Jess

  It was near midnight when Frank Muller drew rein at a wretched andlonely mud hut built on the banks of the Vaal, and flanked by an equallymiserable shed. The place was silent as the grave; not even a dogbarked.

  "That beast of a Kafir is not here," he said aloud, "I will have himflogged to death. Hendrik! Hendrik!"

  As he called, a form rose up at his very feet, causing the weary horseto start back so violently that he almost threw his rider to the ground.

  "What in the name of the devil are you?" almost shrieked Frank Muller,whose nerves, indeed, were in no condition to bear fresh shocks.

  "It is I, Baas," said the form, at the same time throwing off agrey blanket in which it was enveloped, and revealing the villainouscountenance of the one-eyed witch-doctor, who had taken the letter toBessie. For years this man had been Muller's body-servant, who followedhim about like a shadow.

  "Curse you, you dog! What do you mean by hiding up like that? It is oneof your infernal tricks; be careful"--tapping his pistol case--"or Ishall one day put an end to you and your witchcraft together."

  "I am very sorry, Baas," said the man in a whine, "but half an hourago I heard you coming. I don't know what is the matter with the airto-night, but it sounded as though twenty people were galloping afteryou. I could hear them all quite clearly; first the big black horse, andthen all those that followed, just as though they were hunting you. SoI came out and lay down to listen, and it was not till you were quiteclose that one by one the others stopped. Perhaps it was the devils whogalloped."

  "Damn you, stop that wizard's talk," said Muller, his teeth chatteringwith fear and agitation. "Take the horse, groom and feed him well; hehas galloped far, and we start at dawn. Stop, tell me, where are thelights and the brandy? If you have drunk the brandy I will flog you."

  "They are on the shelf to the left as you go in, Baas, and there isflesh too, and bread."

  Muller swung himself from the saddle and entered the hut, pushingopen the cranky, broken-hinged door with a kick. He found the box ofTandstickor matches, and, after one or two attempts--due chiefly to hisshaking hand--succeeded in striking fire and lighting a coarse dip suchas the Boers make out of mutton fat. Near the candle were a bottle ofpeach brandy two thirds full, a tin pannikin and a jug of river water.Seizing the pannikin, he half filled it with spirit, added a littlewater, and drank off the mixture. Then he took the meat and bread fromthe same shelf, and, cutting some of each with his clasp-knife, triedto eat. But he could not swallow much, and soon gave up the attempt,consoling himself instead with the brandy.

  "Bah!" he said, "the stuff tastes like hell fire;" and he filled hispipe and sat smoking.

  Presently Hendrik came in to say that the horse was eating well, andturned to go out again, when his master beckoned him to stop. The manwas surprised, for generally his master was not fond of his society,except when he wanted to consult him or persuade him to exercise hispretended art of divination. The truth was, however, that at the momentFrank Muller would have been glad to consort with a dog. The events ofthe night had brought this terrible man, steeped in iniquity from hisyouth up, down to the level of a child frightened at the dark. For awhile he sat in silence, the Kafir squatting on the ground at his feet.Presently, however, the doses of powerful spirit took effect on him,and he began to talk more unguardedly than was his custom, even with hisblack "familiar" Hendrik.

  "How long have you been here?" he asked of his retainer.

  "About four days, Baas."

  "Did you take my letter to _Oom_ Croft's?"

  "Yah, Baas. I gave it to the missie."

  "What did she do?"

  "She read it, and then stood like this, holding on to the verandahpole;" and he opened his mouth and one eye, twisting up his hideouscountenance into a ghastly imitation of Bessie's sorrow-stricken face,and gripping the post that supported the hut to give verisimilitude tohis performance.

  "So she believed it?"

  "Surely."

  "What did she do, then?"

  "She set the dog on me. Look here! and here! and here!" and he pointedto the half-healed scars left by Stomp's sharp fangs.

  Muller laughed a little. "I should like to have seen him worry you, youblack cheat; it shows her spirit, too. I suppose you are angry, and wantto have a revenge?"

  "Surely."

  "Well, who knows? Perhaps you shall; we are going there to-morrow."

  "So, Baas! I knew that before you told me."

  "We are going there, and we are going to take the place; and we aregoing to try Uncle Silas by court-martial for flying an English flag,and if he is found guilty we are going to shoot him, Hendrik."

  "So, Baas," said the Kafir, rubbing his hands in glee, "but will he befound guilty?"

  "I don't know," murmured the white man, stroking his golden beard; "thatwill depend upon what missie has to say; and upon the verdict of thecourt," he added, by way of an afterthought.

  "On the verdict of the court, ha! ha!" chuckled his wicked satellite;"on the verdict of the court, yes! yes! and the Baas will be president,ha! ha! One needs no witchcraft to guess that verdict. And if the courtfinds Uncle Silas guilty, who will do the shooting, Baas?"

  "I have not thought of that; the time has not come to think of it. Itdoes not matter; anybody can carry out the sentence of the law."

  "Baas," said the Kafir, "I have done much for you, and had little pay.I have done ugly things. I had read omens and made medicines and 'smeltout' your enemies. Will you grant me a favour? Will you let me shoot_Oom_ Croft if the court finds him guilty? It is not much to ask, Baas.I am a clever wizard and deserve my pay."

  "Why do you want to shoot him?"

  "Because he flogged me once, years ago, for being a witch-doctor, andthe other day he hunted me off the place. Beside, it is nice to shoota white man. I should like it better," he went on, with a smack of thelips, "if it were missie, who set the dog on me. I would----"

  In a moment Muller had seized the astonished ruffian by the throat, andwas kicking and shaking him as though he were a toy. His brutal talk ofBessie appealed to such manliness as he had in him, and, whatever hisown wickedness may have been, he was too madly in love with the woman tolet her name be taken in vain by a man whom, though he held his "magic"in superstitious reverence, he yet ranked lower than a dog. With hisnerves strung to the highest possible state of tension, and half drunkas he was, Frank Muller was no more to be played with or irritated thanis a mad bull.

  "You black beast!" he yelled, "if ever you dare to mention her nameagain like that I will kill you, for all your witchcraft;" and he hurledhim with such force against the wall of the hut that the whole placeshook. The man fell and lay for a moment groaning; then he crept fromthe hut on his hands and knees.

  Muller sat scowling from under his bent brows, and watched him go. Whenhe was gone, he rose and fastened the door behind him, then suddenly heburst into tears, the result, no doubt, of the mingled effects of drink,mental and physical exhaustion, and the never-resting passion--one canscarcely call it love--which ate at his heart, like the worm that diethnot.

  "Oh, Bessie, Bessie!" he groaned, "I have done it all for you. Surelyyou cannot be angry when I have killed them all for you? Oh, mydarling, my darling! If you only knew how I love you! Oh, my darling,my darling!" and in an agony of passion he flung himself on to the roughpallet in the corner of the hut and sobbed himself to sleep.

  It would seem that Frank Muller's evil-doing did not make him happy,the truth being that to enjoy wickedness a man must be not only withoutconscience, but also without passion. Now Frank Muller was tormentedwith a very effective substitute for the first--superstition, and by thelatter his life was overshadowed, since the beauty of a girl possessedthe power to dominate his wildest moods and to inflict upon him tormentsthat she herself was incapable even of imagining.