CHAPTER NINETEEN.
A FOOTPRINT IN THE SAND.
Reduced to existence in its most primitive state, it followed that themeans of sustaining such existence were perforce primitive, and,foreseeing this, John Ames had managed, during their progress throughthe inhabited districts, to levy upon the grain fields. But althoughthe supply was not yet exhausted, it had to be supplemented. There wasno grain in the mountains, wherefore it became necessary to go out andhunt.
This primitive method of obtaining food was, however, handicapped by twoimportant considerations. First, there was very little game indeed,most of that little consisted of birds--wild guinea-fowl, francolin, anda few partridges--and the hunter, though well set up in rifleammunition, had no shot-gun. Much hard climbing sometimes produced aklip-springer; but this comes under the second of the twoconsiderations, the inexpediency of discharging a firearm lest thereport should reach undesirable ears. Fortunately John Ames, havingbeen raised among natives, was an adept at throwing a kerrie, and withthis primitive weapon was able to keep the larder supplied.
It meant hard work, though. Just as he would be congratulating himselfupon having successfully stalked a troop of guinea-fowl, yet wanting alittle shorter throwing-range, the abominable birds would raise theirgrating cackle of alarm, and, running like spiders through the grass,eventually wing their way to a lofty pile of boulders. Then the stalkhad to be begun over again, involving unwearied patience and a well-nighsuperhuman display of activity; involving, too, a more or less prolongedabsence from camp.
Nidia, left alone during such absences, was obliged to summon all hercourage, all her self-command. For she felt so thoroughly alone. Theconsciousness that no human being was within reach, that she stoodsolitary as she looked forth upon the tossing sea of granite crags andfeathery foliage and frowning piles of rocks towering to the sky likegiants' castles, would get upon her nerves to such an extent that whenher companion was absent longer than usual she would become half franticwith uneasiness and fear. What if he should not come back? What if heshould meet with an accident, a fall, perhaps, and perish miserably inthose grim solitudes, alone, unaided, or, what was much more likely,allow himself to be surprised by the savage enemy? What would become ofher? And then she would take herself to task. Was it only of herselfshe could think at such a time? Had she no thought for him and hissafety? Ah! had she not? She could hardly disguise the truth fromherself. It was of no use to reason that being thrown together she mustperforce make the best of the companionship into which she was thrown.She was face to face with the fact that John Ames was becoming very dearto her indeed.
More and more did each enforced absence emphasise this consciousness.It did not lessen her uneasiness; indeed, if any thing, very much thereverse. But it changed the quality thereof. She thought less and lessof what a mishap involving him would entail upon her, more and more ofwhat it would mean on his account.
And yet this growing consciousness did not give rise to any alterationin their daily relations. Nidia Commerell's character was stamped witha very strong individuality. Prudery was utterly foreign to it, and shecould not for the life of her see any necessity for affecting a reserveshe did not feel, because she had for the first time in her lifediscovered a man possessed of every quality to which she could look up--merely because she and that man happened to be alone together in awilderness, in hiding for their lives. She smiled a little to herselfas she thought of her people in England, and what they would say if theycould see her now. Then she thought of their anxiety on hearing of theoutbreak in Rhodesia, but they would not have time to be anxious beforehearing of her safety. She wondered, too, whether Susie Bateman wasbecoming alarmed about her, and from that she got to thinking, not forthe first time that afternoon, that John Ames was later than usual; and,thus thinking, she rose to look forth.
The sun was dipping to the serrated sky-line, bathing the granite-pilesin a lurid flush. The light had gone off the wide hollow beneath,leaving its broken-up stormy billows cold and grey, and the hush ofevening was in the air. Then a sound fell upon her ear, the sound as ofa stone dislodged by a light footfall. Her pulse beat quicker. It washer companion returning at last.
But the glad smile, which she had prepared to welcome him faded from herlips, and her face grew pale. Down yonder, on the fringe of the acaciagrowth, a figure was standing; but it was not his.
Had the savage enemy found them out at last? Nidia's heart-stringstightened and her blood froze. A further glance served to reassure her,but only partially. The figure was not that of a native, of a savage.But--was it human?
It had vanished--silently, imperceptibly; had vanished as suddenly as ithad appeared, but in that brief moment she had taken in every detail.The figure was that of a European, clad in brown, weather-beatengarments, tall, and wearing a long white beard. But the face. She hadseen it for that moment, turned towards the setting sun, the light fullupon it--full in the eyes--and never before had she beheld so awful anexpression of fiendish hate stamped upon the human countenance. Was ithuman? The face was that of a devil! Nidia felt her flesh creep, andher hair rise, as she called to mind its expression, and all sorts ofweird ideas, begotten of solitude amid vastness, circled through herbrain. Was this frowning wilderness truly a demon-haunted spot, or hadshe seen the spectre of one of her murdered countrymen, who could notrest in his blood-stained grave? But that it could be a human figureshe felt it impossible to believe.
Then another idea struck her. Was it indeed human--one who had escaped,like themselves, only to discover, or perhaps to witness the slaughterof those dear to him, whose brain had been turned thereby, and who, in astate of maniacal fury, was wandering at large? This solution, however,was hardly more palatable than the first. Had it seen her? She thoughtnot; for she had remained perfectly still, true to an oft repeatedinjunction of her companion's, as to the fatal attraction exercisedtowards oneself by any sudden movement, however slight. The sun hadsunk altogether now, and already the very brief twilight was descendingupon the surrounding waste. Would he never return? Nidia's heart waswell-nigh bursting with mingled terror and anxiety. Then it leapt forjoy. A low whistle, a bar or two of a favourite song, a home-comingsignal agreed upon between them, was borne to her ears. She could havelaughed aloud in her delight. She composed both her face and manner tohide from him her terrors, for she had been careful never to let himsuspect the half of what she went through during these protractedabsences. Then his figure appeared striding out from the darkness.
"I've been in luck to-day, Miss Commerell!" he exclaimed gaily, flingingdown a brace of full grown guinea-fowl, "Got them both at one throw,too."
Nidia did not for a moment reply. She was looking up at him with a verysoft and entrancing flush upon her face, and a light in her wide-openedeyes which he never quite remembered ever having seen there before.Then she said slowly, and with the air of one repeating a lesson--
"We have been through a good deal together during the last four days,including one of the narrowest shaves for our lives we can ever possiblyagain experience, and Heaven knows how long we are destined to roam thewilds together; but why not keep the conventional until our return toconventionality? Have I got a good memory, John?"
"Excellent," he answered. "I must try to imitate it."
His tone was even; but Nidia was not deceived. She was as well aware ashe of the thrill that went through his heart on hearing his own words soexactly repeated, and all that they involved, and being so, she admiredhis self-restraint, and appreciated it in proportion to its rarity. Ifhe had begun "to hang out the signals" at one time, he was careful toavoid doing so now. Yet--she knew.
"I'm afraid I'm late," he went on. "I hope you did not begin to getfrightened. The fact is, I had a very long hard scramble after thosewretched birds."
"Yes. Oblige me by putting down that bundle of sticks, and going andsitting over there. _I_ am going to build this fire, not you. Don'tyou hear? Do as you're told," sh
e went on, with a little stamp of herfoot, as he made no movement towards obeying. "You do the outdoor work,I the in. That's fair division of labour."
"I won't hear of any `division of labour,' falling to you," he objected.
"Now, how often have we fought over this already? The only thing weever do fight about, isn't it? Go and sit over there, you poor tiredthing, and--and talk to me."
The while she took the sticks from his hands, looking up into his face,with a merry, defiant expression of command mingled with softness uponhers, that again John Ames came near losing his head. However, heobeyed. It was sheer delight to him to sit there watching her, as shebroke up the sticks and deftly kindled a blaze in the fireplace,securely sheltered by rocks from outside gaze, chatting away the while.The fire was wanted rather for light and cheerfulness than for cookingpurposes, for it was late, and there was sufficient remaining from thelast cooking to make a supper of. While they were discussing this hetold her about his afternoon's doings, and the long and hard scramble hehad been obliged to undertake over two high granite kopjes beforeobtaining his birds. There was smoke visible, far away to thesouth-west, but what it meant was impossible to say. Then she, for herpart, told him what she had seen. He looked surprised, even startled,and the next moment strove to conceal it.
"Are you dead sure your imagination wasn't playing tricks with you,Nidia? When one is alone in a place like this for hours at a time one'simagination will turn anything into shape. I have more than once blazedat a stump in the dusk, when my mind has been running upon bucks."
"But my mind wasn't running upon bucks, nor yet upon tall old men withlong white beards," returned Nidia, sweetly. "But the face! oh, it wastoo awful in its expression. I don't believe the thing was of thisearth."
"I expect it's some one in the same boat as ourselves." And John Ameslighted his pipe--for he had obtained a stock of tobacco from Shiminya'sstore-hut as well as matches--and sat silent. The prospect of fallingin with another fugitive was anything but welcome. It would not evenadd to their safety, rather the reverse, for it was sure to mean twoskippers in one ship. Such a fugitive too, as Nidia had described thisone to look like, would prove anything but an acquisition. But--wasthat all?
No, not quite. He was forced to own to himself that he had no desire tohurry the end of this idyllic and primitive state of existence,certainly not at any price less than Nidia's entire safety. He wouldhave welcomed a strong patrol, though with mingled feelings. Hecertainly would not welcome at all the appearance of a fellow refugee,which would end the idyll, without the compensating element of rescue.
"He had no gun, you say?" he went on.
"No. At least, I don't think so, or I should have seen it. What can ithave been?"
"As I say, some one in the same boat as ourselves. He'll be walking upto our camp directly. And--I would rather he didn't."
"Would you?"
"Wouldn't you?"
Nidia laughed.
"I believe I would. But what if it is some poor wretch who is lost?Oughtn't we to try to help him?"
"At our own risk? Your description of this individual does not make oneprecisely yearn for his society, Nidia. Indeed, I gather from it thatwe should not be at all likely to get on, and I never heard that twoskippers in one ship tended to enhance the safety of that craft. On thewhole, I think we will leave the interesting stranger to his owndevices. If, as you surmise, he really is off his chump, why, for thatvery reason the Matabele won't hurt him, and for the same reason he willbe the reverse of an acquisition to us."
Then they talked on about other things--the times of their firstmeeting, and the Hollingworths, and Bulawayo, and presently Nidia grewsleepy. But, as she lay down, her last thought was a drowsy, halfamused recollection that the apparition of the mysterious strangerseemed to have much the same effect upon her companion as the footprintin the sand had upon Robinson Crusoe.
He, for his part, sat thinking hard, and gradually growing drowsy.Suddenly an idea struck him, an idea that started him wide awake with asmothered whistle, expressive of mingled surprise and dismay. Rising,he took off the blanket which had been wrapped round him, and going overto the sleeping girl spread it softly over her, for there was a chilledge in the atmosphere. Then, taking his rifle and cartridges, he wentto the entrance of the cave, and with his back against the rock,prepared to spend a wakeful and a watchful night.
Now, a seated posture, with one's back against a hard and uneven surfaceof rock, in the open air, and that air with a particularly keen edgeupon it, is not conducive to sleep unless the sitter is there with theobject of being on the watch; which paradoxical deduction may forpresent purposes be sufficient to account for the fact that, as thenight hours followed each other one by one, John Ames began to grow verydrowsy indeed. Still, by reason of his enforced attitude, he could notyield; at least, so he would have said but for the fact that in thatdead dark hour which just precedes dawn he was awakened--yes, awakened--by the weird instinct which warns of a presence, although neither bysight nor sound is that presence suggested. Something brushed past himas he sat there, and with it his ear caught a sound as of a stealthyhuman footfall. He started to his feet. Yes, his gaze was true. Itwas a figure--a tall figure disappearing in the darkness.
"Stand, or I fire!" he called.
But there came no reply.
He stood thus for a moment. There was nothing to be gained bydischarging his piece at a venture in darkness like this. It might beheard anywhere, and furthermore would startle Nidia out of her wits.No, he would not fire.
"Who is it?" he called again, clear but low, so as not to be heard bythe sleeper within.
For answer there came a far away, mocking laugh, harsh and long-drawn.Then silence.
With every drop of blood tingling in his veins, John Ames sprang withinthe cave again, for an awful idea had seized him. This thing must havebeen, right inside their hiding-place. His hand shook so that he couldhardly get out a match and strike it. He bent down over the sleepinggirl. She still slumbered--breathing softly, peacefully, but with browslightly ruffled as though by dreams. He gazed upon her unconsciousface until the match burned out, then turned away, filled withunutterable relief. No harm had happened to her, at any rate.
Then the first grey of dawn lightened upon the mountains.
John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising Page 19
