A stranger offered his pot of rum. ‘Here you go. Swig that down, it’ll help steady your legs.’
Dallas very much doubted it but drank anyway. ‘I’ll pay for any damage.’
‘No need. Place gets done over every day. The furniture’s cheap. Something more solid and you’d have been a goner.’
Dallas relished the thought of Mrs Watson’s boarding house and his comfortable bed. ‘We’d best start looking for wagons tomorrow. Any ideas?’
‘Only one place to go. There’s a man in New Germany –’
‘Where?’
‘New Germany. It’s on the Mdloti River. A settlement of Germans. They grow vegetables there.’ Seeing Dallas’s blank expression Will added, ‘Do you know where the main Pinetown road joins the Old Dutch?’
‘North?’
‘No. West.’
‘I’ll find it. How about ten o’clock?’
Will nodded vaguely, he had something else on his mind. ‘Ah, Dallas . . . can ye pay for my drinks?’
‘You’ve just helped yourself to a couple of pounds.’
‘Aye, but I needed that for someone else.’ He shrugged. ‘Bit of bad luck with the cards last night.’
Grudgingly, Dallas obliged.
On his horse and heading back towards the Berea, Dallas was still pondering the wisdom of becoming involved with William Green. The man liked his drink and gambled to such an extent that he was prepared to sacrifice the tools of his trade. And yet, he had defended Dallas rather than run with his money. Dallas checked the money pouch. He’d gone to meet Will with no more than ten pounds on him. A thousand was safely in the bank and the rest was in his locked sea chest. A quick count revealed that Will’s idea of a couple of quid was not the same as his. The man had taken five.
Mrs Watson was demonstrably unimpressed with Dallas. ‘I run a respectable establishment, Mr Granger, and I do not expect my lodgers to behave like common ruffians.’ She sniffed suspiciously. ‘And you’ve been drinking.’
Dallas had a splitting headache and wanted to lie down. ‘I apologise, Mrs Watson. It won’t happen again.’
‘Indeed it will not, Mr Granger. That is if you wish to continue staying here. Just look at you.’
‘It’s worse than it appears. I’ll clean up and –’
‘You have a visitor. He’s in the parlour.’ Mrs Watson sniffed again, turned on her heel and marched away, disapproval in the stamp of each foot.
Logan Burton looked mildly intrigued by the condition Dallas was in but confined comment to a couple of casual observations. ‘Greetings, Granger. Heard you’d moved in here. Just passing. Thought I’d see how you’re getting on. Wouldn’t have picked you for a bar room brawler.’
‘Very funny.’
‘Indeed, from where I sit it’s quite hilarious. You, of course, are free to disagree.’ Burton grinned, curiosity getting the better of him. ‘Did someone throw a train at you, old chap?’
‘Look,’ Dallas said impatiently, ‘as you can see, I’ve had a bad day. If you’d be good enough to state your business I’d appreciate a chance to clean up and rest.’ He crossed to a chair and sank into it, helpless to prevent a soft groan of relief.
The older man rose hastily. ‘This is not a good time. I wanted to talk business. I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘Spit it out, for God’s sake, man.’ Dallas closed his eyes briefly before looking up at Burton. ‘I’m sorry. That was unforgivably rude. Please sit down and tell me why you’re here.’
Logan paced instead. ‘It’s a bit . . . er . . . indelicate, old chap.’
Despite his condition, Dallas realised that the man was embarrassed. ‘Please,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m in no mood for guessing games.’
Logan spread his hands in a helpless gesture before sitting down again. ‘I find myself . . . Ah, well, the truth of the matter is, Granger, I’m looking for a partner.’
Dallas rubbed fingers across his mouth to try to hide the smile that involuntarily appeared. ‘A partner,’ he repeated eventually. ‘I’ve been here six days and already learned that those seeking a joint venture are actually looking to part a fool from his money. How much do you need?’
Burton blinked in surprise at the blunt words. ‘I’m not asking a lot. Just enough to –’
‘How much?’
‘Four hundred pounds.’ The old hunter sounded defiant.
It was Dallas’s turn to blink.
‘I know it sounds like a lot, but –’
Fatigue and pain made Dallas impatient again. ‘What’s in it for me?’
Burton relaxed slightly. The question at least revealed that his request had not been rejected out of hand. ‘The loan repaid twofold in no more than four months.’
An absolute gem of an idea popped into Dallas’s head. Why not? He rubbed his jaw gingerly, making Logan wait. Finally, ‘Tell you what, Burton, I’ll provide the finance if you take me along. You’ll work for me until you can buy out.’
Burton looked angry. ‘Not a chance. I’m going after elephant. It’s dangerous work and hard enough keeping myself alive. There’s no way I’m worrying about your skin as well. You’ll get your money back. My word on it as a gentleman.’
‘Sorry, Burton, but that’s the only deal I’m prepared to discuss.’ Dallas was getting the hang of this. He wasn’t wealthy by any manner of means. But with a little juggling here and there the sums needed by Will Green and Logan Burton could be found, though it would leave him with less than he’d have liked. Tusks were profitable and Will was scared of elephant. Logan Burton wasn’t. With the hunter along they’d need a third wagon. That meant extra trading goods with them and space for more ivory. Bringing Burton in would also reduce any temptation on Will’s part to cut and run. It seemed like a pretty equitable arrangement for all concerned.
After a painfully long silence Burton nodded. ‘Very well, I accept. On one condition, though.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I meant what I said. Hunting elephant is dangerous. You might be paying for this, which means I’m effectively working for you, but when we start hunting, do as I say, no questions asked. Is that understood?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘What are your terms?’
‘You sign a promissory note guaranteeing repayment within a year. I’ll pay you ten shillings a day and twenty-five per cent of the profit.’
‘Gross?’
‘Net.’
Burton shook his shaggy grey head. ‘I’d be taking the risks.’
‘I’m putting up the money.’
‘The danger is considerable.’
‘To me as well. You die, there goes my investment.’
‘Charming!’
‘Take it or –’
‘Yes, I know.’ Burton raised his hands in surrender. ‘Or leave it. I’ll take it but only because I have no option. With luck, I should be able to pay you back after the first trip. After that, I never want to see your cheeky young hide again.’
Dallas grinned then wished he hadn’t. Lips, jaw and forehead objected strenuously. ‘Suits me.’ He hesitated, then went on. ‘There’s just one other thing.’
Burton looked suspicious.
‘I’ve already got another partner. Well, a sort of partner. We’re headed into Zululand in a few days. You’ll have to join us.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Granger, this isn’t a travelling sideshow.’ In the face of an unwavering stare from Dallas, Logan relented. ‘Is he a hunter?’
‘Trader mainly. Shoots for meat and skins but not ivory.’
‘Then let’s keep it that way. Who is this man?’
‘Will Green.’
Logan Burton tipped his head back and roared with laughter.
Dallas waited.
‘Will Green,’ Burton repeated, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. ‘That little runt. I gave you credit for more taste.’ He shook his head. ‘I daresay you’ve struck the same deal with him?’
‘Yes, I have actually.’
‘Is there bad blood between you and Will? The last thing I need is people problems.’
‘Green’s all right, provided you keep him onside. I’ve never had much to do with him. He has a good reputation as a trader, which is more than can be said of his character. He’d take the flowers off your mother’s grave if he thought he could sell them.’ A thought hit Burton suddenly. ‘He’s not responsible for that face of yours, is he?’
Dallas shook his head. ‘Jeremy Hardcastle.’
Burton whistled. ‘I thought the Marie Clare had sailed.’
‘It did. Three days ago.’
‘Watch him,’ Logan said quietly. ‘Pushed too far he can be as dangerous as a cornered rat.’
‘Hardcastle’s behind bars.’
‘Let’s hope he stays there.’ He stood. ‘Right, I’m off. I’d suggest you get some rest.’
Dallas rose. ‘Meet us tomorrow where the Old Dutch Road joins the new one to Pinetown. Ten o’clock. We’re going to New Germany for wagons.’
‘Whose idea was that?’
‘Will suggested it. He recommends something called a Cape wagon. Any problem?’
‘No, they’re the best. Besides, you can’t beat those German craftsmen. You do realise the place is thirty miles from here?’
The information came as no surprise. ‘Will omitted to mention it.’
They shook hands. ‘I’ll be there at ten,’ Logan confirmed. ‘You’ll learn fast enough that Will Green needs to be squeezed pretty hard before he gives out all the information. Have you a bedroll?’
‘Yes, among the bits and pieces that came with Tosca.’
‘Who?’
‘My horse, you haven’t seen her yet.’
‘I can hardly wait. Anyway, bring the bedroll with you tomorrow.’
With Logan gone, Dallas avoided Mrs Watson’s accusing eyes, washing first then going upstairs to rest.
In the morning all three men arrived at the appointed spot within ten minutes of each other.
Will was the last to get there. ‘What’s Burton doing here?’ were his opening words.
‘He’ll be joining us.’ Dallas took in the appearance of his other partner – unshaven, bloodshot eyes, probably slept in his clothes, beard and hair unkempt, hands less than steady. Up close, the lack of personal hygiene was even more unappetisingly apparent than yesterday. ‘Let’s get one thing clear, Will. In your own time you can do as you wish. In mine, please present yourself as well as prevailing conditions may allow. In short, you stink. I, for one, have no intention of suffering that awful odour for one minute more than is absolutely necessary. The first stream we come to you will remove those putrid garments to wash both them and your person.’
Will gaped, and turned to Logan for support.
None was forthcoming. ‘Our young employer is right. I’ve smelled better in a fish market.’
‘That be fine for you and your fancy digs,’ Will complained. ‘Ain’t no such thing as a bath where I stay.’
‘Then I’m sure you must be as anxious as we to rectify the matter,’ Dallas went on smoothly. ‘There’s a good fellow. You’ll feel so much better for it.’
Ignoring further complaint, Dallas remounted and turned Tosca westward. Behind him he heard Logan tell the Yorkshireman to shut up before, with his horse breaking into a fast canter, and the warm rush of air singing in his ears, Dallas gave himself over to the pleasure of the ride.
Reining in an hour or so later near a small tumbling stream, Dallas dismounted and ground-tethered Tosca. ‘Off you go, Will.’
‘What am I supposed to wear? I’ll catch my death.’
‘Go,’ Dallas ordered. ‘Unless you wish Burton and me to forcibly remove your clothes.’
Muttering about crocodiles, Will stepped into the cool water.
‘There won’t be any here, will there, Logan?’ Dallas was suddenly concerned.
‘There isn’t a beast alive who would want him while he smells like that. Besides, crocs like still, muddy water with reeds.’
They watched in amusement as Will hopped on one leg to remove a boot, cast a beseeching look over his shoulder at Dallas, then wobbled some more till the other came off too.
‘Poor devil has no stockings,’ Dallas observed.
‘Probably wouldn’t know where to put them,’ was Logan’s only comment.
Breeches next, under which he wore nothing. His skinny white buttocks and legs looked pathetically undernourished. Will stepped further into the water. ‘Shirt as well, if you please,’ Dallas called.
The bottom was stony and slippery. Naked now, Will found a clear spot to sit and carefully lowered himself into the crystal water. Dallas moved closer and kicked the discarded clothes in as well. ‘We’ve no soap but a good rub should help. Bend your elbow, Will, then toss them to me and I’ll hang them over a bush.’
‘Please, Mr Granger. I’ve got stones halfway up me arse.’
The formal use of his name told Dallas how miserable the man was but he showed no sympathy. ‘Scrub, Will.’ He would have to learn.
‘It’s cold,’ Will whined.
‘Then scrub harder,’ Dallas advised. ‘Wash your hair as well, you’ve got lice.’
Grumbling and swearing, Will washed his clothes and then himself. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’ he complained, when the job was done. ‘Can’t hardly walk around in me birthday suit.’
‘Drip off. Your shirt’s near dry already.’
‘Nearly! I’d like to see you wear wet things. Likely as not I’ll die of the consumption.’ Dallas was aware of Will’s continuing displeasure as he returned to the horses.
‘Puny little bastard,’ Logan grunted. ‘Got a cod like a string bean.’
Dallas ignored the comment and opened his saddlebag. ‘Fancy some bread and cheese, compliments of Mrs Watson?’
Logan licked his lips. ‘Wouldn’t say no, old chap. Haven’t had a bite since yesterday.’
Will, looking ludicrous, his hair and beard straggled and dripping, the still-wet shirt clinging to his bony frame, skinny white legs sticking out beneath, joined them.
‘Some food?’ Dallas asked.
‘Aye. Much obliged.’
Once again, Will’s apparent lack of any grudge impressed Dallas. The man would whine and connive at every opportunity, yet, when faced with a fait accompli, good-naturedly accepted the inevitable and got on with things.
The three chewed in silence which, while not exactly companionable, at least was no great strain.
‘How far to go?’ Dallas asked, brushing crumbs from his shirt.
‘Couple of hours,’ Will told him.
‘I hate to appear pedantic,’ Logan said, ‘but if wagons are available, just how do we get them back to Durban?’
‘With extra horses,’ Will explained, making it sound perfectly obvious. ‘There’s a man in New Germany who breeds trek ponies. They’re all out of salted stock.’
‘Excellent!’ Logan sounded impressed.
Horses! Another little item Will had omitted to mention. ‘Indeed. And what, pray, is a salted horse?’
Logan explained. ‘It’s one that’s been north of the Limpopo River, suffered the tsetse sickness and survived. Not many do. If a horse recovers it seldom gets sick again. Foals born of two salted animals stand the best chance of surviving.’
Tsetse had to be explained too. ‘It’s a fly. Has a bite like a horse fly but carries something called sleeping sickness. If a man gets it he usually dies – just wastes away. Horses and cattle suffer in the same way. Ever heard of nagana?’
Dall
as hadn’t.
‘Same disease, different name. Horses are particularly vulnerable. They develop what looks like a streaming cold. In the end, they choke on their own mucus.’
‘Can’t it be treated?’
Will smirked and Logan shook his head. ‘There are all kinds of crackpot remedies. None has been proved to work. One fellow swore by brushing the inside of his horse’s nostrils with tar. Others use sulphur, mustard poultices, quinine, even gin. More often than not, the poor bloody nag dies from its treatment. No, the best bet is to get your hands on a salted horse.’
‘What about Tosca?’ Dallas hadn’t owned his mount for long but was already impressed by the animal and would have hated something to happen to her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Will soothed. ‘We won’t be in tsetse country on this trip.’
‘Who says?’ Logan demanded. ‘We’ll go where the elephants are. If that takes us north of the Limpopo, then so be it.’
‘I’m not going that far.’
‘You will if it’s necessary,’ Logan told him flatly.
Dallas saw a clash of interests developing.
‘This is a trading expedition,’ Will protested. ‘Not a bloody hunting party.’
‘The best money’s in tusks,’ Logan pointed out.
Dallas cut in before the two were at each other’s throats. ‘We’ll trade and hunt. Get used to the idea, both of you. And here’s something else you might like to think about. I’m relying on the two of you for experience but this is my expedition.’ He treated both to a silencing stare.
‘I’m still not going north of the Limpopo,’ Will muttered stubbornly.
Logan turned away, an exasperated look on his face, then spun back and shouted, ‘Do you know what ivory fetches, you idiotic man? A pound a pound, sir. You would need to trade for bloody months to make that much.’
Will looked set to argue and again, Dallas intervened. ‘For God’s sake, just shut up, both of you.’ He jabbed Will in the chest with a straight finger. ‘We will go where I say or you are on your own. Which is it to be?’ Without waiting for a reply, Dallas looked at Logan. ‘The same applies to you.’ He turned and took several paces away before spinning to face them both. ‘We are three grown men. Any difference of opinion will be sensibly discussed. Is that clear?’
Shadows in the Grass Page 17
