“Have you any idea what brought me here?”
“H’m. A horse, most probably.”
“You’re a sharp fellow, Arthur Claverton,” said Payne, deliberately. “Now don’t you go and act like a fool. Mark my words. Unless you want to be the death of a certain young lady—I mean it, mind,” and his voice sank to a great seriousness, “for that cursed telegram was nearly the death of her—the sooner you get on a horse and go and exhibit your ornamental visage in my town establishment, the better. Now don’t be a fool—d’you hear?”
The advice seemed needed, for at that moment Claverton gained at a bound the door of the tent, where he stood bellowing for Sam.
“Blazes! I’m forgetting. He isn’t here. What can we do?” he said, helplessly.
“But he is here,” was the imperturbable reply, and simultaneously that faithful servitor entered, grinning with delight at seeing his master again, and firing off a tremendous congratulation in the Zulu tongue. His master cut him ruthlessly short, however.
“Sam, take that bit of paper,” tossing him a fragment, on which he had hastily pencilled a few words, “and ride as if the devil were chevvying you, till you pull up at the telegraph office in ‘King.’ Now off you go. The road’s quite safe, isn’t it? Can’t help it if it isn’t. Take my horse and start at once, and wait there till I join you.”
“Yeh bo, ’Nkos!” said the obedient Sam. His heart was in his errand, for he well knew the destination of the message he was to send.