizzle the bacon well. "Ay, ay, sir!" cried the little fellow, beaming upon them; and they went on, looked at the ground by daylight, and saw no trace of footprints, only finding the spot where the unpleasant thorn bush had been crushed by Mark's fall. "Yes," said the boy, giving a bit of a writhe and rubbing his back softly, "that's where I went down, sure enough, and I believe I have got another thorn in there now. My word, how stiff my shoulder is! I shan't be in a hurry to fire two barrels of a rifle together again. Yes, I stood just there when I fired, just as the beast had reared himself up--itself, I suppose I ought to say, for I don't know whether it was a cock or a hen--but hallo, where are the ponies?" "Oh, Peter and Bob have taken them down to water, I suppose," said Dean. "That they haven't. There they are, over yonder." "Well, then, Buck Denham must have driven them over there with the bullocks to have a feed before we start." "Let's ask Dan. Here, cooky, where are the ponies?" "Dunno, sir. They were gone when I came to see to the fire. I expect Denham has taken them along with the bullocks." "Come on, Dean. Let's go and see how the little fellows look." The boys hurried amongst the trees to where Denham, the Hottentot and the foreloper were watching the grazing cattle, with the Illaka seated upon a fallen tree nursing his spear and looking on, while in the distance, each with his gun over his arm, they could see Sir James and the doctor, evidently making a circuit of the camp. "Ponies, gen'lemen?" said the big fellow. "No, I ain't seen them; I have been so busy over my bullocks. Somebody must have taken them down to the riverside to get a good feed a-piece of that strong reedy grass that they are so fond of. You will find them down there." "Come along," cried Mark, and the two boys hurried off in the direction of the river, threading their way amongst the trees till they caught sight of the running water sparkling in the rays of the morning sun. "There they are," cried Mark, "munching away and regularly enjoying themselves. Oh, you beauties! But hallo! Who's that chap watching them?" and he drew his cousin's attention to a tall, thin, peculiar looking fellow who was standing close to the water's edge watching the ponies as if to keep them from going farther along the stream. The man turned his head as he heard the boys approach, and then looked back at the ponies and drove one a short distance nearer the camp. "Hullo, you!" cried Mark sharply. "What are you doing here?" The man shrugged his shoulders, and made a comprehensive sign which included the four little animals. "Yes, I see that," said Mark, "but what do you want here?" The man shook his head sadly, and the boys saw that he was very yellow, as if dried in the sun, and had a particularly thin and peculiar face, with two long, pendant, yellowish moustachios which reached far beneath his chin. His beard was closely clipped, and they noted that he held a pair of small scissors, and as he drew back one of his twisted moustachios, he was occupied the while carefully snipping off the greyish stubble that just showed slightly upon his chin. "But how did you come here?" asked Mark. "Walked," said the man sadly. "When?" "Last--night," sighed the stranger, uttering the first word in quite a high-pitched tone, the second sounding almost like a groan. He was very shabbily dressed--just an old flannel shirt and a pair of fustian trousers, while his head was covered by one of the regular, broad-brimmed, flop felt hats so common amongst Englishmen for protection from the sun. "Well, you are a cheerful looking gentleman," thought Mark, and he had hard work on meeting his cousin's eye to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter. Then a sudden thought struck him. "When did you say you came here?" "Last--night?" "What time?" "No watch," said the man. "Quite dark." "But what did you come for?" The man pointed to the ponies, and Mark gazed at his cousin and whispered, "I say, I think I have seen this fellow before." "Hanging about that dealer's yard?" "Yes." "I am sure I did," whispered Dean, as the man turned from them to check the wandering of another of the ponies. "Dean," said Mark, "I have got an idea." "Let's have it." "That chap has come to steal our ponies." "Bother!" cried Dean contemptuously. "When did you say you came?" "Last--night," said the man. "Here, I say, you, sir," cried Mark. "Did you say you came here last night to look after our ponies?" "Yes," said the man, and they saw that he was working with his left hand now, snipping at the stubbly beard with the scissors, while with the other he held his moustache back to keep it from being cut. "Look here," said Mark; "was it you who came close up to me in the dark when I was on the watch?" "Yes," said the man sadly. "Thought you was asleep." "It was lucky for you that I did not shoot you." "Yes," said the man dismally, as he slowly took off his hat and poked one long thin finger through a hole that the boys had not previously noticed, shook his head at it sadly, put his hat on again, and went on snipping as before. "There, Dean! Now, then, was it a false alarm?" "Well, no; but I should never have taken this chap for a lion," replied his cousin. "Here, I say, you, sir, why do you speak as if you were sorry that my cousin did not hit you?" "Wasn't," said the man, mournfully snipping away. "Well, what do you want?" "Breakfast," said the man. "Had none since you come away." "That's cool," said Mark, as he looked at the man suspiciously. "Oh, here come Buck Denham and Dan. They have smelt that something's wrong about the ponies. Here," he continued, turning to the two fresh arrivals, "what are you two laughing at?" "At 'im, sir," whispered Dan, as the oddity moved away after a pony. "Yes, he's rather a rum 'un to look at, gen'lemen," said Buck, in the same low tone. "I have seen him before. Sort of hang-about as has to do with him as sold you those ponies. I think he's a bit touched in his head--dotty, you know." "That's what I think too, gentlemen," whispered Dan. "I have been to 'Stralia--Sydney, you know, where chaps go out shepherding and don't see anything but the woolly ones sometimes for three months together, and I have heard as some of them quite goes off their heads, miserable and lonely like, for they have nobody to talk to but the sheep." "But this isn't Australia," said Mark. "And this fellow hasn't been with sheep," added Dean, "but ponies." "No, sir," said Dan; "but horses do just as well." "That they wouldn't," cried Mark. "A man who had horses with him could make companions of them." "Yes," cried Dean, "and have a good long ride every now and then." "To be sure," added Mark. "A man who had a horse or a dog for companion could not go off his head. Look at Robinson Crusoe; he was jolly enough with a poll parrot." "Oh, yes, sir; but then a poll parrot could talk." "Yes, but he had to teach it first," said Dean. "Yes, sir," said Dan, "but you couldn't teach a sheep. Why, if you had one of them for years you would never get anything out of him but Baa!" "Bah, then, to what you are saying," cried Mark. "Here, I say, you, sir," he cried, looking in an amused way at their visitor, who had finished his clipping, pocketed his scissors, and had taken hold of his moustachios as if they were reins and stroked them down with a twist, looking dolefully at those about him the while; "I'll answer for it that we give you some breakfast, and then you had better be off." The man shook his head. "Eh? What do you mean by that?" said Mark. The man shook his head again and took out his scissors as if about to begin clipping once more, but bethought himself and put them back. Dan chuckled as if he thought it was very good fun, and Buck bent down and whispered something in the little fellow's ear. "Here, what's that?" cried Mark sharply. "He means he's going to stop to dinner, sir." It was said quite in a whisper, but the man proved that he was keen enough of ear. "That's so," he said mournfully, as if the dinner would be a punishment. "What, you mean to stay to dinner?" The man nodded, paused for a few moments, and then with a heavy sigh-- "Yes." "Well, you are a cucumber," said Mark, "upon my word!" "Not in season," said the man. "Cheek!" said Dean laughing. The man looked up sharply. "Bacon," he said sadly; and there was an explosion of laughter. "Bob isn't here; but you are a queer fellow," said Mark. "Yes," said the man; and he looked from one to the other, and sighed again. "Here, I say," continued Mark, "where does it hurt you?" "Hurt me?" replied the man. "Yes. Inside? Are you in pain?" The man shook his head. "My way," he said, and he sighed again. "Well, don't talk like that." "Eh? No," said the man; and he reached out his hand to pass it over the muzzle of one of the ponies that had raised its head from where it had been cropping the green shoots of a dwarf shrub. "The ponies seem to be very good friends with you." "Yes, sir," said Buck; "they follow him like dogs." "Know me," said the man sadly. "Well, you needn't cry about it," said Dean. "Oh, that's it," cried Mark; "I see. Poor chap! He came to see them again, to say good-bye." The man shook his head. "No," he said; "going with them." "Oh, are you?" cried Mark. "I am glad you told me. But somebody else will have a word or two about that." "Who?" said the man. "Why, my father." "But he bought the ponies," said the man. "Yes," cried Mark, "but he didn't buy you." "No," said the man. "Same thing. I belong to them." "I say, Dozey," cried Mark, "you are wide awake enough now: did you ever hear anything like this before." "Never," was the prompt reply. "Ponies no good without me," said the man. "Why?" cried the boys, in a breath. "Won't stop with you. Run back to the town to look for me," he said, speaking with some animation now. "Nonsense!" cried Mark. "We will picket them." The man laughed, and then as Mark tried to frown him down with a very severe look, he put his hand in his pocket, took out his scissors again, and put them back after a snip, and then looked round at his four companions in turn. "See here," he said, thrusting two of his fingers into his mouth as he turned sharply away and started off, going swiftly over the ground and leaping almost like an antelope over every bush that came in his way, while he gave vent to a shrill whistle, which he modulated from time to time. At the first note the ponies raised their heads from where they were cropping the sedge, and at the second, one of the sturdy little fellows uttered a shrill neigh, while at the third note, which turned into a trill, the little animals dashed off at a canter, scattering the sandy earth behind them as they tore after the utterer of the cheery sounds. _ |
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