“Who the hell are you, sir?” he exclaimed, in a loud, arrogant tone. “Better be a little more civil, I can tell you!”
“Oh, you know me well enough,” was the answer. “Well enough to estimate me at the value of about one hundred pounds. Not very much, is it?” Truscott turned ashy white.
“Bah?” he cried, insultingly. “I think I do, and I think I know where the shoe pinches. Now be advised, my good fellow, and cry off that bargain. It isn’t for you, I tell you. I was in the field long before you were; I’m in it now, and in it I intend to remain—by God!”
There was a quick, panther-like movement, a spring, and a half-smothered imprecation, and Truscott staggered back half-a-dozen paces, reeling beneath two straight-out hits from Claverton’s clenched fists. With an awful execration, something between a yell and the roar of a wild animal, he recovered himself, and, with his livid features working violently, dashed at his assailant. He was the taller and heavier man of the two, as well as the stronger, but he had lived hard, whereas the other was in splendid order—quick, supple, keen of eye, and dangerously cool, notwithstanding his deadly wrath. Half blinded by his own rage, like an infuriated bull, Truscott rushed upon his adversary, drawing, as he did so, his revolver from the holster hung upon his side. But before he could bring it to bear it was struck violently from his grasp, with a blow of the heavy Kafir stick, and, quick as lightning, that terrible “one—two,” straight from the shoulder, met him in his onward rush, and this time stretched him, half stunned, upon the ground.
“Coward, as well as liar, thief, and murderer!” exclaimed Claverton, his voice shaking with suppressed fury, as he thought of all the ruin wrought by his foe’s unscrupulous malice. “I suppose even you would like to settle this as soon as possible. You know where to find me. I’ll be ready at any time.”
“Shoot him. Do you hear? Shoot him down! Fifty pounds to the man who shoots him dead!” foamed Truscott, raising himself, half-dazed, upon his elbow. “Do you hear, men, God damn you, or are you all in a state of mutiny?”
Claverton laughed coldly.
“I don’t imagine any of them will lay themselves out to earn the money,” he said. “They are not quite such fools as their leader. But I repeat, Captain Truscott, that you will know where to find me, unless you prefer to let well alone, that is, and console yourself with thinking over the thrashing you’ve just had.”
“Wait, my fine fellow,” replied the other, between his set teeth. “I’ll riddle that carcase of yours for this morning’s business. I used to be able to shoot pretty straight, I can tell you.”
“Yes? Glad to hear it. We’ll have some tall practice presently. Till then—so long!” and, with a mocking nod, Claverton turned and walked away in the direction of the camp, while the Hottentots, who had stood aloof, awe-stricken witnesses of this unexpected and stirring incident, hastened to raise their discomfited chief. Their sympathies, however, were all with the enemy; for Truscott, since he had had the command of Claverton’s old corps, had rendered himself exceedingly unpopular—as much so, in fact, as its former leader had been the reverse; and now—though by reason of their ignorance of the English tongue they failed to understand what the row had been about—they mightily but secretly rejoiced over its issue.