by John Harris
He slipped from the saddle and lit a cigarette, then he unhitched the tablecloth and laid it on the ground and began to unknot it.
From the darkness, Instant watched him spread the cloth, wondering what the hell he was up to. Surely the bastard wasn’t going to have a picnic! Then as Fish struck another match, Instant saw he was grinning. From his pocket he took a pair of metal-framed spectacles and put them on to peer at something in the centre of the cloth, which he carefully scooped up and dropped into a small leather bag.
Frowning and more puzzled than ever, Instant watched as he stuffed the bag into his trouser pocket. It seemed to be time to interfere. He drew a deep breath, but as he slowly drew his rifle forward he heard the thud of another horse’s hooves. It wasn’t far away, hardly heard on the breeze from the north, but Instant could tell it was coming fast. Fish heard the sound at the same time and turned, listening, then he screwed the tablecloth into a ball and flung it away into the shadows. It landed close to Instant.
Grabbing for the horse, Fish tried to swing his leg into the saddle but he had made the tired animal nervous by his quick movements and, as it backed away, it was a moment or two before he managed to hoist himself up. At that moment, the second horse appeared. It was coming at a gallop and the rider was shouting.
‘Stop! Stop or I fire!’
Because of the bend of the road, Wooden had missed the performance with the tablecloth but now, as Fish’s horse moved forward, he spotted him over the bushes. Almost immediately, he also saw Mace.
‘Two of ’em!’ he said.
As Fish managed to swing the excited horse in the direction of Standerton, Mace arrived alongside him and grabbed him by the shoulder, a great surge of triumph sweeping over him. He had often sworn to lay his hands on the man who had lifted the stolen pay from Southey’s cart so many months before, and it so happened that of the three of them Fish had been the one who had actually done the work. But Mace had also sworn – although by this time it had slipped his memory – that he would fulfil his promise if it were the last thing he did. And it was. Or almost.
Fish was heaving at his gun. Mace was only a couple of feet away and at that range even he couldn’t miss. But the troublesome holster had slid round the back of his waist and he groaned aloud.
‘Goddam the sonofabitching gun!’ he roared.
They were the last words he spoke.
As Fish’s horse shied at its infuriated rider’s yell, Mace dragged at his own revolver – just as Instant appeared from the shadows to block Fish’s escape.
Down the road, Wooden was peering at the jostling horses in the starlight. ‘Three of the shockers,’ he roared, delighted to have something to vent his spleen on at last. ‘It’s them!’
His shot didn’t go within a mile of the struggling riders but, put on edge by his tales of bloodthirsty Boers, his men let go, too. As the ragged volley rang out, Instant had actually got a hand on Fish’s bridle but, at the roar of musketry, he decided that the middle of the road was no place for him and dived from the saddle into the shadows. When the echoes had stopped clattering across the veldt he looked up and spat out the grit and flecks of grass that filled his mouth. The three horses had disappeared into the trees and were standing near him, snorting nervously. In the faint light he could see the two men who a moment before had been struggling together in their saddles lying flat on their backs, their faces turned upwards to the stars.
‘Christ!’ he said.
Down the road, Wooden’s squad was peering anxiously into the darkness. Horses and riders appeared to have vanished behind the rocks.
‘Think we got ’em?’ Someone asked.
‘Nah! Missed!’
‘What do we do, Corp?’
‘Better wait a bit.’ Wooden’s mind churned turgidly. ‘You’re not getting me down there yet. They might be waiting behind them rocks to knock us off.’
The road was silent now, and there was no sign of movement as Instant edged cautiously out of the trees and struck a match. Fish, whom he recognised at once, was lying on his back with a bullet between the eyes. He was stone dead.
‘Well, that’s one of ’em,’ he said with satisfaction. Turning to Mace, he saw his eyes were closed, his limbs decently composed and still, and a trickle of blood was coming from under his hair.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Poor old Macey!’
It was as he was still kneeling alongside Mace that he heard the thud of fresh hooves along the road. The approaching riders were coming from Winifred, still a fair way off but coming fast, and he supposed when they arrived they’d have an explanation for all the strange events of the night.
He was just on the point of yelling for Wooden when he remembered the little performance with the tablecloth and he turned again to Fish. Pushing a hand into his trouser pocket, he drew out the small leather bag. It felt fat and full in his hand and, instinctively, he knew what it contained.
‘Jesus,’ he breathed again in awed tones. ‘Jesus God Christ Almighty!’
Wooden had finally decided to risk it, and he and his men were standing over the motionless figures in the road when Willie and the Tiger appeared.
Wooden’s rifle jerked up. ‘’Oo the shockin’ hell are you?’ he demanded. ‘Friend or foe?’
‘Always friends with a feller with a gun,’ Willie said. ‘What happened?’
Wooden jerked a hand at the two limp figures on the ground. ‘Them pay robbers,’ he said.
Willie glanced at the Tiger and Wooden went on importantly.
‘I knew ’em,’ he said. ‘I was escort when it ’appened. Saw ’em clear as the nose on yer shockin’ face and Sergeant Instant said we ’ad to shoot. We shockin’ shot.’
Willie slipped from the saddle and struck a match. Fish’s dead face stared up at him. His hand was still on the handle of the gun and the gun was still jammed in the holster. Alongside him lay a pair of bent spectacles.
Willie handed the spectacles to the Tiger without speaking and took off his hat. ‘Straight between the eyes,’ he said at last. He indicated the gun. ‘Wouldn’t come out,’ he added.
‘Who’s the other chap?’ the Tiger asked.
Willie struck another match and held it up. Wooden’s jaw dropped. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he said. ‘We’ve killed the captain!’
‘It’s that feller.’ The Tiger jabbed with an elbow. ‘Javert.’
There was a thin streak of blood on Mace’s face and Willie put a hand inside his shirt. He frowned.
‘Ticker’s still going,’ he said. ‘Strike another light.’
There appeared to be nothing wrong with Mace and it was some time before the Tiger found the thin score-mark of the bullet along his skull.
‘You nearly scalped him,’ he said to Wooden.
Wooden frowned. He was worried by this time. ‘I didn’t know it was ‘im,’ he whined. ‘Where’s the sergeant?’
His men, equally bewildered by Instant’s non-appearance, looked at each other and one of them vanished into the trees, calling. A moment later he returned carrying a screwed-up tablecloth.
‘I found this,’ he said.
Willie and the Tiger took in the entrancing situation at a glance. They both knew exactly what it meant.
‘Ought to search this chap,’ Willie suggested thoughtfully. ‘Might have something on him to identify him.’
Wooden was too worried to object and, bending over the lifeless body of Adolphus C Fish, Willie began to go through his pockets. It wasn’t very difficult. There were only cigarettes, matches, a penknife, a spectacle case, a handkerchief, a half-sovereign, a few small coins – and a railway ticket to Cape Town.
‘Why Cape Town?’ Willie’s voice was puzzled. ‘That wasn’t in the plan.’
He slipped the half-sovereign and the other coins into his pocket and stared at the ground around him. ‘What happened to the diamonds?’ he whispered.
They were still trying to puzzle it out when they heard the sound of another horse’s hooves. At fir
st they seemed to be disappearing in the direction of Standerton, then, as they listened again, they decided they were wrong. They were approaching from the direction of Winifred. As the horse reined in, Wooden moved forward, shoving his rifle into the chest of the newcomer.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
Southey, being Southey, wasn’t intimidated by Wooden. He thrust the rifle aside with a peremptory gesture.
‘Don’t talk bloody silly,’ he said.
He dismounted and, walking to the silent shape of Mace, struck a match. The face seemed familiar but it wasn’t black and he didn’t waste time on it. Turning to Fish, he held the match up again. He didn’t recognise Fish either and he, too, wasn’t black.
‘Who’s this?’ he demanded.
‘Shock knows,’ Wooden said gloomily.
Southey frowned. Somehow, despite the colour of his skin, he knew that the man lying at his feet was involved with his diamonds and, kneeling alongside him, he started to go through his pockets.
‘You won’t find nothing,’ Wooden announced. ‘Them other two fellers looked.’
Southey straightened up, a new fear gnawing at his vitals. He stared round him. There was no sign of Willie and the Tiger.
‘Which other two fellers?’ he said.
Wooden stared about him. ‘They was ’ere a minute ago,’ he said. ‘I expect they done a shockin’ bunk.’
Southey drew a deep shuddering painful breath. He was beginning to feel ill. He didn’t know what had happened but somehow the black waiter who had robbed him of his diamonds had passed them to the dead man at his feet who had now been robbed by two other men. It was too confused to make sense but it seemed to indicate calamity.
It was while he was still trying to get used to the fact that his diamonds had gone for good that Berkeley arrived with a sergeant and three men.
‘What the hell happened?’ he demanded, staring down at Mace.
‘We shot the captain,’ Wooden said.
Berkeley turned to Fish. ‘Who’s this?’
‘God knows,’ Southey said between his teeth.
Berkeley rounded on him at once. ‘So it’s you, is it?’ he said. ‘And what might I ask are you doing here?’
Southey thought quickly. ‘On me way to Standerton to catch the train,’ he said. ‘It goes south to Cape Town. I was going south.’
‘You sure?’
Southey seemed to swell visibly. ‘I don’t think I like you, young man,’ he said.
Berkeley glared back at him. ‘Can’t say I fancy you much,’ he retorted. He stared hard at Southey, more than ever certain there had been diamonds, then he jerked a hand at the silent shape of Fish. ‘Who shot him?’ he demanded.
‘We did,’ Wooden said proudly. ‘We shot ’em both.’
One of his men stepped forward, holding the tablecloth. ‘’E must ’ave ’ad this with him,’ he said. He gave a little nervous laugh. ‘’E brought it a long way to empty the crumbs, din’t ’e?’
Berkeley snatched at the cloth then he jerked a hand at Wooden. ‘Bring that lamp down,’ he said.
In the yellow glow they peered at Fish’s face, then Berkeley ran a finger inside Fish’s ear and lifted it. Its tip was black.
‘Greasepaint,’ he said.
Southey gave a little moaning cry but Berkeley didn’t hear him. He was occupied with his own bitter thoughts. He bent over Fish and feverishly began to go through his pockets. Wooden moved forward.
‘Nothing in ’em,’ he said. ‘They went through ’em.’
‘Who went through ’em?’
‘Them other two fellers.’
‘Which other two fellers?’
‘I don’t know which other two fellers.’ Wooden’s voice was becoming aggrieved and sullen. ‘They just came. Now they’ve gone.’
Berkeley straightened up quickly. ‘Where to?’
‘I dunno! They went through his pockets.’ Wooden jerked a hand at Southey. ‘’E did, too! Nobody found nothing.’
Watching from the shadows Willie studied the scene. Their horses still stood in the road where they’d left them. He nudged the Tiger. ‘Think we can walk to Standerton?’ he whispered.
‘It’s a long way,’ the Tiger pointed out.
‘Well, if we don’t they’re going to start looking for us soon.’
The Tiger indicated the horses belonging to Fish and Mace nearby among the trees nearby cropping at the grass. ‘Why can’t we use them?’ he said.
‘They’d hear us and follow.’ There was a pause then Willie’s teeth flashed in the dark. ‘Of course they would,’ he said. ‘Grab a stick.’
Mace had sat up at last, groaning and fingering his head.
‘That silly bastard of yours said you’d got shot,’ Berkeley announced.
‘I think I did,’ Mace groaned.
‘I didn’t know it was you, sir,’ Wooden explained sullenly.
There was a moment’s pause as Mace’s hand stopped moving then his head lifted slowly. ‘Was it you?’ he asked quietly.
‘Well, sir, it was like this…’
Berkeley jumped as Mace came violently to life. ‘God damn and blast you to everlasting bloody eternity, Wooden!’ he screeched. ‘I’ll have you crucified for this!’
It took Berkeley and his men several minutes to quieten him down. Wooden had backed away hurriedly and Mace was glaring after him as though he’d lost his senses, his mind full of imagined mayhem with Wooden’s lifeless corpse joining Fish’s in the dust. Finally, bitterly, unwillingly, he adjusted his thoughts of murder to simpler military punishments like the wheel or a lifetime in the glasshouse.
‘Where’s Instant?’ he grated.
Wooden coughed uneasily. ‘Well, there’s that, too,’ he said. ‘He’s disappeared.’
They were still arguing the matter over when the silence of the veldt was shattered by the sudden clatter of horses’ hooves. It came from the trees, thunderous in the stillness, as the two horses blundered through the undergrowth, and Berkeley whirled.
‘There they go!’ he yelled. ‘The swine were hiding!’ He jerked a hand at his sergeant. ‘After them, man!’
They could just see the horses disappearing into the darkness towards Winifred as Berkeley’s men ran for their mounts and clattered away after them.
‘Are they the chaps I was after?’ Mace asked wearily.
‘Shouldn’t be surprised,’ Berkeley said. ‘How about that one?’ He indicated Fish. ‘Is he one?’
Mace peered down, squinting under his headache.
‘That’s one of them,’ he said.
‘Well, that must be the other two,’ Berkeley said, indicating the direction the horses had taken. ‘I’ll get after them. I expect the swine have got my diamonds.’
As he clattered off, Mace stood holding his head. He had failed again and he allowed himself the luxury of self-sympathy. He’d get the blame, he supposed. History always remembered the half-wits who got themselves heroically dead and forgot the hard-working unknowns who’d suffered for their glory at places like Trafalgar and Waterloo. He gazed at Fish’s corpse, feeling he had committed the ultimate act of perfidy by dying and cheating him of his triumph. He indicated the body. ‘Get this chap on a horse,’ he said to Wooden.
Grumbling to himself, Wooden gestured at the men about him and they hoisted Fish’s body over the saddle of Willie’s horse.
‘We’ll take him back to Winifred,’ Mace said. ‘At least we’ve got one of the swine.’
He hoisted himself wearily into the saddle of the Tiger’s mount. Something had been achieved but it was a poor result for eighteen months’ hard work, especially with Instant lying dead somewhere among the trees, probably also with a bullet through the brain.
Southey, too, had climbed to the saddle by this time. ‘Twice they did it to me,’ he said. He sighed. ‘I’ll be on my way.’
Mace was recovering a little by this time and as his head cleared, the heavy voice rang a chord in his brain. He struck a match and h
eld it up between them. Again Southey was struck by the familiarity of Mace’s haggard features but he hadn’t looked at him long enough on that occasion over a year ago for them to register properly.
Not so Mace. Southey’s face was burned on his brain like Fish’s, Smiling Willie’s and the Tiger’s, as one of the architects of his misfortune. After nearly eighteen months of hatred and blame he felt as if he would burst, and as the valve went off the rage came out like steam.
‘You damned old fool!’ he screamed, dragging at his revolver. ‘You stay where you bloody well are! If you move just one blasted inch out of line I’ll blow your stupid brains out from between your ears!’
Eight
As the little cavalcade plodded off at last in awe-struck silence, Willie turned to the Tiger.
‘Didn’t seem to like the feller, did he?’ he said.
The faintest glimmer of dawn was appearing in the sky by this time and the empty plain was just beginning to come to life, like a huge drowsy beast, its deep distances broken by taibosch and prickly pear and clumps of aloe thrusting upwards like bayonets. Already a gleam of saffron and red was edging the violet kopjes and above their heads the first sunshine touched a cloud and picked it out. The sky began to brighten quickly. It was Christmas Day.
Willie stepped from the trees on to the road. The dust that Mace’s party made still hung in the air. ‘Just in time,’ he said.
‘Just in time for what?’ the Tiger asked, blinking.
‘Need a bit of daylight.’ Willie gestured. ‘To find the diamonds. Ought to be around here somewhere.’
The Tiger shook his head. In the distance he could hear the faint shriek of an engine whistle. He wondered if it was the night down-train from Johannesburg and Standerton to Cape Town passing through Chichester Junction.
‘They’re not here,’ he said.
Willie turned and stared at him, his blue eyes wide. ‘They’re not?’
‘No.’
