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“Yes. You were talking of Courtland – well, I’m nearly as big a landowner here as the old Squire. Funny, isn’t it? As for being overworked, that comes by fits and starts. Just now there’s nothing much to do but shoot and bury your infected cattle, and watch the remainder die of drought.”
“Phew! I can’t think how you fellows can smoke such stuff as that,” said Ancram disgustedly, as the other started a fresh pipe of Magaliesburg. “The very whiff of it is enough to make one sick.”
“Sorry; you must get used to it though, if you’re going to stop in the country,” rejoined Lamont, unconcernedly blowing out great clouds. “Have another drink? The whiff of that doesn’t make you sick, eh?”
“You’re right there, old chap,” laughed Ancram. “This is a deuced thirsty country of yours, Lamont, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Oh dear, no! Never mind me. It’s all that, even when there isn’t a drought on.”
“Now I could understand a fellow like Peters smoking that stuff,” said Ancram, going back to the question of the tobacco. “But you, who’ve had an opportunity of knowing better – that’s a thing I can hardly take in. By the way, Lamont, while on the subject of Peters, I think he’s too beastly familiar and patronising altogether.”
“Patronising – ’m – yes.”
If Ancram perceived the crispness of the tone, the snap in his host’s eyes, he, thinking the latter was afraid of him, enjoyed being provocative all the more.
“Yes. For instance, I think it infernal cheek a fellow of that sort calling us by our names – without any mister or anything. And the chummy way in which he’s always talking to me. It’s a little too thick. A common chap like that – who murders the Queen’s English. No; I’m getting damn tired of Peters.”
“Quite sure Peters isn’t getting damn tired of you?”
“Eh? Oh come, I say, Lamont! You’re always getting at a fellow, you know.”
Lamont was inwardly raging. He had exaggerated ideas of the obligations of hospitality, and this fellow was his guest – an uninvited one certainly, but still his guest. And he – could he control himself much longer?
“I told you you weren’t in the least cut out for life in this country, Ancram,” he said at last, striving to speak evenly. “For instance, according to its customs even the blasphemy of Peters daring to call you by your name doesn’t justify you in abusing a man who has saved your life; for if it hadn’t been for him you’d be a well-gnawed skeleton in the mopani belt down the Pagadi road this very moment. Wait a bit,” – as the other was about to interrupt. “It may surprise you to hear it – they call this a land of surprises – but there’s no man alive for whom I have a greater regard than I have for Peters. He’s my friend – my friend, you understand – and if you’re so tired of him I can only think of one remedy. I can lend you a horse and a boy to show you the way. There’s a hotel at Gandela. The accommodation there is indifferent, but at any rate you won’t be tired by Peters.”
It was out at last. Ancram had gone too far. Would he take him at his word? thought Lamont, hoping in the affirmative. But before the other could reply one way or the other there was a trampling of hoofs, and a man on horseback came round the corner of the house.
“Hallo, Driffield! Where have you dropped from?” cried Lamont, greeting the new-comer cordially.
“Home. I’m off on a small patrol. Thought, as it was near dinner-time, I’d sponge on you, Lamont. Where’s Peters?”
“Up at his camp. He never comes down till evening. Er – Ancram. This is Driffield, our Native Commissioner. What he don’t know about the guileless savage isn’t worth knowing.”
“Glad to meet you,” said that official as they shook hands. “You needn’t take in everything Lamont says, all the same,” he laughed. “I say, Lamont, it’s a pity Peters isn’t here. I’m always missing the old chap.”
“I’ll send up for him, and he’ll be here in half an hour or so. I’ll see to your horse and start Zingela off at once. But – first of all have a drink. We won’t get dinner for half an hour yet.”
“Thanks, I will,” laughed the new arrival. “Thirsty country this, eh, Mr – ?”
“Ancram,” supplied that worthy. “Thirsty? I believe you. We were talking of that very thing just before you came.”
Two things had struck Ancram – the frank cordiality that seemed to be the predominant note among these dwellers in the wilderness, and that his own opinion of Peters was by no means shared by others. There he had made a faux pas. But he did not intend to take Lamont at his word, all the same; wherefore it was just as well that this new arrival had appeared on the scene when he had.
“What’ll you have, Driffield?” said Lamont, as the four sat down to table a little later – Peters having arrived. “’Tisn’t Hobson’s choice this time – it’s guinea-fowl or goat ribs.”
“The last. They look young. I’ll get enough game on patrol.”
“Going to look in at Zwabeka’s kraal, Driffield?” said Peters presently.
“If I do it’ll be on the way back. I’ve got to meet Ames to-morrow evening at the Umgwane Drift, and settle which the devil of us Tolozi is under. Half his people are in Sikumbutana. Ames is quite welcome to him for me.”
“Nice fellow, Ames,” said Peters.
“Rather. One of the best we’ve got, and one of the smartest. He’s got a ticklish district, too, with the whole of Madula’s and half Zazwe’s people in it. Hard luck to saddle him with Tolozi into the bargain. Yes, Ames is a ripping good chap. Been long in this country, Mr Ancram?”
“Er – no. I’ve only just come.”
“Peters picked him up in the mopani veldt, down Pagadi way, and brought him on,” said Lamont. “He was nearly dead of thirst.”
“And something else” is how the whimsical look which puckered the quaint countenance of Peters might have been interpreted. Driffield whistled.
“You were in luck’s way, Mr Ancram,” he said. “That’s an awful bit of country. More than one man has gone missing there and never been heard of again.” And the whimsicality of Peters’ look was enhanced.
“I suppose you haven’t seen much of the country then?” went on Driffield. “I wonder if you’d care to come along with me now. I could show you a pretty wild slice of it, and any number of Matabele at home, into the bargain.”
“There’s your chance, Ancram,” cried Peters. “By Jove! there’s your chance.”
“I should like it. But – er – is it safe?” replied Ancram, bearing in mind Lamont’s remarks the night of his arrival. Driffield stared, then choked down his efforts not to splutter.
“Safe?” he said. “Well, I’ve got a life to lose, and so has Ames. And we neither of us expect to lose it just yet.”
“Yes; I’d like to come, but – I’ve no horse.”
“Daresay I can lend you one,” said Lamont. “You’ll want a couple of blankets too. How are your donkeys loaded, Driffield?”
“Lightly loaded, so that won’t be in the way. Very well, then. Can you be ready in an hour’s time?”
“Oh, there’s no such hurry, Driffield,” urged Peters. “Now you’ve lugged me away from my millionaire factory, you must make it worth while, and let’s have time for a smoke and a yarn.”
The Native Commissioner agreed to start an hour later; and then there was much chaff at Peters’ expense in his prospecting operations. Then Driffield said —
“You’ll be coming over to the race meeting at Gandela, I suppose, Lamont?”
“Don’t know. When is it?”
“End of week after next.”
“I don’t care much for race meetings.”
“Oh, but there’ll be a regular gymkhana – tent-pegging and all sorts of fun. Oh, and Miss Vidal says you are to be sure and turn up.”
“Oh, get out with you, Driffield, and take that yarn somewhere else.”
“It’s a solemn fact, Lamont. She was booming you no end the other day – saying what a devil of a chap you were, and all that sort of thing. I asked her if I should tell you to roll up at the race meeting, and she answered in that candid, innocent way of hers ‘Of course.’ You can’t stay away after that. Can he, Peters?”
“Not much.”
“Oh well, I’ll go then.”
“You’re in luck’s way, Lamont. Miss Vidal’s far and away the nicest girl anywhere round here.”
“She’s all that, I allow.” But a subtle note in the tone was not lost upon one – and that one Ancram.
“So there is a girl in the case!” pronounced that worthy to himself. “I thought there would be. And he would have cleared me out? Not yet, friend Lamont. Not yet! Not until I’ve turned you to real good, material use.” And he now congratulated himself upon the Native Commissioner’s invitation to join his expedition, for in the course of the same he would contrive to pump that official on the subject of Lamont and his circumstances and standing in the locality, in such wise that it would be hard if he could not turn the knowledge to the account of his own especial advantage.
Chapter Six.
The Desire of Gandela
“What on earth have you been doing to Jim Steele, Clare?” said Mrs Fullerton, as she came into her drawing-room, and sank into a cane chair. “He passed me in the gate looking as black as thunder. He made a lug at his hat, growled like a dog, and was off like a shot. Look! there he goes,” pointing to a fast-receding figure pounding down the strip of dusty road that fronted the straggling line of unpretentious bungalows.
“I only refused him,” was the half-laughing, half-sad reply. “What else was I to do when I don’t care two brass buttons about the man? Really, Lucy, there are drawbacks attendant on life in a country where there are not enough women to go round. He is only the fifth since I’ve been up here.” Even had there been enough women to go round, as the speaker put it, assuredly she herself would not have come in last among them, if there are any powers of attraction in an oval face and straight features, a profusion of golden-brown hair, deep blue Irish eyes thickly fringed with dark lashes, and a mouth of the Cupid-bow order. Add to this a beautifully proportioned figure, rather tall than short, and it is hardly to be wondered that most of the men in the township of Gandela and all the region round about went mad over Clare Vidal. Her married sister, Lucy Fullerton, formed a complete contrast, in that she was short and matronly of build, but she was a bright, pretty, winsome little thing, and correspondingly popular.
“Well, you shouldn’t be so dangerous, you queenly Clare,” she retorted, unpinning her hat and flinging it across the room. “Really it was an act of deadly hostility towards all our good friends to have brought you up here to play football with their hearts and their peace of mind. Not that Jim Steele is any great catch, poor fellow.”
“Oh, he’ll get over it,” said Clare. “They all do.”
From this it must not be imputed to her that she was vain and heartless. For the first, she was wonderfully free from vanity considering her powers of attraction. For the last, her own heart had never been touched, wherefore she was simply unable to understand the feeling in the case of other people, apart from the fact that her words were borne out by the results of her own observation.
“There was Captain Isard,” went on Mrs Fullerton, “and Mr Slark, who they say has good prospects, and will be a baronet at his father’s death. You sent them to the right-about too.”
“For the first – life in the Matabeleland Mounted Police doesn’t strike me as ideal,” laughed Clare. “For the second – fancy going through life labelled Slark. Even, eventually, Lady Slark wouldn’t palliate it. Besides, I don’t care twopence for either.”
“Who do you care twopence for, among all this throwing of handkerchiefs? There’s Mr Lamont – ”
“He never made a fool of himself in that way. He hasn’t got it in him,” struck in Clare, speaking rather more quickly.
Her sister smiled to herself at this kindling of animation.
“Hasn’t got it in him?” she repeated, innocently mischievous. “You mean he’s too great a fool?”
“I mean just the reverse. He’s got too much in him.”
“But – you know, dear, what they say about him – that he’s – er – a bit of a funkstick.”
“Bit of a funkstick! Pooh! Look at his face, Lucy. How can a man with a face like that have an atom of cowardice in his composition? Why, it’s too ridiculous.” And the whole-souled contempt which Clare infused into this vindication would have inspired wild exultation in the breast of any one of her multifold adorers near and far, had it been uttered in his own behalf. Yet her acquaintance with the object thereof was of the slightest. “Well, you know they say that one evening there was a bit of a row on over at the hotel – horrid, quarrelsome, fighting creatures men are – and someone insulted Lamont, or trod on his toes, or something, and, when he objected, the other wanted him to fight; and he quite climbed down.”
“I don’t believe it – or, at any rate, the motive they put upon it,” said Clare decidedly. “People have a way of piling on to their stories in the most recklessly top-heavy manner. In all probability he was more than the other’s match, and kept out of it on that account.”
“You make an effective champion, Clare,” laughed the other, mischievously. “Well I don’t know the ins and outs of it. Dick knows more about it than I do.”
“Oho! What does Dick know more about than you do?” hailed a voice outside the window, and its owner immediately entered, accompanied by another man. “Anyhow, that’s a big bit of news to start with – that Dick should know more about anything under the sun than you do. Here’s Driffield, and he’s going to stay lunch.”
“Dick, don’t be silly. How do you do, Mr Driffield,” greeting the Native Commissioner. “We were talking about Mr Lamont, and what they say about him. Clare says she doesn’t believe a word of it, and I was saying you knew more about it than I do, Dick.”
“Do you mean the breeze at Foster’s?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he did climb down. There’s no doubt about it. And the funny part of it is, that with the gloves on there’s hardly a man anywhere in these parts who can touch him.”
“There you are, Lucy,” cried Clare triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you it was because he was more than the other’s match?”
“Well, it hadn’t got a look that way at the time, and that was what struck everybody who saw it. Certainly it struck me,” replied Fullerton. “But the next time you girls start taking away your neighbours’ characters, don’t do it at the top of your voices with window and door wide open. We could hear you all down the road. Couldn’t we, Driffield?”
“Mr Driffield sets a higher value on his immortal soul than you do on yours, Dick,” retorted Mrs Fullerton loftily. “Consequently he isn’t going to back you in your – ahem! – unveracity.”
“No. But he’s dying of thirst, Lucy. So am I.”
She laughed, and took the hint. Then as the two men put down their glasses, Fullerton went on —
“Talking of the gloves – that reminds me of another time when Lamont climbed down. That time he put on the gloves with Voss. It was a beautiful spar, and really worth seeing. Then, just as the fun was at its height, Lamont suddenly turned quite white – as white as such a swarthy beggar can turn, that is – and chucked up the sponge then and there.”
“Yes. I remember that. It looked rum certainly – but all the same I’ll maintain that Lamont’s no coward. He showed no sign of it in the war of ’93 anyway. If anything rather the reverse.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Clare significantly.
“May have lost his nerve since,” said her brother-in-law, also significantly.
“Well, I like Lamont,” said Driffield decidedly.
“I don’t,” said Fullerton, equally so.
“Mind you, he’s a chap who wants knowing a bit,” went on the Native Commissioner. “Then he’s all right.”
“Is he coming to the race meeting, Mr Driffield?” said Clare.
“Yes. He didn’t intend to, though, until I gave him your message, Miss Vidal. We pointed out to him that he couldn’t stop away after that.”
“Message! But I sent him no message.”
“Oh, Miss Vidal! Come now – think again.”
“Really, Mr Driffield, I ought to be very angry with you for twisting my words like that,” laughed Clare. “But – you mean well, so let it pass. You are forgiven.”
“Talking of Lamont,” struck in Fullerton, who had a wearisome way of harking back to a subject long after everybody else had done with it, “there’s a yarn going about that he had to leave his own neighbourhood in England for showing the white feather. And it looks like it, remembering what a close Johnny he is about himself.”
Driffield looked up quickly.
“I believe I know who put that yarn about,” he said. “Wasn’t it Ancram – that new man who’s putting up at Foster’s?”
“Most likely,” said Fullerton. “I never heard it myself till a day or two ago.”
“Why, what a sweep the fellow must be,” declared Driffield. “Lamont has been putting him up since Peters picked him up in the mopani veldt, nearly dead with thirst. Saved his life, in fact. I know it’s Ancram, because he pitched me the same yarn – of course ‘in strict confidence.’ Confidence indeed!”
“What a cur!” pronounced Clare. “Oh, what a completely loathsome cur!”
“Hear – hear!” ejaculated Driffield.
