Chapter Twenty Eight.
What Jan Boom Told.
It seemed as though I had slept five minutes when I started wide awake, listening. There was a faint sound of scratching upon the window pane. Then it ceased, to be followed by a succession of gentle taps.
Noiselessly I got out of bed, and drawing my revolver from its holster, stood listening once more. There was no mistake about it. Somebody was trying to attract my attention.
Even then—in that tense moment, the drear anguish of yesterday surged like a wave through my mind; but, upon it a gleam of hope. What was this fresh mystery, for, of course, it was in some way connected with the suggestion of tragedy—with the mysterious disappearance of my love?
There were no curtains, only blinds. Softly, noiselessly, I slipped to the window and displaced one of these, just sufficiently to leave a crack to be able to see through. The moon was shining, bright and clear, and all in the front of the house was illuminated almost as though by daylight I made out a dark figure crouching under the window, and held the revolver clenched and ready as I put up the sash.
“Who?” I said, in the Zulu.
“Nkose! It is I—Jan Boom.”
“Yes. And what do you want?”
“Nkose! Try and slip out of the house, unseen I want to talk. But others may be waking too. Do it. It concerns her whom you seek.”
I knew the ways of a native in such a matter, wherefore without hesitation, I put up the window as noiselessly as I could, and was out in a moment. Bearing in mind the strange and mysterious times upon which we had fallen I didn’t leave the weapon behind me in the room either.
“You are alone?” I said.
“I am alone, Nkose. Come round behind the waggon shed—or, better still, into the openness of the bush itself. There can we hold our indaba.”
“Good. Now—lead on.”
As I walked behind the Xosa, I was all aglow with eagerness. What had he discovered—or, had he discovered anything? Could I trust him? I remembered my first dislike of him, and how it had faded. What could he know of this last outrage? What part had he borne in it, if any? And if none, how could he be of any assistance?
“Well, Jan Boom,” I said when we were safe from possible interruption. “You know of course that the man who is the one to enable me to recover the Inkosikazi unharmed, will find himself in possession of sufficient cattle to purchase two new wives, with something to spare?”
“I know it, Nkose, and you—you also know what I said to you when I wanted to remain and work for you,” he answered significantly.
I did remember it. His words came back to me, though I had long since dismissed them from my mind. The plot was thickening.
The Xosa took a long and careful look round, and if my patience was strained to bursting point I knew enough of these people to know that you never get anything out of them by hurrying them. Then he bent his head towards me and whispered:
“If you follow my directions exactly you will recover the Inkosikazi. If not you will never see her again.”
“Never see her again?” I echoed with some idea of gaining time in order to collect myself.
“Has Nyamaki ever been seen again?” said Jan Boom.
“Do you know where she is?”
“I know where she will be to-morrow night.”
To-morrow night! And I had been expecting instant action.
“Look here,” I said, seizing him by the shoulder with a grip that must have hurt. “Has she been injured in any way? Tell me. Has she?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “No—not yet. But—if you fail to find her, and take her from where she is, to-morrow night—she will die, and that not easily.”
This time he did wince under my grip. In my awful agony I seemed hardly to know what I was doing. The whole moonlit scene seemed to be whirling round with me. My love—in peril! in peril of some frightful and agonising form of death! Oh Heaven help me to keep my wits about me! Some such idea must have communicated itself to the Xosa’s mind, for he said:
“Nkose must keep cool. No man can do a difficult thing if his head is not cool.”
Even then I noticed that he was looking at me with wonder tinged with concern. In ordinary matters—and some out of the ordinary—I was among the coolest headed of mortals. Now I seemed quite thrown off my balance. Somehow it never occurred to me to doubt the truth of Jan Boom’s statement.
“Where is this place?” I asked.
“That you will learn to-morrow night, Nkose, for I myself will take you there—if you are cautious. If not—!”
“Look here, Jan Boom. You want to earn the cattle which I shall give as a reward?”
“Cattle are always good to have, Nkose!”
“Well what other motive have you in helping me in this matter? You have not been very long with me, and I cannot recall any special reason why you should serve me outside of ordinary things.”
“Be not too curious, Nkose!” he answered, with a slight smile. “But, whether you fail or succeed to-morrow night, my life will be sought, for it will be known how you came there.”
“Have no fear as to that, Jan Boom, for I will supply you with the means of defending your life six times over—and you, too, come of a warrior race.”
“That is so, Nkose. I am of the Ama Gcaleka. Now talk we of our plan. To-morrow you will return home, starting from here after the sun is at its highest. Up to the time of starting you will help in the search in whatever direction it is made. But if you show any sign or give reason to suspect you know it is all being made in vain, it will mean the failure of our plan, and then—”
“Not on my account shall it fail then,” I said. “Tell me, Jan Boom. Is Ukozi at the back of this?”
“His eyes and ears are everywhere,” was the reply, accompanied by a significant glance around. “When you ride homeward to-morrow, your horse will be very lame.”
“Very lame?” I echoed in astonishment.
“Very lame. You yourself will lame it. So shall Ukozi’s eyes be deceived. For a man who has just returned home does not ride forth immediately on a horse that is very lame.”
I saw his drift—and it was ingenious.
“You will give out that you are tired of a useless search, that you are exhausted and intend to sleep for three days, and you will pretend to have drunk too much of the strong waters. So shall Ukozi’s eyes be deceived.”
“But Jan Boom, you and Tom are the only people on the place,” I urged.
“U’ Tom? Hau! Ukozi’s eyes and ears are everywhere,” was the enigmatical answer.
“And if my horse is lame how shall I use him?”
“You would not use him in any case,” was his answer. “The sound of a horse’s hoof travels far at night, that of a man’s foot, not. We walk.”
“Walk? Why then the place must be quite near.”
“Quite near it is, Iqalaqala,” slipping into rather an unwarrantable familiarity in addressing me by my native name, but this didn’t exercise me you may be sure. “Quite near, but—nowhere near the snake pool. Quite the other way. You will take the nephew of Nyamaki with you.”
“Ah! And—what of Umsindo?”
“Ha! Umsindo? He is a good fighting bull—but then he is a blundering bull. Yet we will take him, for his strength will be useful. For, we will take Ukozi alive.”
“That will not be easy, Jan Boom. And then—just think, how much easier it will be to kill him.”
“Yet we will do it. We will take him alive. You were asking but now, Nkose, what other motive I had in helping you,” he answered, with a dash of significance.
“Ah!”
“So we will take Ukozi alive. Is that to be?”
“Most certainly, if possible. But will it be possible? He is sure to fight. He will have people with him of course.”
“Two, at the most. We had better take them alive too, if we can. It will make things worse for Ukozi. But to no one living save to the two we have named will you by word or hint give knowledge of what I have told you. To do so will mean certain failure.”
I promised.
“Tell me now about this place, Jan Boom, and how you learned of its existence,” I said, for now in my feverish impatience I would rather talk for the remainder of the night than go in to shut myself up with my thoughts throughout its hours of silence.
“I will do better, Nkose, I will show it you,” he answered. “Whau! if we succeed in what we are to do—and we must if the three of you only keep strictly to my directions—why then I may tell you; and with it a tale so strange that you, or other white people, will give it half belief or perhaps not any. Now I must go. There is still some of the night left, and it is important that none should know we have talked or even that I have been away from Isipanga. Return as silently as you came, and to-morrow, well before the sun goes down ride up to the house on a very lame horse.”
“And with the other two?”
“With the other two. Nkose!” With which parting salute he was gone.
I waited a little, listening. No sound disturbed the dead silence save here and there the ordinary voices of the night. Then I regained my room.
Sleep was of course out of the question, and now I set to work deliberately to marshal my thoughts and bring them to bear on the situation. I felt no misgiving as to the Xosa’s good faith—the fact that he had agreed to my being accompanied by two tried and trusted comrades seemed to prove that. Though had he stipulated that I should have gone alone, I should, while prepared for any emergency, unhesitatingly have accepted the conditions. Again, the reward was quite enough to tempt a man of his courage, especially as he came of a totally different race, added to which the corner of curtain which he had just lifted was sufficient to show that he bore a grudge against the witch doctor, not to say a very pretty feud. How and why this should be, passed my understanding, but I knew enough of natives and their ways to know that I didn’t know them, as, indeed, I believe no white man ever really does.
And the motive of this outrage? Clearly, it was due to some dark superstition, as I had suspected from the very first. She had not been injured up till now, would not be unless we failed to arrive in time. There was unspeakable comfort in this, for I felt confident the Xosa was sure of his facts. But what stages of horror and despair must she not have passed through since her mysterious capture? Well the villainous witch doctor should pay a heavy reckoning and those who had helped him; and, thinking of it, I, too, was all eagerness he should be taken alive; for a great many years of hard labour—perhaps with lashes thrown in—which should be his reward, would be a far worse thing to him than a mere swift and easy death.
Then followed a reaction. What if Jan Boom had miscalculated and we arrived too late after all? A cold perspiration poured down me at the thought. “She will die, and that not easily,” had been his words. That pointed to torture—oh good God! My innocent beautiful love! in the power of these fiends, and sacrificed to their hellish superstitions, and I helpless here! I seemed to be going mad.
No. That wouldn’t do. I was letting my imagination run away with me in the silence and the darkness, and above all I wanted cool-headedness and strength. I must make up my mind to believe the Xosa’s word and that all would yet be well. By this time the next night she would be with us again safe and sound.
Then I fell to wondering what sort of hiding-place could be found within a walk—an easy walk apparently—of my dwelling, and it baffled me. I could think of none. Moreover the surroundings had been scoured in search of the missing Hensley, and nothing of the kind had come to light. And then the first signs of dawn began to show, and I felt relieved, for now at any rate, one could be up and doing.