Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  THE FIRST DAY.

  They were inspecting the great koodoo head in Ben Halse's yard. Denhamwas delighted.

  "Why, it's perfect," he declared. "Perfect, simply perfect."

  "Yes, I believe it's an absolute record. But we'll have to be a bitcareful how we get it away; however, there's no hurry about that."

  "There's an old saying, you know, Mr Halse," said Denham: "`shortaccounts make long friends.' So you won't mind taking over this now,"and he handed the other a folded cheque.

  Ben Halse opened it, and started. Then he handed it back.

  "It's too much," he said. "The head's worth a good deal, but not asmuch as that. No."

  "It's worth it all to me," was the answer. "Well, then, name your ownfigure."

  Ben did so.

  "Right," said Denham, "you shall have your way. But I'd rather have hadmine," he laughed.

  "A very common complaint," answered his host. "What would you like todo this morning? In the afternoon Verna could take you down into theforest, or anywhere else you like. She's busy this morning, and I havethings to see to."

  Denham declared that that would be a delightful programme. He could getthrough the morning easily enough, he said. They must on no accountmake a stranger of him, or put themselves out in any way. The while hehad been keeping one ear open for Verna's voice, which came to them,raised in snatches of song, from the other side of the house.

  It was the day after his arrival at the store. They had all travelledup together, having borrowed some extra harness and inspanned Denham'shorse as "unicorn," so that the extra weight didn't count so much, andhe was conscious of having thoroughly enjoyed the journey. Nor would hetry to disguise to himself the fact that this result was largely due tothe presence of Ben Halse's daughter.

  It had taken all of three days; two nights being got through in suchscanty accommodation as could be obtained at lonely wayside storessimilar to that of Ben himself, though infinitely rougher, and the thirdnight camping in the veldt; during which, by the bye, Denham had startedout of his sleep declaring that a whacking big spider had just run overhis face, which was more than likely the case. But through heat anddust and discomfort Verna's spirits never flagged, and her cheerfulnessremained unruffled. Now a three days' journey under such circumstancesis a pretty good test of character, and her attitude throughout wasthoroughly appreciated by her fellow-traveller and guest. She wasunique, he decided, unique and splendid.

  He found her now engaged upon exactly the same homely occupation as thaton which she was engaged on the occasion of our first making heracquaintance--bread-making, to wit.

  "Useful as always, Miss Halse," he remarked. "Why, I don't know how weshould have got on coming along but for you."

  She flashed a smile up at him.

  "How did you get on without me when you came along through the Makanyabush?" she said mischievously.

  If there was that in the allusion that brought a change into Denham'sface it was only momentary.

  "I had to then, worse luck," he laughed. "But I managed it somehow."Then they both laughed--easily, happily.

  Denham, looking down at her as she sat there, came to the conclusionthat she was more charming than ever. The sheen of her abundant brownhair, carelessly but becomingly coiled, the dark semicircle of theeyelashes on the cheek, the strong, supple figure so splendidlyoutlined, the movement of the shapely arms as she kneaded the dough--why, this homely performance was a poem in itself. Then the staging--the fall of wooded slope to a deep down vista of plain below--dim in thenoontide haze where on the right a darker line in contrast to the opengreen showed part of the great mysterious forest tract. Even theutterly unaesthetic dwelling-house hardly seemed to spoil the picture.

  "Well, and what is the subject of all this profound thought?" she askedsuddenly, with a quick, bright, upward glance.

  He started, looked at her straight, and told her. Yet, somehow, he didit in such a way as to avoid banality, possibly because so naturally.

  "What did I tell you once before?" she said, but she changed colour everso slightly. "That you must not pay me compliments. They don't comewell from you--I mean they are too petty."

  It might have been his turn to answer with a "_tu quoque_." But he didnot. What he said was--

  "I was answering your question. I was describing the picture I had seenin my own mind. How could I have left out the principal figure in it?"

  Again she glanced up at him, was about to speak, then seemed to changeher mind. If her personality had struck Denham as unique, the very samething seemed to have struck her as regarded himself. The intellectualface, the tall, fine frame, the easy, cultured manner, half-a-scoreother things about him--all these rendered him a personality cleanoutside her own experience. Whereby it will be seen that the atmospherearound Ben Halse's remote and primitive dwelling was, even at this earlystage, charged with abundant potentialities.

  "And `the principal figure' in it is all floury and generallydishevelled," she said at last, with a light laugh.

  "That makes the charm of the study."

  "Do you paint, then, Mr Denham, in addition to your other scientificaccomplishments?"

  "No; I thought I could dabble in it at one time, but had too manyserious irons in the fire. Still, I'm given to drawing mental pictures,and this is one of them, that's all. By the way, your father was sayingyou were going to be kind enough to act as my guide this afternoon. Isthat so?"

  "Oh yes. We were talking about it before you came out. Where would youlike to go?"

  "That I leave entirely to you. By the way, yes. Will you show me thespot where you shot the record head?"

  "It's rather far, I'm afraid, for one afternoon. However, we'll see.Well, I'm through with this job now. I'll put it inside. Look! thereare some people coming to the store, I expect. Yes, they are. Come andsee me shop-keep, Mr Denham."

  She took the tin of dough into the kitchen, and returned in a secondwith some keys.

  Two women and a youth were approaching. Verna unlocked the door, and,as he entered, Denham looked curiously around and above at the multifoldvariety of trade goods. The atmosphere was inclined to be musty, and,by virtue of the nature of some of the things, not over-fragrant.

  The natives entered, rather shyly, giving the salute. They staredcuriously at Denham. His fine physique and general bearing impressedthem. There could only be one opinion as to what had brought him there.He had come to offer U' Ben _lobola_ for the _Inkosazana_. But theywould make a fine pair! This they told each other afterwards.

  "Well, what is wanted?" Verna asked.

  "Tobacco. Smoking tobacco such as white people use," answered one ofthe women.

  "Sapazani's `children' indulging in white men's customs? Ah, ah!"answered Verna, with a shake of the head. The woman looked somewhatsubdued, and managed to convey that it was a thing they did not wishtalked about.

  The while Denham was taking in the whole scene, keenly interested.Never had the liquid Zulu sounded so melodious as when it flowed fromVerna's lips, he decided to himself. Then other things wererequisitioned. Yards of calico were unfolded, and critically examinedby the intending purchaser. He watched the deftness and patience withwhich Verna handled the things and bore with the intending purchasers,who would look at the articles and then go and squat in a corner of theroom and talk over the transaction with each other in an undertone. Theboy was looking at him sideways, with staring eyeballs.

  "That's their way," said Verna, with a merry glance at him. "You can'trush these people. If you did you'd lose all your trade."

  "By Jove! but I never thought there could be so much poetry in handingthings out over a counter," he burst forth.

  "Thanks. But remember what I told you just now, also on a formeroccasion," she answered, her eyes sparkling with fun. "You must not payme compliments, especially ironical ones. I am only an up-countrytrader's daughter, who helps her father, up to her littl
e best."

  "Upon my conscience there was nothing ironical about it," he repliedsomewhat vehemently, "It was dead, sober earnest."

  She smiled again and nodded; then turning to the native women suggestedthey had been a good while making up their minds. They took the hint,and the deal was concluded.

  Denham, the while, was in something of a maze. Most girls situated asshe was would have rather tried to keep him off witnessing this phase oftheir everyday home life--in other words, would have tried all they knewto "sink the shop." This one, on the contrary, had actually invited himto witness it, just as she might have invited him to come and have alook at the garden.

  "Well, Mr Denham," said Verna, as the red-painted top-knots of the twowomen vanished round the doorpost, "and what do you think of me in mycapacity of shop-girl?"

  "If I were to tell you I should lay myself open to another rebuke," heanswered, with a laugh in his eyes.

  "Have I been so hard on you as that? I didn't mean to be. By the way,you are not smoking. Try some of this," reaching down an open bag ofMagaliesberg from a shelf.

  "Thanks. I say, what's this?" looking at the bullet hole in the wall.

  "Oh, that's nothing," she answered rather shamefacedly. "At least, youheard all about it down at Ezulwini. Anyway, it's nothing to bragabout. Let's go outside."

  "Certainly," acquiesced Denham, grasping, with ready tact, that she didnot wish to pursue the subject. And he was right. Even as in thematter of shooting the koodoo she shrank from dwelling upon anythingthat would tend to set her forth in his eyes as a strong, self-reliantAmazon type of woman; more so now than then.

  "I wish I was more like other girls, Mr Denham," she broke forth withthat winning, breezy naturalness which had so struck him. "If I weremusical, for instance, and all that, I could play to you of an evening.I'm afraid you must find the evenings so slow."

  "I've only had one evening here, and I didn't find that a bit slow," heanswered. "Incidentally, the other evenings we have spent together havebeen anything but slow."

  "Together!" There was something in the word, and the way in which hesaid it, that struck curiously upon her ears.

  "I'm glad of that," she answered. "One always thinks that anybody outfrom England, accustomed to the livelier sides of life, must becomehideously bored in an out-of-the-way wilderness such as this really is."

  "It's a very beautiful wilderness, anyway," he said, looking out overthe great panorama of mountain and plain and forest, extending overfifty miles, and misty in the heat of the unclouded sunlight. "Butthat's where you make the mistake. The very contrast is so infinitelyrestful. Not only restful, but invigorating. Slow! Think, forinstance, of all the vividly interesting stories and reminiscences yourfather has been telling me since we first met, and especially during ourjourney here. Why, they make this wonderful country simply glow withlife--and such life! The life which puts those `livelier sides of life'you were just quoting into a dull, drab groove of monotony. No, don'tfor a moment imagine there is the slightest possibility of a chance ofmy feeling bored."

  There was a vehemence, an intensity, about this deliverance that ratherastonished Verna. This man had another side, then? She had read himwrong, or at least not quite right, when she had just sized him up as aneven, prosperous man of the world, one whose self-possession nothingcould ruffle, a charming companion, but one past anything in the shapeof a great enthusiasm. Now she began to realise that she had not seenevery side of him, and the discovery in no way diminished her interestin him.

  "Well, that rather relieves me, from the responsibility point of view,at any rate," she answered, flashing up at him one of those brightsmiles of hers. "So now, on the strength of it, I'll get you to excuseme. There's a lot to do inside. But we'll have such a jolly time of itthis afternoon." And with a bright nod she left him.

  Denham lit a fresh pipe, and strolled out a little way from the house.It seemed to him that something had been withdrawn. He missed Verna'spresence and gracious companionship. To the full consciousness of thishe awoke with a start. He was too old and experienced to do anythingthat might seem like "hanging around" her, wherefore he took a walk.But as he looked out upon the panorama spread out in front and around,revelled in the glow of the ambient air, even found something tointerest his naturalist soul, in the bushes or grass, he was stillthinking--well, he had better not think. Yet, why should he not? Thequestion pressed itself practically home to him. He was his own master,and in every way in a position to please himself. Why should he not doso?

  What a rare "find" this was! he told himself, his thoughts running onVerna. And if he missed her presence because she had been obliged towithdraw for an hour or so, what did it mean? A phrase ran uneasilythrough his mind, "Can't bear her out of his sight." And this was thefirst day of his arrival. No, assuredly it was time to pull himselftogether. And then, her brightly uttered words of parting, "We'll havesuch a jolly time of it this afternoon." Well, it should be no fault ofhis if they did not.