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Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 41. "A Bit Off His Head" |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY ONE. "A BIT OFF HIS HEAD" But it was not all over. When sense and feeling began to resume their seats, Mark was lying in the forest shade, dimly conscious that the sun's rays were striking horizontally through the dark, misty shadows of some place that he had never seen before. A dull, heavy pain seemed to be pressing his head into the earth, and a sickening feeling of confusion troubled him which seemed to take the shape of one of the glorious golden rays of the sun darting and piercing him through the shoulder with the agonising pangs that accompanied fire. Then in his throbbing head there was a question that kept on repeating itself--that cry he had last heard as of someone calling piteously, something about his father, and who could it be? This went on and on for what seemed to be an endless time, and he could make out nothing else, till someone spoke in a deep, gruff voice, and said, "Yes, my lad, it is a very bad job, and I say, thank my stars I hadn't the watch." "Ay, messmate, and I say the same. The cooking was more in my way." "Buck--Dan Mann," thought Mark, for he recognised the voices; but he could not make out why it was he was lying there, nor whose father it was somebody had been calling to. He tried to think, but the more he tried to make out what it all meant the greater grew the confusion, and at last he felt too weary to try, or the power to continue the effort failed, for he lay quite still in a stupor. When his senses began to return again the sun had attacked--or so it seemed--his other side. There was a peculiar gnawing in his shoulder, and now and then a stinging pain as from a red hot ray, and while he was trying to puzzle it out, a hand was gently laid upon his forehead, where his head was most charged with pain, and he made a feeble effort to turn where he lay upon his back. "Who's that?" he said. "Oh, Mark! Mark!" came in a familiar voice; and that voice seemed to give back the power to think. "You, Dean! What does it all mean?" "Oh, don't you know?" Mark was silent, for like a flash came the recollection of what had passed--his going to seek his cousin, his sitting asleep, and the big Illaka standing close by in possession of the watcher's rifle, doing the duty that had been neglected. "I was beginning to be afraid that I should never hear you speak again, and you mustn't speak much, I'm sure, while you are so dreadfully weak. But I must talk to you a little. You do feel a little better now?" "Better? No." "Oh, Mark, old fellow, don't say that!" "I'm wounded, am I not?" "Oh, yes, dreadfully; and I have been in despair. I couldn't have borne it, but Buck kept giving me hope. There were days, though, and nights, when you hardly seemed to breathe." "Days and nights!" whispered Mark. "What do you mean? Wasn't it yesterday? Or was it to-day, just before dawn?" "Oh, Mark! Mark! It was weeks ago!" Mark was silent for a few minutes, as he lay thinking. "Weeks!" he said, at last, and he lay perfectly silent. "Where are we now?" "Right away in the wilds somewhere, where our friends brought us after they carried us off that night. I have hardly thought of that--only of you." "Our friends!" said Mark, at last. "Who are our friends?" "Buck and Dan and the two blacks." "Buck and Dan!" almost whispered Mark. "I heard them talking, and thought it was a little while ago." Strangely wild thoughts were running now through Dean's brain. His cousin had been so long in that dreadful stupor, insensible even to the touch of those who had dressed his wounds and cooled his burning brain by applications to the spot where a blow from a club had struck him down. Was this the poor fellow's senses returning for a short time, before--? "I can't bear it," whispered Dean to himself. "Speak to me again just this once, Mark," he said aloud, "and then I want you to sleep. Both Buck and Dan say that sleep is the best thing for you now. I want you to tell me that you will get better." Mark made no answer. He was thinking. It was coming back more and more. "Oh, I know you are badly hurt," said Dean, at last. "I know how awful it all is, but Mark--Mark, old chap, don't--don't say anything to me; only tell me you are going to be better!" "I can't speak. I can't think. Don't talk to me. Go away." Dean uttered a groan of misery, and rising slowly he left his cousin to begin fighting once more against the confusion that oppressed his brain. And now as the poor fellow lay seeming to go backward into what was like so much mental darkness, he heard the gruff voices of the two men talking, and then his cousin's words sounding as if in appeal, while soon after Mark opened his eyes to find that somebody was leaning over him. But the sun had set, and it was growing too dark now for him to make out who it was. Then he knew. "Asleep, Mr Mark, sir?" "No, Dan. What does it all mean? Is it fever?--No, no, don't speak. I remember now. Hasn't there been a big fight?" "Yes, sir; horrid." "Did you get hurt?" "A bit pricked, sir." "With a spear?" said Mark sharply. "Yes, sir. One of the black thieves made a job at me." "But you are not hurt much?" "Quite enough, sir. But a hurt soon heals up. I want to know about you, sir." "Yes, yes; but tell me--what about Buck Denham?" "Got enough, sir, to make him horrid wild. But he don't mind much." "Ah!" said Mark quietly, as he fought hard with the difficulty of thinking. "Has the doctor seen him?" "No, sir," said the man hesitatingly. "But he ought to see him," continued Mark, "and you too. He knows so much about that sort of thing. Why doesn't he come and see me? There! There's that pain back again, as if I was burnt." "Yes, sir; it is nasty, of course. I have done all I knowed to it." "Thank you, Dan. What is it?" "Spear, sir. But it's quite clean; I saw to that. It's your head's the worst." "Yes," sighed Mark. "It's my head's the worst. Well, now go and tell the doctor to come." Dan was silent. "Did you hear what I said?" "Yes, sir," said the man, "but hadn't you better try and go to sleep?" "I have been trying for hours, Dan--ever since I lay down; and then as I couldn't I got out of the waggon and came to have a chat with you; and then--it wasn't you, because it was--because it was--is that you, Dan?" "Yes, my dear lad; it's me. What is it you want?" "I don't know, Dan, only I feel as if I couldn't think and talk properly. Who's that?" "Buck Denham, my lad. How goes it?" said the big fellow. "I don't know, Buck, only that--oh, Dan said that you got hurt with a spear." "Oh, yes, my lad; a bit of a dig--made me so wild I brought the butt of my rifle down on that nigger's head, and it was too dark to see, but I felt him roll over, and I trod on him." "Look here--look here, Buck; I'm hurt." "Yes, my lad; but just you lie quiet and try to sleep it off." "Now you are talking the same. I want the doctor to come and see to Dan; and you had better let him see to you too. I say, Buck, whose father was it somebody was asking for?" "Whose father, my lad?" "Yes. I was lying in the dark, and I heard somebody call out for him." "Here, I say, Dan, lad, what's to be done?" said the big driver, in a soft, deep growl. "Don't he know?" "No," said Dan quietly. "A bit off his head still." "What's that you are saying?" said Mark sharply. "What is it I don't know? Well--why don't you speak?" "Don't--don't talk so much, my lad," said Buck softly. "You are a bit off your head from that club." "Yes--yes--oh, I understand; you are trying to make me not think about it. Ah, I can think better now. Where's my father?" Neither of the men replied. "Yes, I do understand more now. I know, Buck, you are keeping something from me. Don't say my father's hurt!" The boy waited for the answer that did not come. "Then he is!" he cried excitedly. "And Dr Robertson?" Still there was no reply. "Ah, you won't tell me! Call my cousin--no," added the boy sharply, "don't--pray don't. Speak to me yourselves; I can bear anything now." "You had better tell him, Dan, lad. He must know." "Can't, messmate," came in a hoarse whisper. "You are a bigger chap than me; you tell him, for you are about right: he ought to know." "Yes, I ought to know, Buck," said the boy softly, and he winced with agony as he tried to raise his left hand, but let it fall directly and caught at the big fellow's wrist with his right. "Now tell me, or tell me if I am right, for I can think now--that cloud has gone. The blacks attacked us last night?" "Ay, my lad. They stole a march on us." "And my father?" "I dunno, my lad," said Buck hoarsely. "The doctor, then?" "Nay, Mr Mark, sir; it was all so dark, and such rough work, that I heard him shouting to us to come on, and that was all." "Well, is Dunn Brown here?" "Nay, my lad. He turned tail and left us in the lurch." "Oh!" groaned Mark. "But Peter and Bob Bacon?" "They fought like men, sir, and I hope we all did; but they were too much for us, and if it hadn't been for our two black fellows I don't believe Dan and me would have got you two young gents out of it." "Ah, then," cried Mark, "you got us away?" "That's right, sir; but it was close work, and it was big Mak kept the brutes off while Dan carried you, and I got Mr Dean up on my back while the little Pig showed us the way through the darkness." "Then--then--" cried Mark passionately. "You--two--two strong men came away and left my father and the doctor in the hands of those wretches! Oh, cowards! Cowards! Cowards! How could you! How could you! How--" The boy fainted. _ |
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