“‘The boy!’ he gasped; ‘the boy! Is he dead?’
“I severed the lashings of the mat that had cut right into the old fellow’s shoulders. Inside of it was little Sinala, spluttering out water, but very evidently alive and unhurt, for presently he set up a yell.
“‘No,’ I said, ‘he lives, and will live.’
“‘Then all is well, Macumazahn.’ (A pause.) ‘It was a spy in the bush, not a buck. He overheard our talk. The King’s slayers came. Gita held the door of the hut while I took the child, cut a hole through the straw with my assegai, and crept out at the back. She was full of spears before she died, but I got away with the boy. Till your Kaffirs found me I lay hid in the bush, hoping to escape to Natal. Then I ran for the river, and saw you on the farther bank. I might have got away, but that child is heavy.’ (A pause.) ‘Give him food, Macumazahn, he must be hungry.’ (A pause.) ‘Farewell. That was a good saying of yours—the swift runner is outrun at last. Ah! yet I did not run in vain.’ (Another pause, the last.) Then he lifted himself upon one arm and with the other saluted, first the boy Sinala and next me, muttering, ‘Remember your promise, Macumazahn.’
“That is how Magepa the Buck died. I never saw anyone carrying weight who could run quite so well as he,” and Quatermain turned his head away as though the memory of this incident affected him somewhat.
“What became of the child Sinala?” I asked presently.
“Oh! I sent him to an institution in Natal, and afterwards was able to get some of his property back for him. I believe that he is being trained as an interpreter.”
THE BLUE CURTAINS
CHAPTER I
In his regiment familiarly they called him “Bottles,” nobody quite knew why. It was, however, rumoured that he had been called “Bottles” at Harrow on account of the shape of his nose. Not that his nose was particularly like a bottle, but at the end of it was round and large and thick. In reality, however, the sobriquet was more ancient than that, for it had belonged to the hero of this story from babyhood. Now, when a man has a nickname, it generally implies two things: first, that he is good-tempered, and, secondly, that he is a good fellow. Bottles, alias John George Peritt, of a regiment it is unnecessary to name, amply justified both these definitions, for a kindlier-tempered or better fellow never breathed. But unless a thick round nose, a pair of small light-coloured eyes, set under bushy brows, and a large but not badly shaped mouth can be said to constitute beauty, he was not beautiful. On the other hand, however, he was big and well-formed, and a pleasant-mannered if a rather silent companion.