It seemed to these men ages since they had last seen a woman in the flesh,—Kaffir women don’t count; they are not women, merely Kaffirs,—and, with the natural instinct of males of every species, they set about pluming their feathers.
These operations, though speedy as might be, were necessarily prolonged, for most of the men required several buckets of water over the head before they felt fit for such unaccustomed exercises, and they were scarcely finished before the creaking of wheels and the cries of the voorlooper as he urged his oxen announced that the wagon was within earshot. Up it came, the great tilt gleaming white in the moonlight, and every eye was fixed expectantly on the dark chasm within. The driver, puffed up with his own importance, cracked his long whip and deigned not to notice the men whom he usually greeted with a friendly hail, and the Hottentot boy ahead, imitating his master, vouchsafed no explanation. With more deathly slowness than usual did the lumbering vehicle crawl along until the tired cattle pulled up before the door of the American Bar. Then there was a rush and a bit of a scuffle for the honour of handing the woman out. The Cripple was the fortunate man, and, after assisting her to the ground, waved his tattered hat toward the gleaming open doorway. But he did not speak. Words were beyond him. Indeed, the diggers, who were none of them particularly remarkable for taciturnity as a general thing, seemed, with one exception, to be stricken dumb. But the Scholar proved himself equal to the occasion, and with courtly phrase bade the new-comer welcome to the camp. He had always been a popular man among women in his palmier days, though openly holding rather a poor opinion of them; and as the one before him now was neat of speech and comely of form, he was not at all averse to enjoying her society and conversation.
“I should be much obliged if you would direct me to a hotel,” she said, after taking a look around the cheap gaudiness of the saloon.
“I’m sorry to say that we have no hotel here as yet, Miss—er—?”
“Musgrave. Miss Mary Musgrave”—with a little bow. “But I heard that a German had started a hotel here.”
“No; there is nothing but this. That”—pointing to Herr Gustave, who was regarding the newcomer with an evil eye—“that is the German.”
Miss Musgrave appeared distressed.
“Then where can I go?” she asked. “Are there any lodgings to be had?”
“The lady may have my place,” chorused three eager voices, and every man in the room repeated the offer.
She thanked them with a pretty smile and one comprehensive bow, and looked up at the Scholar for help.