The Gold Kloof

by H. A. Bryden

"My dear Uncle Charles," interrupted Guy eagerly, "please don't talk like that. What should I have done without you? You have fitted out the expedition, planned the whole thing, brought me here, shown me how to find the stuff--done everything, in fact. I know my father said something in his last letter about our going halves, but that is manifestly unfair to you, who have had the whole weight of this discovery on your shoulders. If you like to let me stand in to the extent of, say, one-third of the plunder, I shall be more than well content. Even a quarter, or less, would satisfy me well."

"My dear Guy," answered his uncle, "you are talking rank nonsense, and I can't listen to you. What I propose is this. You shall take two-thirds of the value of the gold, if and when we manage to get to Cape Town, or some other market. And, mind you, we haven't by any means marketed our stuff yet. Of the remaining one-third, I think Tom, for all his trouble, ought to have a share, say a quarter--or say £5,000--with which he can make a real good start in farming some day, and build himself a house. I think such a settlement ought to content us all."

"No, no, no, uncle!" broke in Guy. "I will never agree to any such absurd division. You have done everything for me, and practically carried me here and found the gold for me. Where on earth should I have been without you?"

After a good deal more discussion, Guy remained quite unconvinced by the quiet but weighty arguments of his uncle. Finally it was agreed between them that the arrangement ought to be as Guy's father had proposed, and that the gold should be divided equally between them. Then came the remuneration of the men. Poeskop, questioned as to what he would like to have as his reward for showing the way to the kloof, replied that he did not know--he would leave it to his masters. Perhaps enough money to buy a horse, a new rifle, and ten head of cattle would be about the mark. This, of course, his masters put aside as inadequate. Although the gold was of little use to him--in all these years he had never attempted to win or dispose of it--it was but fair that he should be well paid for his secret. He had expressed a wish to return to Bechuanaland with his new baases. It was arranged that the sum of £1,000 should be put at his disposal, so soon as the gold was realized. With this he could buy some land, stock it, and have enough over to purchase a wagon. As for the rest of the men, Mr. Blakeney and the boys agreed that a hundred pounds apiece, in addition to the wages paid to them during the expedition, would be handsome remuneration for their services.

For the next few days, then, the four diggers, having descended once more into the kloof, were working away industriously, picking, and digging, and washing. They had skimmed most of the cream from the rich treasure of the valley, and the gold they now won had to be sought deeper and required much more labour. Still it was there, and their operations unearthed some wonderfully rich nuggets, weighing pounds instead of ounces. They felt, one and all, absolutely at peace in their pursuit. They had defeated their enemies, slain and wounded some, and driven off the remainder, and were now free from the long anxiety which had pursued them during their journey from the coast. The shadowers had vanished, and now not a cloud appeared in the sky of their prosperity. So thought all of them; all, that is, except Poeskop, whose mind oftentimes ran on recent events. Somehow the Bushman had always regretted that he had not traced Karl Engelbrecht farther afield in his flight. He knew Karl well--too well; he knew his savage and vengeful nature; and he could somehow never quite venture to assure himself that the man and his evil plottings were for ever done with. This feeling grew upon him, and on the fifth evening of their sojourn in the kloof it had overmastered him to such an extent that he begged his young baas and Mr. Blakeney to let him climb the ladder and spend a day in scouting about the surrounding country.

"Why," said Guy, with a smile, as they sat at supper that evening, "what can you possibly want to go spying again for? Our troubles from that quarter are all at an end. Engelbrecht and his friends had such a dose of it that they will never want to tackle us again. You're getting fanciful, Poeskop!"

"Ja, Baas Guy," returned the Bushman, with a grin; "I am fanciful. I always have been since I lived naked in the veldt and dug for roots. And my fancy now is that I should like to climb the ladder to-night, and go beyond the camp and have a look round. I feel restless, shut up here, and I want a change."

"But you can't climb to-night, Poeskop?" argued Mr. Blakeney. "I don't want to stop your going. I daresay it will do you good to have a day off and prowl around. But you had better wait till morning."

"Nie, baas," persisted the little man, "I think I will go to-night. There will be a young moon coming up directly, and I see well enough. I could climb that ladder, mind you, baas, if the night were as dark as pitch."

So Poeskop had his way, and presently, taking his carbine on his back, went silently to the ladder, and climbed away into the dim heights above them, with steps so secret and so stealthy that the watchers below heard and saw absolutely nothing. The Bushman disappeared into the night, vanishing up the cliff face very much as a bat vanishes into the dark spaces in which it loves to make its flight.