Chapter Ten.
What Lamont did.
“That is a very great isanusi in there, umfane,” said Lamont, as he splashed his head and face in a large calabash bowl. His travelling companion the while was engaged in his devotions inside the hut.
“A very great isanusi?” echoed the youth, who was Gudhlusa’s son, the same who had attended to their wants the night before. “Ha! Is he as great as Qubani?”
“Yes.”
“Ou!”
Lamont knew perfectly well that the other didn’t believe him, but he was talking with an object. “Can he foretell things?” went on the youth. The while two or three more had sauntered up and were listening interestedly.
Lamont was on the point of answering in the affirmative, when it occurred to him that to do so would be to make a fatal slip in view of what the next day was to bring forth. So he replied—
“He cannot foretell things. He can do them.”
“Hau!” burst forth from the group, and hands were brought to mouths and heads turned aside, expressive of indescribable incredulity. “An isanusi who cannot foretell things! Now, Nkose, what sort of isanusi is that?”
“Nevertheless his múti is great—greater than that of Qubani—in its way.”
“In its way—ah! ah! in its way,” they hummed.
“Talking of Qubani,” replied Lamont. “Now that is an isanusi. I would fain see one like that. But—I suppose he does not live here, son of Gudhlusa.”
“But he is here, Nkose.”
“That is good news, and I have a gift for him. When we have eaten, I will talk with him. When we have eaten, I say.”
The youth grinned, and, taking the hint, walked off, presently to return with some more roasted mealies and tywala.
“You had a good night of it, Father,” said Lamont as they sat discussing this fare. “By Jove! you slept through it all like a humming-top.”
“I believe I did. I was very tired. And you—did you sleep well?”
“Until a whacking big tarantula woke me up by promenading over my ear. I couldn’t get to sleep again all at once after that.”
“That was very unpleasant. Did you kill it?”
“No. It got away into a crack. Daresay it’s there yet.”
“Ah well, I am glad we are not going to sleep in the same hut again to-night.”
Lamont chuckled to himself as he thought of what momentous issues of life and death would hang—were hanging—upon the incident. Looking round upon the great kraal, its dark inhabitants going about their peaceful avocations in the newly risen sun, he could hardly realise that the events of the night had been other than a bad dream. The first thing he had done on coming forth had been to glance eagerly at the ground. No. The hard and parched soil showed no footprints. He had grumbled the previous evening because the storm had brought no rain, but since then he had had abundant reason to be thankful for the fact; otherwise the marks of shod footprints, leading to and from the place of conspiracy, would tell their own tale. He had mentioned nothing to his travelling companion of what had happened—judging it better not. Then, as time wore on, Lamont was getting anxious. They would have to saddle up directly, and the witch-doctor had not appeared. It was absolutely essential that he should be able to identify him; and as yet he was unfamiliar with his outward aspect.
“Nkose!”
He turned at the salute. An elderly, thick-set native had approached, and as he stood, with hand uplifted, Lamont supposed it was one of the plotting chiefs. His head, too, was surmounted by the small Matabele ring.
“I see you, father,” he answered. “Am I speaking to a chief?”
A flash of mirth shot into the other’s eyes, and he simply bubbled with glee.
“A chief! Ha! I am Qubani, Nkose.”
“The great isanusi! Then you are indeed a chief, my father—the chief of all izanusi.”
The other beamed. Then putting forth his hand, he asked for tobacco, which was given him.
The while Lamont was wondering. He had expected to see a lean, crafty, evil-faced Makalaka, instead of which the famed witch-doctor turned out a stout, comfortable, and well-bred looking Matabele; a ringed man withal, and overflowing with good-nature and geniality. And this was the man who was to give the signal for the massacre of a whole township full of Europeans on the morrow. Yes, on the morrow.
It was puzzling. The Abantwana Mlimo—or children of the mystery—its hierarchy to wit, were all, so far as he knew, of the subject race of Makalaka; yet here was a man obviously of pure Zulu descent, and carrying himself with all the natural dignity of that kingly race. Could he be the genuine Qubani? There was absolutely nothing suggestive of the witch-doctor about him.
“This, too, is Umtwana Mlimo?” said the sorcerer, with a good-humouredly quizzical look at Father Mathias.
“Of the Great Great One above—yes,” answered the latter.
“Ou! The Great Great One above! I am a child beside such,” rejoined Qubani. “My father, u’gwai (tobacco) is scarce among us at present,” reaching out his hand.
Laughing, the priest gave him some. Then, as they chatted further, Lamont became impatient, though he did not show it. He had got at all he wanted. He had seen Qubani, and now he wanted to start, and it was with unmitigated relief that he hailed the arrival of Gudhlusa, who came to tell them that Zwabeka was no longer sick and hoped they would not depart without coming to bid him farewell. The chief’s quarters were in a little enclosure apart, right on the opposite side of the kraal. Leading their horses, which they had already saddled up, they accompanied Gudhlusa; the isanusi also falling in with them. Zwabeka was a tall, elderly, rather morose-looking savage; and his tone as he talked with them was dashed with melancholy. The times were bad, he said—yes, very bad. Their cattle were all dying of the pestilence, and such as did not die, the Government had killed. “Where was U’ Dokotela?” (Dr Jameson.)
Now Lamont became wary. It was impossible to suppose that the news of the Raid had not reached these people—for natives have a way of obtaining news, at almost whatever distance, rather quicker than Europeans with all their telegraphic facilities. So he answered that he was away, but would soon be back.
“He should not have gone,” was the chief’s rejoinder. “While U’ Dokotela was in the country it was well. He was our father, but now—whom! Well, the Government is our father instead.”
This, uttered with an air of beautiful resignation, was tickling Lamont to the last degree. But he answered gravely that that was so indeed. Then he announced that they must resume their way, but first he had a gift for the chief—producing a half-sovereign.
“Nkose! Baba!” cried Zwabeka with alacrity, receiving it in both hands, as the way is with natives. “And the white isanusi—is he not my father too?”
“I am a poor man, chief,” answered the priest, mustering his best Sindabele. “Yet—here is something.”
Zwabeka looked at the silver without great enthusiasm, while the bystanders muttered—
“A poor man? Yau! An isanusi a poor man! Mamoi was ever such a thing heard of?”
“It is true amadoda,” said Lamont. “The white isanusi give away all the gifts they receive—and more.”
A ripple of undisguised laughter ran through the group. An isanusi give away all he received, and more! No, that was too much. Lamonti was trying to amuse them.
They bade farewell to the chief, and those present. Outside the enclosure Lamont picked up his gun, which in accordance with native etiquette he had left there, taking care, however, that there were no cartridges in it, in case of accidents. As they mounted their horses at the farther gate, the witch-doctor came running up.
They had forgotten something, he declared. These great ones had forgotten him.
“That is true,” said Lamont, with a laugh, “yet not altogether. I did not want the chief of this kraal to know that I thought the chief of izanusi equal to him by giving him an equal gift. Here it is.”
“Baba, Nkose!” sung out Qubani, turning inquiringly to the other. But Lamont laughed.
“Now nay, Qubani—now nay. Two brethren of the same craft do not take gifts from one another. They take them from those outside.”
The old man chuckled at this, and with sonorous farewells he dropped back.
“I’m afraid that has been rather an expensive visit—for you, Mr Lamont,” said Father Mathias, as they rode along.
“Yes. But I had a reason for it, which may or may not hereinafter appear,” was the somewhat enigmatical reply. And soon they came to the point where their roads separated, Lamont no longer pressing his companion to come on and visit him. In fact he would have been seriously embarrassed had his former invitation been accepted—now in the light of subsequent events. He wanted to act unhampered, and to do that he must be alone. But as they parted he said—
“I don’t want to set up a general scare, but if you were to warn the people at Skrine’s Store, or any other whites you come across, that if they keep their eyes open for the next few weeks, and take care not to run short of cartridges—why, they won’t be doing the wrong thing. You know I’ve always said we should have more trouble up here, and have been jeered at as a funkstick. But I’ve just learnt something that tells me that that trouble is a great deal nearer than we think; in fact, right on us.”
“What? Here—at this kraal we’ve just left?” said the priest, astonished and startled.
“Perhaps. But you’d better not give me as your authority or the silly fools will take no notice of it, and get all their silly throats slit. You can give out that you’ve every reason to know that mischiefs brewing—and by Jove, you have! you may take it from me, Father. Well, good-bye. I’ve been very glad of your company.”
“Indeed, and I have been very glad of yours. I will bear in mind your warning, Mr Lamont, and I hope we may meet again.”
They were to meet again, but under what circumstances either of them little dreamed.
No man living owned a cooler brain and less excitable nature than Piers Lamont, yet as he rode leisurely on he was conscious of an element of excitement entering into his scheme. He alone would avert the impending horror, and the means he had already determined on. That he might fail never entered into his calculations.
But on arrival at his farm, he met with the first check. His spare horse, which he had lent Ancram to ride into Gandela with, was not there. He had sent Zingela in for it before starting on his recent trip. Both should have been back the day before yesterday, but there was no sign of either. This did not look promising. The boy might have taken the horse and gone over to the enemy. There came out to receive him an elderly Matabele, whose business it was to look after the cattle and whom he reckoned trustworthy.
“Zingela should have been back by now, Ujojo,” he said.
The man agreed, suggesting however that perhaps the strange Inkosi might have wanted to use the horse longer. Lamont frowned.
“I want to go into Gandela for the races to-morrow,” he said. “And there isn’t a horse on the place, and this one I’ve just brought in is beginning to go lame. Well, take the saddle off him and give him a good feed, Ujojo. I shall have to ride him, lame and all, if the other doesn’t turn up by this evening.”
Ujojo led the animal away, wondering. Lamont was fidgety about his horses beyond the ordinary, and yet here he was proposing to ride one of them that was lame, and just off a fair journey into the bargain, a distance that would take him the best part of the night to cover. Yet he was totally unsuspicious as to the real motive for such insane behaviour. He concluded his master must be in love with some girl, and would go to any trouble, and make any sacrifice to get to her; as he had seen others do before him. These Amakiwa were an extraordinary race, so clever and so sensible about most things, and yet such very complete fools where their women were concerned; making themselves their servants, and carrying loads for them, and indeed doing konza to them in the most abject way. Whau! he had seen it, he, Ujojo, many times, else had he refused to believe a tale so incredible. And now his master, whom he had reckoned quite above that sort of madness, and had respected accordingly, was going to prove himself after all just as foolish as the rest. Ujojo clicked disgustedly, and spat.
His said master the while had opened the gun-chest—a strong and solid structure, secured in addition by a patent lock—and was loading a magazine rifle to its fullest carrying capacity, slipping several additional cartridges into a coat pocket. Peters was away at Buluwayo, and he had the place to himself. Then, having refreshed the inner man, he lay down for an hour’s snooze—and in truth he needed it, for he had got but little sleep last night, and would get none at all this.
And—the night after?