A Vendetta of the Desert

by W. C. Scully

The miserable man now became insane in his terror. His only thought was to escape,—to hide from the face of the man he had so greatly wronged. Fear lent wings to his feet and, by the time Stephanus had reached the top of the ridge where the two Hottentots were waiting in their perplexity, Gideon had almost reached his wagon. Stephanus, overjoyed at hearing that his brother was so close at hand, at once mounted his horse and rode forward.

Gideon took refuge in the wagon and laid himself down with his loaded gun in his hand. He had made up his mind as to what he would do in this last emergency:—he would allow his brother to approach and, when he arrived within point-blank distance, would cover him with the gun and bid him stand. Then he would solemnly warn Stephanus not to approach, holding him at parley where he stood. If the warning should be disregarded Gideon determined to shoot his brother dead, but he hoped not to be driven to do this. He would force Stephanus, under the muzzle of the gun, to swear to go back and trouble him no more. He would say:—“Your life is mine, here in this lawless land, to destroy by the mere slight pressure of my finger upon the trigger against which it rests.—It is mine,—forfeit because you have pursued me when I tried my best to avoid you, and driven me to bay.—I give it to you in exchange for the wrong I have done you. Take it and go in peace and I will never cross your path again,—but come one step nearer and you are a dead man with your blood upon your own revengeful soul.”

As the past is said to crowd upon the consciousness of a drowning man so these thoughts, wild and half-unformulated, hurtled against the distracted consciousness of Gideon van der Walt as he lay shaking in the wagon, holding his loaded gun with the muzzle projecting through the slit in the canvas which, he had made with his knife for the purpose. Every few seconds he lifted his head and glanced out with fevered eyes to see whether his enemy were approaching. At length he saw what his eyes had been seeking with expectant dread; riding down the long slope swiftly on a stout pony was a man with a long, snow-white beard, whom he recognised as Stephanus.—But what did this mean? his brother was unarmed.—But perhaps the gun was concealed—slung from the saddle behind as guns were sometimes carried in the hunting-field.—No,—the pony swerved to avoid a shrub,—Stephanus was certainly unarmed.

He was riding in his shirt-sleeves and not even a switch did he carry in his hand. Surely, Gideon thought, the man who was engaged in this implacable pursuit could not expect his enemy to allow him to approach to within gripping distance. No matter,—Gideon would challenge his brother when he came close, and bid him stand if he valued his life.—But would the man who had tenaciously held to a trail across Bushmanland in a black drought stand still when bidden? Gideon felt sure that he would not. Well,—he must shoot,—there was nothing else for it.

As Stephanus came nearer Gideon could see clearly the silvery whiteness of his beard. He thought of the last time his eyes had rested on his brother’s face, when the sentence was pronounced, and that then the beard was as black as the wing of a raven. Then a sudden horror struck him to the heart.—He could not—could not—stain his already guilty hands with this man’s blood, after having ruined his life. The threatened curse of Cain thundered in his ears. With a wild shriek he sprang from the wagon, and fled among the naked, piled-up rocks which formed the base of the hideous mountain at the foot of which his wagon stood.

Unheeding the shout of Stephanus, Gideon sped on, leaping from boulder to boulder in his mad endeavour to avoid the presence of the man against whom he had so terribly sinned. By some curious trick of thought his brother, thus unarmed, was more formidable to his maddened and guilty soul than had he come with a primed and loaded gun. A dread of some such fascination as the snake is said to exercise over his victim possessed him; he felt that once under his brother’s eyes he would be bound and helpless. It was a terrible illustration of the dread which the malefactor sometimes feels towards the one he has wronged.

Stephanus followed steadily, his heart full of its lofty purpose. He knew that his brother could not escape him now,—that the moment he had longed for through the slow years was at hand. Serene in his trust, confident in his faith that Providence was directing his and Gideon’s steps, and that neither could stumble until God’s purpose had been fulfilled, he breasted the steep, rugged incline with a careful and methodical expenditure of energy.

Soon the mountain narrowed to a wedge-shaped slope of an easier gradient, which culminated in a naked peak on each side of which a black gulf yawned. Under this, at a sheer depth which it made the senses dizzy to contemplate, the mighty river, now turbidly brimming from the heavy thunder-rains which had fallen upon its course, rolled down between fringes of tall green timber.

When Gideon saw that he was trapped,—that in front of him and on either hand were perpendicular cliffs, and behind him the brother whose face he dreaded more than the face of Death, such a mighty cry of agony and despair issued from his deep chest that the dead, black chasms seemed for the instant to become peopled with lost souls. Then, nerved with the courage of despair he turned and faced his pursuer.

“Keep back—keep back,” he shouted hoarsely, “or I will shoot you dead and follow you to Hell over the krantz.”