From Veldt Camp Fires

by H. A. Bryden

But Strangeways was curious; I often think that if he had been less curious he would have been alive at this moment. The third waggon stood about sixty yards away.

“Get my supper ready,” he said, “I’ll be back in a moment,” and walked across to the other camp fire.

I directed his native cook-boy to bring plates and a cup, and have all in readiness for his master’s supper. In less than three minutes Strangeways strode up to the fire again. As he approached, he looked furtively behind him I never saw a man so utterly changed within the space of three short minutes. His face was ghastly pale, he trembled visibly. He said not a single word, but went straight to his horse, which was being off-saddled. He picked up the saddle again, clapped it on the poor tired brute’s back, and to my intense astonishment put his foot in the stirrup and mounted.

“Strangeways,” I said, “what in Heaven’s name are you going to do. Come and sit down and let the nag alone.”

He turned on me a white, terror-stricken face.

“Sh! for God’s sake,” was all he said, under his breath. One glance he threw towards that other camp fire, and then, kicking his horse with the spur, he passed behind our two waggons and rode straight out into the gross darkness of the veldt.

I was so astounded at this extraordinary proceeding, that I confess I let Strangeways ride away without any further protest than the few words I had uttered. I now jumped to my feet and followed in the direction he had taken. I saw and heard nothing. I was about to shout his name, but I had been so impressed with the terror depicted on his face, that I forebore to cry out after him. Somehow, it struck me that he wanted silence. I had always found him a most sensible, level-headed fellow. He had some reason undoubtedly for this sudden fear and strange departure. I waited by the fireside for half an hour, all sorts of doubts and hypotheses thronging my brain. What could it mean? Here was a man, tired, worn-out and hungry, and, above all, desperately thirsty, after a hard day’s hunting and eleven hours spent in the saddle under a burning sun, suddenly flying off from his supper, his rest, and the pleasant camp fire, mounting his tired horse and riding straight out into the veldt with some strong terror gripping at his heart. And such a veldt as it was here. Sheer desert, except for a scanty pit of foul water now and again at long intervals. He could not be mad. He was sane as a judge before he visited the other camp fire; what in God’s name could it mean? I worried my brain for half an hour, and then gave it up. I now roused Strangeways’ pioneer comrade, who had retired early and had been asleep all this time, and talked the thing over with him. We could find no solution.

The other camp fire seemed to contain the only possible explanation of this strange event. We walked across to it. I had previously spoken to these wayfarers, who consisted of a mining engineer and three prospectors. The engineer received us civilly. He inquired in a bantering way after our friend, who, he averred, had come across, stared like a stuck pig for a moment, and then suddenly turned on his heel and vanished. Two of his prospectors, one a Cornishman, the other a Yankee, sat by the fire, smoking. They were decent, quiet, civil-spoken men. The third, an Italian, had, they informed me, turned into his waggon and gone to sleep. We had a quarter of an hour’s chat, and then, finding that we could make nothing of the mystery over here, we went back to our own fire again. We had not thought it necessary to enlighten the mining party as to Strangeways’ sudden departure; nor, indeed, did they manifest any further interest in him. They had caught but a fleeting glimpse of his face, and then, as they said, he had turned and bolted.

Halton, Strangeways’ comrade, and I returned to our camp fire, waited up till eleven o’clock—a late hour for the veldt—and then, seeing that nothing further was to be done that night, we turned in, tired enough, and slept soundly.

I was awake at six next morning. My native boy brought me, as usual, my coffee.