Chapter Twenty.
Falkner Shows His Hand—And His Teeth.
I put the letter into my pocket, flung on a mackintosh and dived outside again. The rain was still coming down in a steady pour, and the cloud of vapour rising from the horse’s heaving flanks steamed up redly against the firelight. Falkner was in high spirits. A reebok was tied behind his saddle and Jan Boom was carrying the carcase of a klipspringer, and a few unconsidered trifles in the way of partridges.
“You haven’t been out for nothing?” I said, glancing at the spoil.
“Rather not. I’ve had a ripping day of it, but—trot out the grog, old man. Phew! it’s cold. For the last hour I’ve hardly been able to feel my feet in the stirrups.”
“Likely. Here, you’d better tumble into the waggon and get into dry togs. Then we’ll have scoff. By the way, the post has come.”
“Post? See here. Who are you getting at, Glanton? Post!”
“Not at anybody. Here’s a letter, from your aunt I believe.”
“By Jove! I thought you were humbugging. Oh well, that’ll keep—till after scoff at any rate, and I’m starving.”
I had made up my mind to say nothing to him of Aïda Sewin’s letter unless his own communication should contain some reference to it. Soon he was in dry clothes, and the klipspringer was sizzling on the fire, which the boys had managed to shelter ingeniously with the aid of some stones and a bit of old sail. Then, in a trice, the grill being ready, we fell to with a will, seated on the edge of the kartel, our metal plates in our laps, and the rain splashing down upon the waggon tent, while we were warm and dry, if somewhat cramped, within.
“This is jolly and snug, and no mistake,” pronounced Falkner, “and grilled klipspringer makes right radiant scoff. Here, put the bottle across—it’s on your side. And I say, Glanton, I came across a devilish rum thing to-day—a devilish nasty thing. It turned me quite sick, ’pon my word it did. By the way, what were you blazing at soon after we parted? I heard a couple of shots.”
“Oh, it was another klipspringer. But a mere snap, not a fair chance,” I answered, not intending to let him into my secret experience. “What was it you came across?” I went on, feeling rather curious, for he had turned quite serious, as though impressed by some very unpleasant recollection.
“Why! it was about two hours away from here, or might have been rather more—this afternoon just after I’d boned that reebok—a nice clear shot he gave me—a longish one too. Well, away beyond the second line of krantzes over that side, we stumbled suddenly upon a small kraal, where they were none too civil—didn’t seem the least glad to see us, to put it mildly. Well, we didn’t stop, but as we moved on they objected to us going the way we wanted, and in fact the way we eventually came. I rather lost my temper, for they became beastly bumptious, you know, and at one time made as if they’d try to prevent us.”
“You didn’t get punching any of their heads, I hope,” I interrupted, rather sharply.
“No, no. But upon my soul I felt inclined to. First of all they began lying about there being no road there, and so forth, but I knew they were lying, so made up my mind to go that way. Jan Boom didn’t want to either—and those two boys who started with us wouldn’t go any further, said we shouldn’t want them any more, and that we could find our own way back now. Well, I was of the same opinion, so on we came. But at one time I began to think they had been right. It was awful the scramble we had over the rocks and boulders. Jan Boom had turned beastly sulky too, and kept wanting to go back himself, but I’m an obstinate beggar, you know, Glanton, and when once I’ve made up my mind to do a thing I’ll do it—What are you grinning at?”
“Only, if you don’t mind me saying so, you ought to have remained in the service of your country. You’d have made a model leader of a forlorn hope, and, in the fulness of time, a model general.”
“Here, hang your chaff,” he growled, not knowing whether to be pleased or not. “I never quite know whether you mean what you say or are only pulling a fellow’s leg.”
“Well, go on.”
“Jan Boom, I was saying, had got so sulky that I more than threw out a hint I was likely to hammer him if he didn’t think better of it. We at last struck a gully which was rather an improvement on our way so far, but even it was beastly bad. It was a sort of dry watercourse, although if the rain kept on at this rate it would soon be a devilish wet one. Well, there was a path of sorts, though not easy to distinguish; now over the rocks now between them, a gloomy hole, I tell you, and most infernally depressing.”
“How depressing?” I interrupted, for I had never given Falkner Sewin credit for sufficient imagination to feel depressed by such a mere accident as surroundings.
“Well, it was. The cliffs seemed to meet overhead as if they were going to topple down on you, don’t you know, and there wasn’t a sound, except the wind howling round the rocks every now and then like a jolly spook. Then, all of a sudden my horse rucked back at his bridle—we were leading the horses, you know—so suddenly as nearly to pull me on my back—as it was I dropped my pipe on the stones and broke it—and before I had time even to cuss, by George, I saw a sight.
“We had got into a sort of caldron-shaped hollow, something like our waterhole at home would look like, if it was empty, and—by the Lord, Glanton, there, against the rock where the water should have fallen over if there had been any to fall, was the body of a wretched devil of a nigger—spread-eagled upright, and staring at us; in fact literally crucified—for we found that the poor beast was triced up to pegs driven firmly into cracks in the rock. Good Lord! it gave me a turn. In some places the flesh had all fallen away, showing the bones, and what remained was bleached almost white. Here, send the bottle along again. The very recollection turns me sick.”
“How long did he seem to have been there?” I said. “Could you form any idea?”
“Not well. Besides I was in too great a hurry to get away, and so was Jan Boom, I can tell you. What d’you think it meant, Glanton? Mind you, those devils up in the kraal must have known of it, because it occurred to me afterwards that that was their reason for not wanting us to go that way.”
“Very likely. The chap may have been planted there after he was dead, you know,” I answered—not in the least thinking so. “Some peculiar and local form of sepulture.”
“I don’t believe it,” rejoined Falkner quickly. “The expression of the face was that of some poor devil who had come to a most beastly end and knew it—and it haunts me.”
“Well, why didn’t you investigate further, while you were at it?”
“Didn’t feel inclined. But—I’ll tell you what, Glanton, we might go back there to-morrow. I’m sure I could find the way, and at any rate Jan Boom could. Then such an experienced beggar as you could see to the bottom of it perhaps. Eh?”
“I’ve no wish to do anything of the sort, in fact it would have been just as well if you had missed that little find to-day altogether. And I should recommend you to keep your mouth shut about it—to Tom for instance. You may rely upon it Jan Boom will. They have curious customs in these parts, and some of them they don’t in the least like nosed into and talked over. By the way, here’s Mrs Sewin’s letter I was telling you about.”
“By Jove, yes—I forgot. Well, I’ll like to hear something of them at home, if only to help me to forget that beastly thing. Let’s see what the old lady says.”
He read me out bits of the letter as he went on—just ordinary bits of home talk, but there was no word bearing upon the mystery set forth in his cousin’s letter. Suddenly he looked up.
“Hallo Glanton! So Aïda has been favouring you, I find.”
“Yes. A letter from your cousin came at the same time as this.”
“I say though, but you kept it devilish dark,” he said, nastily. In fact, his tone reminded me of the earlier days of our acquaintance.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘devilish dark,’ Sewin, but I’m quite sure I don’t like the expression,” I answered shortly. “Let me remind you however that you’ve ‘had the floor’ ever since you came back, with that yarn of yours. Could I have got in a word edgeways?”
“Well, what news does she give you?” he jerked out, after an interval of silence, during which he had been viciously rapping his pipe against the heel of his boot as he sat.
“Just about the same as what you’ve been reading out to me.”
“That all?”
It was as much as I could do to keep my temper. Falkner’s tone had become about as offensive as he knew how to make it, and that is saying a great deal—this too, apart from the fact that I resented being catechised at all. But I remembered my promise to his cousin not to quarrel with him, and just managed to keep it; only then by making no reply.
There was silence again. By way of relieving it I sung out to Tom to come and take away our plates, and the relics of our meal. Falkner the while was emitting staccato puffs from his newly lighted pipe, and as I settled down to fill mine he suddenly broke forth:
“Look here, Glanton, I’m a plain-speaking sort of chap and accustomed to say what I mean. So we’d better have it out now, once and for all.”
I didn’t affect ignorance of his drift. I merely nodded, and he went on. “Well then, I’ve noticed that you and Aï—my cousin—have been getting uncommon thick of late. I didn’t think much of it, but now, when it comes to her writing to you on the quiet, why I think it’s time to have some say in the matter.”
“In the first place the only persons entitled to have any ‘say in the matter’ as you put it are Major and Mrs Sewin,” I said. “In the next, you should withdraw that expression ‘on the quiet.’ It’s an insult—to your cousin.”
“Oh well, since you put it like that, I withdraw it,” he growled. “But as for—er—the matter in hand, well, I warn you you are poaching on someone else’s preserves.”
“Might I, as a matter of curiosity, ask who the ‘someone else’ may be?” I said, conscious at the same time of a wholly unaccustomed sinking of the heart.
“Certainly, and I’ll tell you. It’s myself.”
“That’s straight anyway,” I rejoined, feeling relieved. “Then I am to understand I must congratulate you—both—on an engagement?”
He started at the word “both.”
“Er—no. Not exactly that. Hang it, Glanton, don’t I put things plain enough? I mean I was first in the field, and it isn’t fair—in fact I consider it beastly dishonourable for you, or any other fellow, to come trying to upset my coach. Now—do you see?”
“I think I understand,” I said, feeling softened towards him. “But as regards myself, first of all you had better be sure you are not assuming too much, in the next place, you are just in the position of anybody else, and can’t set up any such plea as prior rights. See?”
“No, I’ll be hanged if I do,” he snarled. “I’ve told you how things stand, so now you’re warned.”
“I’m not going to quarrel with you,” I answered. “We are all alone here, with no chance of anybody overhearing us or at any rate understanding us if they did. Yet I prefer talking ‘dark’ as the Zulus say. Let’s start fair, d’you hear? Let’s start fair—and—now you’re warned.”
He scowled and made no answer. In fact, he sulked for the rest of the evening—and, to anticipate—long after that.
I went outside before turning in, leaving Falkner in the sulks. The rain had ceased, and bright patches of stars were shining between the parting clouds. The fire had died low, and the conversation of the boys had dropped too. I can always think best out in the open, and now I set myself hard to think over these last developments. By its date the letter must have been nearly a week on the road. Well, there was not time for much to have happened in between. Then what Falkner had just revealed had come to me as something of an eye-opener. I had at first rather suspected him of resenting me as an interloper, but subsequently as I noted the free and easy terms on which he stood with both his cousins—the one equally with the other—the last thing to enter my mind was that he should think seriously of either of them, and that one Aïda. Why, she used to keep him in order and treat him very much as a boy—indeed all her references to him when discussing him with me, even as lately as in the letter I had just received, bore the same elder sisterly tone, and I felt sure that while this held good, Falkner, in entertaining the hopes he had revealed to me, was simply twisting for himself a rope of sand. At the same time I felt sorry for him, and my not unnatural resentment of the very dictatorial tone which he had chosen to adopt towards myself cooled entirely. He was young and so boyish that every allowance must be made. At the same time I envied him his youth. As for me, well I hardly knew, but as my meditations ran on in the stillness and silence of the starlit night, clustering ever around one recollection, well I realised, and not for the first time, that life seemed very much to have been wasted in my case.
The one talent man in the parable recurred to my mind, and I will even own, I hope not irreverently, to a sneaking sympathy for that same poor devil. He might have lost his one talent, or fooled it away, instead of which, he at any rate kept it—and, after all there is a saying that it is more difficult to keep money than to make it. Now it seemed to me that I was very much in the same boat with him. I had kept my talent—so far—and was it even now too late to add to it, but—what the deuce had this got to do with Aïda Sewin, who formed the undercurrent of all the riotous meditations in which I was indulging? Well perhaps it had something.