“Chrissie,” he said solemnly. “My blood is turned already. I feel strange in the stomach and in the head since that Judge—” He shook a great fist in the direction of the railway workings. It seemed to her that ever since that morning his hand had strangely increased in size.
“Poppa you are swelling up!” she said in awestruck tones.
“Ja, I am not myself,” he muttered dully. “It is those stink-machines—and that cursed Judge.”
She sighed. It was nearly two months since the final edict had been given against him, yet here was his mind still travelling back and forth on the thing as though it had happened yesterday! The world had stood still for him! She let her gaze follow the same direction as his, putting up her hand to shelter her eyes from the glare. At the camp not more than four hundred yards away the men could be seen moving about. Some trolley loads of machinery had just come in, and the gangers were swarming over them like ants; pulling at and handing down sleepers, rails, and great steel girders. A figure dressed in white ducks came out of a tent and directed the scene. At the sight of his straight back and easy walk a little wave of colour curved into the girl’s cheek. Suddenly as if moved by machinery the red-shirted, grey-legged men all ran together, converging in a cluster about one spot. Some of them stooped down, others leaned over the stoopers to look at what lay on the ground. Chrissie held her breath until she saw the white-clothed man waving the others off. It was one of the red-shirted labourers who lay so still on the ground.
“There has been an accident!” she said aloud, looking at her father.
“There will be many an accident before it is finished,” he muttered darkly. “God is on my side. He will make them pay with blood.”
“Maar, Poppey, it is not the fault of those poor men! They have to earn their living, but,” she expostulated. “Look, they are carrying him to a tent—now they are—” She broke off and stayed watching. It was plain that Braddon was giving certain instructions. He pointed towards the farm, and the men looked that way, but shook their heads and hung back. Then Braddon himself started for the farm with long swinging paces. The colour waned out of Chrissie’s face, leaving her very pale.
“Poppa, the engineer is coming here—you remember him?”
“Ja, I remember the rooi-nek good enough.”
They stayed in silence then, until Braddon reached the stoep. His eyes and Chrissie’s met for a moment as he stood with his hat off, but it was Retief whom he addressed.