#title Turning Wheels #author Stuart Cloete #date 1937 #source <[[https://archive.org/details/turningwheels0000cloe_w9e0][www.archive.org/details/turningwheels0000cloe_w9e0]]> #lang en #pubdate 2026-03-01T20:53:52 #topics colonialism, indigenous, fiction #isbn 9997407830, 978–9997407832 #cover s-c-stuart-cloete-turning-wheels-1.jpg #isbn 0-00-221611-4 #publisher William Collins Sons & Co Ltd, 8 Grafton Street, London W1 & Glasgow *** Synopsis | ~~ Unquestionably the most controversial of many fictional reconstructions of the Great Trek, a book which fell foul of Afrikaner nationalism and whose further importation into the Union of South Africa was long consequently banned. Religious motifs reflecting the popularised Calvinism of the Voortrekkers figure prominently in the text. Cloete depicted these migrants as people of faith whose removal to a new Canaan entailed both internal strife and repeated clashes with indigenous African tribes. Among the thematic elements are belief in divine purpose and providence, post-figurative uses of the Pentateuchal characters Moses and Abraham, the image of the clergy, the failure of religious belief to maintain ethical norms among the Voortrekkers and the contribution of an ethnocentric distortion of Christianity to disharmonious relations with black Africans. *** Original Synopsis | ~~ This is a heroic novel on a great canvas: a long, full-blooded and grandly readable tale of the great Boer trek of 1836. It is the first book that has done justice to the Voortrekkers, to the depths of their fanaticism and cruelty, to the magnificence of their courage and humour. They were a terrific people, and this book is worthy of them. The Great Trek was the outcome of the English decision to free the slaves in the middle of a harvest, which therefore rotted. Roused to fury, the Boers rushed from their homes, and convoy after convoy headed for the north, braving hardship and the hostility of Kaffir and Zulu, to found the Orange Free State and to penetrate even further north into the Transvaal. This is the story of one convoy led by Hendrik van der Berg, and of the lives of its members, including Sannie van Reenen, round whose fair and fatal beauty the story turns. It is a tale of violence and passion, rich in human drama and filled with superbly drawn characters. Like Gone with the Wind, which dealt with the American Civil War, Turning Wheels is the very living stuff of history; like it, too, it is not likely to be surpassed or forgotten. *** By the same author WATCH FOR THE DAWN THE HILL OF DOVES CONGO SONG THE CURVE AND THE TUSK MAMBA THE MASK GAZELLA THE SOLDIERS’ PEACHES THE FIERCEST HEART THE SILVER TRUMPET THE LOOKING GLASS RAGS OF GLORY THE HONEY BIRD THE WRITING ON THE WALL HOW YOUNG THEY DIED THE ABDUCTORS THREE WHITE SWANS THE COMPANY WITH THE HEART OF GOLD Non-Fiction AFRICAN PORTRAITS THE AFRICAN GIANT WEST WITH THE SUN Autobiography A VICTORIAN SON THE GAMBLER *** Title Page | ~~ [[s-c-stuart-cloete-turning-wheels-2.jpg]] *** Dedication To E. Arnot Robertson *** Copyright First published 1937 This reprint 1985 Copyright Stuart Cloete 1937 ISBN 0 00 221819 4 Made and printed in Great Britain by William Collins Sons & Co Ltd, Glasgow ** List of Africaans Words in “Turning Wheels” Assegai, native spear. Pas op, look out. skelm, rascal. tolly, young ox hamel, wether. voorslaag, lash of whip outspan, to unyoke, or resting-place where animals are unyoked. pad, road or path disselboom, pole of wagon or cart. kaross, rug of skins sewn together. leegte, a clear flat piece of land. vlei, a marsh sprutt, a small river. knob kerrie, a wooden club with round top. laager, defensive camp of wagons arranged in a circle. brey, ran. poors, a break in the mountains. kloof, a valley or crack in the hills skey, peg through ox yoke. strop, leather loop joining skey to skey. biltong, sun-dried meat. ver sic, heifer. krantz, a cliff. riem, raw-hide thong. rankie, small long hillock. aasvogel, vulture. mis, dry cattle-dung. mooi mei.de, pretty girt nt^s maak, do nothing. good genoeg, good enough. Hartekoal, hard wood tree. Sutkerbos, another hard wood tree Baie Dankie, Thank you very muck vaal, yellow Kyk daar, Look there. Wach ’n bietje, Wait a bit. natuurlik, naturally. Ek weet nie, I do not know bang vir die spoke, afraid of ghosts. vemestk, swindle. Maak gou, jou skelm, ek is haastig, baie haastig. Be quicks you rascal, I am in a hurry, a great hurry. meilies, maize. lekker lewe, good life. Roinek, Englishman. veldschoen, home-made shoes. jong, young man. mak, tame. tiger, leopard. voorloper, the one who leads the oxen. *** About the Author | ~~ [[][Stuart Cloete]] Born in Paris and educated at Lancing College, Stuart Cloete served with the Coldstream Guards during the First World War, in which he was badly wounded. After the war he went out to the Transvaal to farm cattle. South Africa is in his blood, for in 1652 his family, who are of Dutch origin, went out there and were among the first to obtain a charter of land. His greatgrandfather published essays on the Great Trek which Stuart Cloete drew on for colour and detail in Turning Wheels. This book was the first of his long list of bestselling novels which has included Rags of Glory, The Curve and the Tusk, Gazella, The Fiercest Heart, The Mask, Watch for the Dawn and How Young They Died. His collections of short stories have proved equally successful. He has also written a two-volume autobiography — A Victorian Son and The Gambler. ** Chapter One Hendrik van DER Berg and Johannes van Reenen rode slowly over the veld, the long sour grass brushed their stirrup irons, bent beneath their horses’ bellies and sprang back as they passed. Beyond the dry rustling of the grass and the occasional creak of their saddlery there was no sound, they neither spoke nor looked at each other, but rode with their reins lying loose on the withers of their horses, turning their heads slowly from side to side as they searched the veld for movement. The horses stepped lightly, with cocked ears, their sleek hides quivering with suppressed excitement. The Boers rode at a walk to save their horses. Soon, at any moment, they might come across a herd of zebra; when they found them they would ride them down, galloping after them and stabbing them with their long hunting knives. Ammunition was too scarce to use on zebra, and they needed fat to grease their riems and to make soap. *** 2 Away to their left, moving parallel with them, were the wagons. Like ships of the line, they swept over the plain. Their disselbooms pointing to the north where there was room to breathe and no law, save that of the white man’s gun and the Kaffir’s assegai. North to the promised land. Men rode beside the great turning wheels and women, lying on beds of latticed hide in the tented wagons, shouted to them; the fathers of their sons; the sons of their fathers; their lovers, brothers, friends. Hard, sunburnt men, bearded like prophets, mounted on small entire horses that threw their heads and opened their wide red nostrils to the hot dusty wind. The distant lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep and goats was an unceasing murmur, broken only by the staccato cries of the drivers to their oxen and the sharp claps of their long whips; like a cloud of sound, above a cloud of dust. These noises hung suspended in the veld and fell, becoming less than a memory in a land which had seen greater things than a crawling of men, with their women, their flocks and herds, winding like a snake through the long grass, furrowing it with a spoor, which looking back, they called a road. When a foal, or a calf, or a child was born they gave praise for the increase; and always they prayed for fillies and heifers; one bull or stallion was enough for a great number of his female kind. It was one of the many convoys that was going north into the great unknown. One of the many that coming to ranges of mountains that were impassable, dismantled their wagons, and passed them; man-handling them over cliffs and gorges and rebuilt them on the other side; that finding rivers too deep to be forded, swam their beasts and floated their wagons across. One of the many that founded the Free State and went beyond it, across the “yellow river” into the Transvaal; and beyond that again, to its northernmost limits; to the low veld, to the banks of the Crocodile and the Limpopo. It was the seepage of a small, great-hearted people into a continent. Secure in the knowledge that they were the chosen race, certain of their capacity to endure, and forced on by the Boer necessity for space and freedom, they followed rivers to their sources, crossed the great water-sheds and followed new rivers; hunting, fighting, and reading the Bible as they wandered. It was the great trek. The logical outcome of the freeing of the slaves by the English in the middle of a harvest, so that farmers starved while their crops stood ungarnered, rotting. Of compensation paid at a flat rate, as if among slaves, like other live stock, one was not worth more than another; compensation made payable in England, at such a distance that the collection of it often cost more than the sum collected. Of the hangings at Slagtersnek and of the ravagings of the Kaffirs with which they were no longer allowed to deal after their own fashion. It was the migration of a people, who, feeling they could stand no more, were prepared to face almost inconceivable risks for an ideal which they would have been unable to describe. Among them were some who were related to Stephanus Bothma and the others who had hung. There was also the son, Frederick Bezuidenhout, who had been shot by the British soldiers, and a cousin of Jacob de Winter who had been murdered by the Kaffirs at Van Aaards Post. Many that had been children then were now men, and all had been reared to hatred. Mustering their herds, convoy after convoy had left Cape Colony, all going one way, since there was only one way to go. They were the voortrekkers. The men, the women, and the children, who went in front. The wagons belonged to Hendrik van der Berg and to others who were tied to him by blood, or friendship, or political opinion. *** 3 In the third wagon a girl sat sewing. She was very fair with large dark eyes. Her bare legs dangled over the back of the wagon above the brake handle. It was curious how often the men thought the third wagon needed braking; no incline was too slight for them to put it on. So even downhill van Reenen’s span of oxen had to pull because of Sannie van Reenen’s beauty and because she had chosen to sit with her feet above the brake. It was her favourite seat. Jakalaas, the old slave, who was continually cutting new brake blocks, cursed or smiled at his thoughts, according to his mood. His young mistress was ripe and soon she would be plucked; then she would no longer sit as she sat now, a perch too risky for a pregnant woman. “Ai, let the young meisie play like a mare in season, kicking her legs,” such things did not last long and he would as soon cut brake blocks out of the soft seringa wood or marula as do anything else. Also in looking for a good tree he sometimes found honey. It was good to find honey. To follow a honey bird and eat it from the comb, to eat it, grubs and all, with the bird fluttering anxiously about him while it waited for its share. *** 4 Herman van der Berg, the son of Hendrik, was eighteen, already a man, and very conscious of Sannie van Reenen, with her dark eyes like a buck’s and long slim legs. Whenever he passed her father’s wagon, and it was often, he looked at them, dangling, or crossed, with one foot grasping the boards, the brown toes bent round the end of the heavy planks. His place was in front, as a scout, to keep watch for hostile Kaffirs and to find the best way for the lumbering wagons that came behind him. The bends in the old trek pad, that so many followed later, were due to Herman van der Berg. Due to his signalling the voorloopers to the right or left, away from a tree stump or an ant-bear hole; and some were due to his not signalling, to the drift of tired oxen and sleepy drivers, when he fell back to talk to Sannie to tell her of the great things he would do in the future and of the things he had already done. To everything Sannie listened, sewing, dreaming, thinking. Certainly Herman was a fine young man, a good rider, and a quick shot; but still she was not sure. Did the filly mate with the untried colt? or with the stallion, scarred by a hundred battles? So Sannie, talking to the boy, began to think of the father. Herman’s mother was dead. She had died bearing his father a stillborn child. She had died because Hendrik van der Berg was a man, and potent. Sannie thought of the child as she had seen it. I should like to have a son like that, she thought. I would like ... Ach ja, there are many things that I would like, and she shied away from her thoughts as a horse might shy at a blowing cloth. The death of Herman’s mother had left Hendrik a widower, a fact of which Sannie was becoming increasingly conscious as day followed day and night followed night. Aware of herself as a filly or a heifer is aware she stretched her shoulders upwards, forcing out her breasts, to ease her back. Neither the manner of Maria van der Berg’s death, nor the death itself, affected Sannie; the woman was old, worn out. Only the cause of her death, the virility of the man to whom she had owed her pregnancy, touched the girl. Death—in God’s name, death was a common enough occurrence. Death by snake-bite, or bullet or assegai, by slipping off the disselboom of a wagon and being run over, by being thrown from a horse, by blood poisoning from a cut in the hand, by a lion or a leopard. Death by violence or in childbed; she was sixteen and had seen death in all these ways. Blood, too, her own, since God had made women that way, and the blood of wounded men, left her unperturbed. All she knew was an uneasiness. A fretful waiting for the touch that should move her. Often of late she had felt too big for her silky skin and wished she could change it, slipping out of it like a snake. Quietly, swaying as the wagon rolled, she sewed on, her thoughts poised on the point of her needle as she drew the thread of her unexpressed desires through the fabric on her knees. She was letting out her best frock again, for the third time, to ease it round her breasts, and as she sewed she talked. Lightly as women talk, feeling rather than thinking of more serious things. “And why should I marry you, Herman? Are you the only man in the world?” she asked. “No, I am not the only man in the world, but I am the best man for you. Who else is there? Gert Kleinhouse who squints?” he suggested contemptuously. “Or Cornelius Brandt, or Joachim Joubert? Do you fancy any of them? Ach, it is not possible, they are small men, small of stature, of mind and heart, mie Sannie. “Listen,” he said. “I will match myself against any of them in shooting at a mark, in hunting, in riding; and besides, compared to me, they are poor men.” He sat erect in his saddle looking at her, waiting for her answer. His legs were hanging down on each side of his horse, he had taken his feet out of the stirrups, and they hung low, his toes almost touching the forelegs of his horse. From under her long lashes Sannie glanced up at him, at his legs where they dangled below his horse’s barrel, at his swelling powerful thighs, at the calf muscles that bulged his moleskin trousers. He was big and he would grow more, but his father was a bigger man. A more certain man. He was proven. The very lines that seared Hendrik’s face were a hall-mark of his qualities, not perhaps entirely admirable, but nevertheless qualities which made for survival under conditions where survival was no mean achievement. At home, at the Cape, she would no doubt have chosen the son. The call of youth to youth was strong, but here in the wilds it was different, and the thought of Hendrik van der Berg with his grizzled beard, his savage eyes that glittered under their bushy brows, his strong teeth and great gnarled hands that could throw a bullock, bending its neck sideways till it fell, moved her as much as the direct appeal of the young man and more subtly, for her woman’s urge was towards safety and it dragged against desire. She knew that Hendrik did not pass her unnoticed, that she was a factor in his life. She knew that he had taken stock of her; her breasts, her legs, and above all, her hips. She wriggled uncomfortably on the kaross as she thought of the looks he had given her. Looks that drove into her, through the thin cotton frocks she wore, into the very centre of her being. But if Hendrik wanted her why did he do nothing? Perhaps he was waiting, perhaps he thought her too young. It would be good to play the son against the father and let the best man win. Whichever got her would be the best so why trouble? Without doubt she would soon belong to one of them. “Ja, Herman,” she said, “perhaps you are right. After all, as you say, who else is there for me to marry?” “Then you will marry me, Sannie?” “I did not say so, but neither did I say that I would not marry you.” She looked up at him again. “It is time that I was married,” she said, “and from what you say it seems that there is no one else. I had not thought of this before, that among all these men there is only you who is rich, unmarried and handsome.” She stared past him at the naked picannin who led Mevrou de Jong’s oxen. “Even among the older men is there no one, Herman?” she asked. “Have you thought of them too? Because if that is so then I have no choice. And Herman,” she added, “would you call a man of forty-six very old?” “Forty-six,” he echoed. Forty-six was his father’s age. Magtig, the girl could not be thinking of that. Sannie his stepmother. Sannie to bear his half brothers and sisters. He wheeled his horse savagely, dragging him up into a rear, as he swung him round. The girl saw the chestnut’s pale fawn belly darkening to black between his thighs; the white unshod hoofs menaced her; his lips, were drawn back from his teeth as the heavy bit forced his jaws open and his wild unseeing eyes stared into her own. Sannie laughed. The horse was angry, the boy was angry, and it was good. In a minute now the seam would be finished and she would put on the frock. By the time her father and Hendrik van der Berg were back she would have changed into the wine-red taffeta that was so becomingly sprigged with small blue flowers. *** 5 A herd of wildebeeste and zebra were grazing in a leegte. There were thousands of them and they covered the wide open space like a great cloth which looked, as they moved slowly forward as if it was being dragged along, folding and wrinkling as the beasts drifted over the slight undulations of the veld, forging upwards as the ground rose, sagging away loosely as they descended into the hollows. The pearly hides of the zebra, broken by symmetrical black stripes, made them almost invisible against the background of sunburnt yellow grass. The skins of the wildebeeste were a shining metallic blue in the strong morning light. A few ostriches, with long naked legs, stalked in small family parties among them. The cocks a vivid black and white; the hens a dirty grey. Wildebeeste calves knelt by their dams to drink, wagging their tails up and down in their excited pleasure as they butted, with blunt, hornless heads, at their mother’s udders. Zebra foals played, galloping round and round, bucking and kicking. Only the older beasts looked anxious, raising their heads from the short grass every few paces to look round. In the daytime they were safe. Death, the swift charging death of lions, came at night. On bright moonlit nights; on dark nights, it came with a terrifying roar. And their fear of the night lasted through the days that followed them. Their existence as individual beasts depended on this never-ending vigilance; and as a herd, on the fact that they could breed faster than the lions, who only killed for food, could eat them. *** 6 The two Boers were riding in single file along a narrow game-path when Hendrik saw the herd and pulled up. The horses, backing each other like pointers, stood motionless; only their long tails moved as they whisked at the buffalo flies that bit their bellies. Without a word the men swung apart, one going to the right and one to the left; they rode slowly towards the flanks of the herd, picking their way among the trees. They went up-wind and the beasts grazed on. Suddenly a wildebeeste gave a coughing snort. Heads went up and wide, terrified eyes stared round. Dilated nostrils searched the breeze, sniffing. Snort followed snort. Horns clashed together as the milling herd swung this way and that. Cows nuzzled at the calves, which had run to their sides, trying to push them nearer. Zebras closed in on each other and stood with twitching ears, alert, ready to run, but as yet uncertain of where the danger lay. Hendrik’s eyes were on the herd that he could see drifting through the trees, but his mind was with the third wagon of the convoy and the girl who was sitting at the back of it, swaying like a flower on its stem, as the great wheels crashed over ant heaps, cutting through them, or fell with jarred axles into a sudden hollow. She was young certainly, but not too young. He thought of David; and of Tamar who had lain on his bosom and cherished him. The case was not a parallel. David was old. He had taken Tamar because he needed the warmth of her young body upon his own; whereas he needed Sannie because his blood was hot. He was in his full vigour; and it was six months since his wife had died. Surely no woman could want more than he could give her, and young as Sannie was he was confident of his power to wear down her youth. In ten years he would still be a strong man, and she, after ten years of marriage and continuous childbearing would be old, her slender beauty gone, sacrificed in his service, her widened hips a tribute to his urgency and power. He thought of his children, they needed a mother. His eldest girl, Susanna, did what she could, but it was not enough. Ja, certainly his children needed a mother. But more than they needed a mother did he need a wife. A young one, fresh and clean. Sannie, who was as ripe as an apricot trembling on a bough. An old wildebeeste bull that had been sleeping in the shade of a vaal-bos sprang up under his horse’s feet. The horse, snatching at his bit, broke into a gallop, his nose almost touching the buck’s flowing tail. The herd swung round, hesitated, and with a wild swirl of manes and hoofs clattered over the parched ground in a cloud of dust. Riding hard, with slack reins, the two men closed in on them. In the open leegte, after their first burst of speed, the horses were more than equal to the herd of game. The ostriches alone, with fluffed plumes, were able to pull away. Hendrik drew his knife. All he had to do now was to kill, his horse would do the rest. He felt the great muscles contracting and expanding beneath him and the shock of his hoofs as they struck at the ground. He could see nothing except his horse’s ears in the ever-thickening cloud of dust. He half-closed his eyes as the bite of sand and gravel stung his cheeks. The excitement of the hunt made words, magnificent as organ music, sing in his ears above the pounding gallop of the maddened herd. It was like the sound of an angry sea, a rolling vibration that became a roar as he got among them. The horse checked as he hit a zebra’s rump with his chest, rolling him over with the unexpected impact. Gathering himself together the stallion fought his way into the herd biting and savaging the stampeding beasts. Like a spear the horse drove through the seething mass of tossing manes, curved horns, and long, white-tipped ears. Hendrik was among them now. On his left he could see Van Reenen. They shouted to each other and he began to kill Stab after stab he gave leaning out of his saddle. One mistake, if the black horse should fall or a girth break He laughed. If that should happen he would be finished, trodden flat by the passing of a thousand hoofs. Still laughing and killing he rode in the herd. When he could he choose the fat colts, but anything that came near him he killed, driving his long knife into the striped hides. His hands, legs, and saddle were smeared with blood. Blood dripped from his horse’s shoulders, or mixed with dust clogged into a dull, red, glutinous mud on the long hair of his mane. All the time as he killed he thought of Sannie, the blonde Sannie van Reenen, who was sitting at the back of her father’s wagon swinging her long, fine legs. “Ach, she is young and wild,” he thought as he leant over a galloping wildebeeste to stab at the rounded flanks of a young zebra. But the wild ones were always the best. It took a man to break them. Tame women, tame horses, tame oxen, he did not like; they were no good; and he had killed enough. Reining his horse he watched the herd gallop into the bush. For a moment the dust hung in the air obscuring the trees. For a moment there was the sound of their frenzied hoofbeats and the crash of branches as they disappeared. Looking back the plain was spotted with beasts that lay dead or struggled to rise, getting up and falling again. He counted them roughly, in pairs, his eyes taking in two at once. Two, four, six, eight, ten. They had done well, between them they had killed thirty-six; it was more than enough and already vultures on great wings were falling from the skies. “Ja, Johannes, that was good,” he said as he met van Reenen, “we are still men.” Wiping his knife on his horse’s mane he sheathed it. The blowing horses excited by the gallop and the blood that clung to them neighed shrilly and tried to rear, their hoofs cutting at each other. Their teeth were bared and their ears laid back, below the line of their necks. Giving a last look at the dead and dying zebras the two men swung west and cantered slowly towards the wagons. Soon they would send their Kaffirs, not to skin the dead beasts or to use their meat, but just to cut the yellow fat, in granulated lumps, from their entrails, and passing swiftly from one to another, to leave the bodies, mutilated, for the scavengers of the veld. The vultures, the jackals, the hyaenas and the ants. ** Chapter Two In THE fourth wagon Mevrou Anna de Jong sat dozing hunched on her great bed. It was very hot and her vast bulk sagging sweated acridly. From the rolls of fat round her neck perspiration poured down her back, staining the material of her dress; from under her chin it ran in rivers over her chest, accumulated and seeped through the narrow channel of her heavy breasts into the creases of her paunch, over its massive folds, on to the bulging thighs on which it rested. Her arms, like legs of mutton, incased in black cotton, were folded. Her head sunk forward, nodded as the wagon rolled on. Her small eyes, black, shining buttons sunk into her cheeks, opened and closed like those of an animal that rested, watchfully. Sometimes she moved a hand to rub at her inflamed eyelids, or held her arms away from her sides in a vain endeavour to get cool. Apart from this she never moved, sitting on her bed from outspan to outspan. To get Tante Anna out of her wagon a number of things were necessary. First it must be quite motionless. Then the steps, they were lashed under its bed, had to be hooked on and with the aid of two natives and the encouragement of her husband she would descend, give the surrounding country a contemptuous glance, and demanding her chair, would sit waiting impassively till the oxen were inspanned again. But despite this, little that went on was unknown to her. By various means, her own observations, the chatter of her Kafiirs, her intuition, her wide experience of human action and reaction, she became aware of most things. She knew, for instance, that her husband, a small meek man, had one of her coloured maids as his mistress. She did not blame him. She had reached an age and attained a size which would, in her opinion, have made blame ridiculous, besides, there was plenty of biblical precedent to justify the use of concubines; and if Mahomet would not come to the mountain she certainly was not going to pursue so small and inadequate a Mahomet. It was some years since the predicant at Paarl had preached a sermon about false prophets. It had made a great impression on her. Moses, he had said, had caused the Red Sea to open, the waters to divide, while Mahomet had not even been able to make a mountain come towards him. And yet it was well known that mountains, when called upon properly, could skip like young sheep and the little hills dance like lambs. Ja, that might be so, she thought, but after all, who wanted mountains to dance? And what about the farms in the valleys? She had meant to ask the predicant about those farms and what had happened to them when the mountains moved. Men, even men of God, were so unpractical. She supposed it must be a great thing to be able to make a big berg hop about, but if she had been a man—ach God—if I had been a man, she thought, I’d sooner have had a “Mooi Meisie” like that Salome dance in front of me with nothing on. But then, if she had been a man, she would not have been a man of God. She wondered if Jappie knew he was sharing that yellow wench of his with Andries, one of de Lange’s driver boys? That would annoy him and she would tell him about it one day when she could be bothered. After the rains came, when it would be cooler, she might do it. But in the meantime there was this affair of Herman’s with her niece. It was amusing to see how blood told. Not that her sister had been very lively and she had often wondered what Johannes van Reenen had seen in her. Still, when it came to that, you never knew what any one saw in any one else. Take herself and Jappie. How she had loved that man. How passionate his courtship of her had been. And then afterwards, nothing. He had used himself up courting her, but how could she have guessed that it would be like that. One went on appearances, by what one saw. There was, however, no doubt about Sannie’s mother having been anaemic. Every one had said so, and in proof of it, if it required proof, she had been unable to rear her child. She had had no milk, not even as much as a goat. Tante Anna looked down at her figure with satisfaction as she thought of her own lactations. Milk, why she had always had enough for three. Like a cow I was, she thought happily. People used to come to see me because they wouldn’t believe the stories that they heard. She had been a fine woman in those days and a fine woman should milk well. What else were they for, she would like to know? Ja, she had had udders like a cow once and that was because she had plenty of blood. Her thoughts went back to Sannie, she was a true de Jong, showing nothing of the van Reenen strain. In her time she had been very like her, just such a one as Sannie; before the fires of her flesh, she was no mincer of words, had been smothered by the layers of fat which made her spend most of her time planning how to avoid unnecessary movement. Ja, Sannie was right to live while she could, while she was slim and fast like a young buck. Peeping between the folds of the tent that covered the wagon Tante Anna saw Herman ride up to Sannie on his fine red horse. A fine young man on a fine red horse. She preferred blue horses, but this she realised was a personal idiosyncrasy and of no particular importance. A fine young man remained a fine young man on a horse of any kind, or on foot even. There were not so many upstanding young men that a girl could be fussy about the colour of the horses they bestrode; still, she did like blue horses best. There were reasons for it. They might be sentimental, but her family was well known for its warmth of heart. She sat staring over the heads of her span, over their wide, black-tipped horns at the back of the wagon in front of her. How she wished she could hear them talk. Herman was bending forward, leaning over his horse’s neck. Sannie was looking down at her sewing. How wise she was. So long as a girl looked down men gave her credit for modesty. It was curious, the value men set on this girlish modesty when what they really liked was looseness. Well, when the time came, Sannie would be loose enough for any man. Tante Anna closed her eyes and the past which was so much more interesting than the present, because one knew how things had turned out, began to move in a series of pictures through her mind. Childhood, girlhood, marriage, her numerous confinements, the children that she had been so proud of—ach, what was the good of brooding, of saying if I had not done this, or if I had done that. The Lord had given, the Lord had taken away. Taken every one of them, except Gert Klienhouse, the son of her daughter Kattie, and Gert squinted. It was a pretence to say that the past was interesting. It wasn’t. It was dead, with its adulteries and fornications which at the time had mattered so much and now meant nothing. It was dead. Dead. And soon she too would be dead what with the bad food and the jolting of the verdamt wagon. What were they trekking for? Where were they going? When, and where, would they stop? She, Anna de Jong, was tired of it; she had no intention of spending forty years in the wilderness. Nor had she much confidence in manna which she had never tasted. Manna, indeed; what she wanted was to find a nice piece of black ground that Jappie could irrigate and where she could plant the pumpkin seeds she had in a little rawhide bag in the bottom of her wagon box. It was more than a year since she had eaten roast pumpkin. Locusts and wild honey. She had eaten both and liked neither. They might be all right for Kaffirs and prophets, but she was a good Dutch woman, a very big Dutch woman, who needed proper food. She sighed as she thought of the food she wanted and looked out over the heads of her oxen again. What was that? Herman’s horse was rearing. How well the boy rode. I wonder how Sannie can hold him off, she thought. She felt her heart beating with pleasure at his horsemanship. “Mooi Mooi.” “He is beautiful as an angel of God,” she said. To Mevrou de Jong angels were all young men, immense and fiercely proud. What would God, after all he was old, want with a pack of women. She was profoundly contemptuous of her own sex except in their relationship to men. Had Sannie made him angry. She smiled grossly. It was good to make men angry sometimes. She had often done it; their faces flushed and the muscles stood out on their necks. Ach Ja, and then afterwards they were no longer angry. But the time came when one could not move them. Still between those two periods, between the day when a girl first angered a man in love with her and the day when she could no longer stir men to love or fury, lay the flower of a woman’s life, its blossoming. A gun went off. In a second old Mevrou de Jong was a different woman. Her years and fat fell from her. The explosion of a gun could only mean one thing. An ambush. Kaffirs. Picking up the blunderbuss loaded with slugs that hung from its sling above her, she jumped through the curtained front of the wagon on to its bed “Gang links,” she shouted “and span out.” Already the wagons behind were lumbering up, their beasts trotting as the voorloopers dragged at the leaders’ heads, while the drivers, who had leapt out, shouted at the straining oxen as they thrashed them. All were making for the place in the laager, the hoUow square they formed each night, and by day when danger threatened. A square of wagons with their dissel- booms interlaced into which the best of the livestock was run. Men and boys who had been riding idly in ones and twos round the convoy closed in at a gallop, their guns ready. Herds of cattle and horses beUowing and neighing were urged forward by mounted herdsmen and everywhere, on each wagon, stood women and girls with guns in their hands, while children still too weak to hold firearms, loaded spare guns, pouring in powder, ramming in wads and buUets as the Kaffirs advanced towards them. *** 2 Hendrik van der Berg and Johannes van Reenen were riding slowly westwards when they heard the first shot. They were not uneasy. Some one was shooting a buck, or perhaps a lion or leopard had attacked a beast which had drifted away from the main herds. Such things were of everyday occurrence. Then came a fusillade of shots, some single ones, another voUey. “Magtig the Kaffirs,” Hendrik shouted as fie forced his tired horse into a gaUop. Van Reenen followed him. They rode with free reins, letting the horses pick their own way through the bush. Now bending down to avoid an overhanging branch, now sitting forward as they felt their horses about to jump a low shrub and back as they leapt it. Hendrik’s black put his foot on a loose stone, stumbled and recovered, his rider never moved in the saddle. Both men were thinking of Sannie. The daughter of one of them and the woman that the other had determined to make his wife. Hendrik had been about to discuss the matter with van Reenen. He had been thinking of how to begin, wondering if this desire of his to marry a girl thirty years younger than himself might not sound foolish. Johannes would not understand his urgency. He had been a widower for many years, remaining faithful to the memory of the woman who had been Sannie’s mother. All men were differently made and Hendrik had never really loved his wife. He had never felt for Maria as he did for this girl. By God, if she were hurt he would spend the rest of his life hunting Kaffirs. His hand went to the gun on his back, without slackening speed he unslung it and rode on. The sound of firing had increased; he could hear the shouts of the Kaffirs. Their wild cries of Bullala ... Bullala. Kill... kill. Their first rush must have failed, he thought, that terrifying charge of oiled black bodies, flashing spears and tossing plumes. The Kaffirs only charged like that once, flinging themselves against their objective, trying to sweep over it. In a minute they would be there; once over the next rise they would see the wagons below them. Their course of action would depend on the situation; without discussion they would adjust themselves to circumstance; and secure in their strength, and certain of their capacity, they galloped on. They should not have gone out together. As a rule one of them stayed behind, but the country had seemed safe and it was so long since they had hunted in each other’s company. As they broke through a clearing Hendrik saw a chestnut horse coming towards them. It was young Herman’s. The shaft of an assegai stuck out of its shoulder and the saddle had slipped. With a curse Hendrik almost lifted his horse forward. They had killed his son. The Kaffirs had killed his son. *** 3 When Sannie saw Herman’s horse begin to buck she laughed and clapped her hands. He had said he would ride against any man for her and his chance had come. Let him ride. If he could manage that mad horse he would do. He would do very well indeed. Herman, swinging away from Sannie had forgotten that the chestnut was not fully broken, the savage pull on the bit and the feel of his heels infuriated it. As its hoofs touched the ground when it came down from its rearing turn the horse propped and began to buck. Lowering its head between its knees, its long mane flying, it went up in a taut, curved arc. Bent like a bow, with its cream-coloured tail tucked into its quarters, it bounded off in a series of tremendous leaps. Again and again it went up, coming down stiff legged, jarring Herman’s spine. He had been caught unawares. With his legs clinched round the bucking horse he fought, dragging at the rein to get up the stallion’s head. If he did this the horse was beaten for he could buck no more. Entranced, Sannie watched, moistening her lips with her tongue as she leant out of the wagon. It was a fine sight. It was her doing. The chestnut was twisting in the air now trying to burst his girths, trying by every means to dislodge the weight from his back. The gun slipped out of Herman’s hand and went off. Furious with himself for behaving like a fool, a man ought to be able to manage a horse and a gun, in front of Sannie, furious with her for what she had said and the way she had said it, Herman flung himself off the horse into the long wiry grass. He heard Sannie shout “Pas Op,” as a Kaffir carrying a shield and assegais jumped up beside him. The horse reared, pulling the reins out of his hands. Herman, drawing his knife, flung himself at the native. All round him Kaffirs sprang up shouting- He heard shots and the hissing war-cries of the Kaffirs. A moment later the straggling line of wagons would have been ambushed, for the leading oxen of the first span were just going down into a spruit. That was where they must have hoped to catch them. Herman’s hands slipped off the greased naked body. Feeling that he could not hold him the boy threw himself down and seized his legs. They fell together in a sprawling mass, but the Kaffir, a grown man, evaded him and kneeling on his breast raised his short stabbing spear. Herman saw the wide leaf-like blade glittering above him. All round him guns were going off and people shouted. He wondered if his father and Johannes van Reenen would hear the noise or if they were too far off. *** 4 Sannie was almost certain she could do it. Almost but not quite. The rest of the fight raging round her meant nothing, her attention was concentrated on the two men thrashing about in the grass in front of her. She saw a warrior, the wild-cat tails round his waist swinging as he ran, throw a spear at Herman’s horse and hit it. She saw the horse falter and gallop on. Would those two never separate. She could not shoot till the Kaffir was clear of Herman. Her father said the gun threw high and a little to the left. How little she wondered? She did not know the gun. It was very heavy, the one he used for elephant and buffalo. His other gun, the one he had with him, she knew well Where was her father? Where was Hendrik van der Berg? Perhaps they had been caught alone and were now lying on the veld stuck full of spears. High and to the left. She must aim at the ground to the right of the Kaffir to get him in the body. She saw him raise his spear to strike. Praying that the flint was good, that the priming was in order, Sannie raised the hammer, rested the heavy gun and fired. Why did Herman take so long to get up? Had she killed him? Was he wounded? Reloading, she waited. When he got up she would cover him. “Shall I go, Missis?” Jakalaas asked. “Shall I go and bring the young Baas in?” He had picked up his assegai and was about to jump off the wagon when Herman sprang up and ran towards them. He was alive, he was her man, Sannie thought, as she watched him. *** 5 Herman saw Sannie standing on her wagon with a smoking gun in her hand. So it was Sannie who had saved his life. She must have rested the heavy gun against the curved wooden struts of the tent and she had not been afraid to fire. The risk of killing him had not stopped her. He thought of the Kaffir, who a minute ago had been kneeling over him, his thick lips parted in a snarl, his eyes half-closed. Suddenly he had jerked forward as if he had received a blow, his mouth had slackened into a foolish grin, his muscles had relaxed and the spear had fallen from his hand as he began to cough blood that looked very dark as it ran over his chest. It had come out of his nose in a pink foam as he fell and his twitching fingers had opened and closed spasmodically, clutching at the grass. He was dead and Sannie had done it. An assegai whizzed past him, they were coming on again, another quivered in the bed of the wagon as he put his foot on the hub and grasped the shining iron tyre. Taking the gun Sannie handed him, he fired. A big native with a black ostrich plume in his head spun round, grasping at his belly. “Load for me, Sannie,” he said, as he put down the gun. “That was a fine shot, Herman,” she said, smiling, and handed him another. The smoke of the black powder drifting round the wagons increased in density, as more and more men joined in the fight. Old men propped themselves up to shoot, resting their guns. The women and girls were shooting as consistently and coolly as the men, handling firearms as they handled their domestic utensils. Herman saw young Marais, he could not have been more than eight, blow the head off a warrior who had reached his father’s wagon while his mother was reloading. The mounted men, who after their first charge had drawn off on to some higher ground out of range of the assegais to reload, charged again, sweeping down, firing from the saddle and swerving away to reload once more. *** 6 Hendrik van der Berg and Johannes van Reenen took in the situation at a glance. Their people had succeeded in holding the Kaffirs off and the mounted men a few hundred yards to their left were preparing to charge again. Unhesitatingly the two men thundered down on to the Kaffirs. Livid with rage at the death of his son, smeared with the blood of the zebras he had killed, his black horse covered with dust and foam, Hendrik galloped to within a few yards of a thick-set native, who, beating a big oxhide shield with his kerrie, was inciting his people to attack once more. Hearing the hoofbeats of the horses the Kaffir turned. Guilding his horse with his knees Hendrik swung away from him and fired. The heavy bullet took him in the chest. Van Reenen, at his side, shot another, and a shower of assegais followed them as they swept past. At that moment, seeing the diversion the mounted Boers attacked again, this time going nearer and shooting at pointblank range. There was now no question which way the fight was going, with their leaders killed and many of their best warriors either wounded or dead, the Kaffirs hurled a last shower of spears at the wagons and drew off. Herman, who had jumped down as the Boers charged, was struck by an assegai which, passing through his arm, pinned him to the wagon-side. The mounted men wished to pursue the fleeing natives but Hendrik forbade this as once in the heavy bush the Kaffirs would have the advantage. “No, my friends,” he said, “we must make a strong laager now in case they come back and when it is done we will take a commando and burn these bees out of their nest. “He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it, and it shall be as it says in the book: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, and a foot for a foot; aye, and more than that, for not one of these will we leave alive.” With these words, and thinking of Herman, he cantered down the slope. Oh, Absolom my son. Oh, my son Absolom. In his mind Hendrik saw the burning huts and heard the cries of the wounded. Men, women and children they would kill and the word of what he had done would go out. As he reached the wagons he saw Sannie. Her fair hair was down, her face smudged with smoke, and her eyes bright with excitement. Never, to his mind, had she looked more beautiful. A true Boer woman who would be the mother of his sons. “Where is Herman’s body?” he asked. “His body, Hendrik? Herman is not killed—only wounded.” “But I saw his horse.” “He’s in the wagon,” the girl said. “I have seen to him. It is nothing, only an assegai through the flesh of his arm.” As she spoke Herman came out. “You are all right, father,” he said. “Yes, I am all right.” Sannie had bandaged the boy with strips of linen torn hurriedly from her clothes. Hendrik could see the embroidery stained with drying blood where it was fastened above the elbow. ”I thought you were killed,” Hendrik said, and turned his horse. The fight was over but there were things to be seen to. He began to give orders. First, how many killed and wounded? Only one man killed. Old Jappie de Jong. A spear had severed the arteries of his neck. Two others were wounded and one girl, but none of them severely. Among their servants, the natives and coloured folk they had with them, three were killed and five wounded. The livestock were collected and counted. Six Boers went after a herd of horses that had galloped away. The others went out to finish off the wounded natives that lay, like a black belt, about the wagons. They went in pairs to do this work, one covering the other with his gun while the first killed the wounded man with a knobkerrie. A great deal of ammunition had been used, and powder and shot were what they depended on, not only for their food, but for their very lives. Still, Paul Pieters’ trek was behind them and Hendrik knew that he had plenty. When he came up they would buy some from him, giving cattle in exchange, and together they would go and punish the Kaffirs, for until they had been defeated it would be unsafe to go on. In the meantime a proper laager must be made. The wagons were got on the move, wounded oxen replaced and they swung round in a circle, the front wheels of one coming to rest by the rear wheel of the one that had preceded it. By this method the disselbooms and trek gear lay outside the laager, and in moving off the oxen could be inspanned and the column march again, each wagon falling into its relative position without confusion or delay. At night the working oxen were tied to their gear and the trek-chains anchored to each other. The animals, as they settled, making an extra barrier against a sudden rush of warriors. The riding horses were kept inside, tied to the wagons, and to make the laager still more secure Hendrik had the wheels lashed together with riems, and thornscrub was cut and dragged under the beds of the wagons. Fortunately the grazing was good here and there was plenty of water for the livestock. There remained the long grass round the wagons to be cleared by dragging trees round and round, which would prevent the Kaffirs from creeping up unobserved or from setting fire to it, as they had done to Carlus Retief’s convoy. Also there were graves to be dug for their own people and the bodies of the dead Kaffirs to be pulled away before they began to stink, and there was the cannon to be seen to. They had brought it with them for such an eventuality. The attack by the natives had come too suddenly for it to be used, but in a fixed laager it would be invaluable, and Von Rhule, the German, must be told to deal with it. He was a soldier and understood such matters. Hendrik remembered the dead zebras; they could not be seen to now and more would have to be killed. A few cattle had been speared and some sheep, but it might have been a great deal worse. God had saved them from a great calamity. Hendrik gave his horse to a Kaffir, watched him off-saddle, and told him to saddle up another. The black, finding some loose sand, pawed up the ground, rolled, shook himself and galloped off, neighing, to the troop of mares that grazed nearby. A chestnut filly with an uneven blaze and a wall eye raised her head as he came. ** Chapter Three Gert Botha and Jan Fourie had carried Jappie to his wagon. Young Kleinhouse, his grandson, followed leading the dead man’s horse. When Hendrik got there they were standing beside the body, turning their hats in their hands. They were glad to see him for his coming would give them a chance to get away. They had brought Jappie back. They had.said: “Tante Anna, here is Jappie, we have brought him back. Ja, he is dead.” She had looked at them as they held him sagging between them. Gert held his shoulders, Jan Fourie his legs. His feet, sockless, in veldschoen, had wobbled as they stood waiting, moving uneasily. “Dankie kerls. Ja, baie dankie for bringing back my man, dankie, baie dankie.” She had stood staring at them, swaying a little, rubbing her big fat hands together as if she was washing something, and then she had told them to put him down. “Nie, nie, not on the ground. Set him up here on his wagon.” She held out her arms, and taking his shoulders from Gert, dragged him over the rail She had put down a pillow under his head, and arranged a kaross of silver jackal skins under his body. Then she sat down beside him and took his head in her lap. So they had come hundreds of miles for this. It was for this they had left the little farm that nestled so comfortably under the big rock at PaarL Anna de Jong thought of her home. Hers and Jappie’s. She thought of the orchard with its Bon Chretien pears, its peaches, cling and free stone, its apricots; of the small vineyard, of the pigs and the poultry, which had been her special province. Jappie had always said she was clever with hens, making them lay more than her neighbours, and it had always been she who had the first chicks out in the spring. She thought of a big clutch she had hatched out under a turkey hen; there had been thirty of them. And of her geese, that she used to sit plucking in the small stable, and of how when she let one go it would run gaggling away with its wings spread out, as a Kaffir handed her another holding it by its neck. In six weeks or two months they were ready to pluck again with new clean down on their breasts. She had made the mattress of their marriage bed, fifty pounds it weighed, out of goose-down from the flock she had taken with her as part of her portion when she had left her father’s house.... Looking up, her reverie disturbed by his approach, she saw Hendrik. He was sitting very still, mounted on a sorrel horse, watching her, his bare head on a level with her own. “I am sorry, Tante Anna,” he said. “Ja, Hendrik, you are sorry; and why are you sorry?” she asked angrily,” because you have lost a man of your commando. A man who was a sure shot and a fine hunter. For you, Jappie is another gun that has gone. For me, it is something else. Ja, mynheer, for you it is one thing and for me it is another,” she repeated. “That man,” she looked down, her small dark eyes wet with tears, her mouth trembling,” was no hero, Hendrik,” she said. “Nie, nie, he was just a simple man. Like a child he was. More of a child to me than those children that I bore from him. And I was used to him; many years have we done in the yoke together, walking side by side. Often we have loved each other and often we have been angry, saying bitter things to each other, and now this will never be again; it is all over, and like a severed riem my life is cut.” Her voice broke and the tears, lost in the furrows of her cheeks, ran down on each side of her nose. She felt them salt on her tongue as she moistened her parched lips. Jappie was gone. Now she would never be able to tell him about the yellow girl’s unfaithfulness. She would never be able to tell him anything any more. She saw Gert Kleinhouse tying Jappie’s horse to a spoke of the back wheel. It was painted bright scarlet. Jappie had painted it before they started but most of it had worn off. His horse, a dun with a black stripe down its back, still saddled, stood dejectedly as if wondering why they did not let him go. Hendrik pointed to a big tree. “I thought over there, Tante Anna,” he said. “Ja, Hendrik, over there is good,” she said, “by the big hartekoal, it is a long-lived tree.” Her Japple was to lie under a tree by the trek pad in the wilderness instead of comfortably in the kirkyard with his fathers. She thought of the little whitewashed church at Paarl. This was the price he had paid for adventure. Surely it was better to be alive and at home; better even to be governed by the English rather than dead under a tree. “Leave me now, Hendrik,” she said. “There are things that I must do.” Her husband was not the first man she had layed out, nor would he be the last. It was a woman’s work. The first and the last rites were women’s. Women brought men into the world, other women lay with them and brought in more children, and finally, when they had died, it was women who prepared them for the end. She stared down at her husband. Jappie was hers as he had never been hers before. He must be dressed in his best suit, the clotted blood must be washed from his earthcoloured face, his beard must be combed and other things also must be done. Woman’s work, a wife’s work. The last thing she would ever do for him. She heard a scraping sound as Jappie’s dog, a big brindle boerhound, leapt at the wagon, his claws dragging as he pulled himself up. Climbing on to the forepart where the heaviest stuff was loaded over the front axle, and seeing his master lying on the kaross the dog came down to him wagging his tail, sniffed at him, licked his face and then lay down beside him with his head between his paws. A moment later he got up and pushed his nose into Anna’s hand. “He is gone, Wolf,” she said.” The old Baas is no more.” *** 2 By the big hartekoal two Kaffirs were digging. The ground was very hard and they were sweating. Stripped to the waist they swung their picks in unison, lifting them, turning their shining heads in the air with a quick twist of the fingers and bringing them down together with a guttural “Hah” as they expelled their breath. When they had enough soil loose they picked up their shovels and piled it into a bank at the side of the grave. The groot Baas had said it must be deep. Other boys were bringing stones from the river bed, carrying the big water-worn boulders balanced on their heads, they sang softly; now and then they slowed up to do a shuffling dance step, or stopped to stamp their feet. It was a battle song they sang. A song of victory and a lamentation for the brave dead. A few yards away from the boys who were digging, on the farther side of the tree, separated from them by the thick, gnarled trunk, other Kaffirs worked. They were also digging graves for the coloured folk who had been killed. These could lie near, but not beside, the white man. Their bodies lay near them, each covered by his own blanket Flies in swarms buzzed over them, laying their eggs in neat rows along their eyelids or in their nostrils. Ants, forever active, crawled over their bodies eating the blood and clustering in serried masses at the gaping edges of their wounds. Overhead vultures swung in great circles, casting their shadows on the hard-baked ground or sat replete, their heads sunk between their wings, waiting till they should be hungry once again. There were many of them but there was much meat, dead zebras and dead Kaffirs, enough to last for many days. *** 3 Two days after they had buried Jappie, filling his grave with carefully-packed stones so that the hyenas and jackals should not dig him up, and building another pile above him to mark the place, Paul Pieters’ trek came up with them. Hendrik and Herman were riding over the bare cleared space in front of the wagons when they saw three men riding towards them. All were well mounted but there was no mistaking Paul Pieters in front on his tripling grey. As he saw them Pieters raised his gun and waving it, broke into a canter. Paul Pieters was an enormous man with a great black beard, standing six foot six in his bare feet, weighing two hundred and one pounds stripped. Still under forty he had already acquired a great reputation as a leader, combining, as he did, an almost reckless courage with a tactical astuteness which made him one of the foremost and certainly the most feared of the Kaffir fighters. The young man with him was his sister’s son, Zwart Piete du Plessis. He was as tall as his uncle and would one day be as strong. Behind them rode a coloured man with a flat expressionless face. He was Zwart Piete’s servant, a Griqua Bastard called de Kok. Pieters looked round, his hard dark eyes taking in everything. He had heard that Hendrik van der Berg had been attacked and had hurried to catch up with him. Turning to the boy he said, “Make note of this, Piete, the work here has been well done. It is done as I would have done it.” “So, Hendrik,” he said, pulling up, “you are laagered.” “Yes, I am laagered. I was waiting for you, PauL I need ammunition, and I want your help to teach these Kaffirs a lesson.” “That is good, I will help you with thirty men. Have you got good water here?” he asked suddenly, “enough for my beasts?” “The river is near by,” Hendrik answered, “and there is plenty of water.” “Then we will make a great laager, it is time we rested, and we will hunt Kaffirs together for a month. By that time they will know the names of Hendrik van der Berg and Paul Pieters.” He laughed thunderously. “Ja, by that time they will certainly know our names” he said “Where are your people, Paul?” Hendrik asked. “Behind.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Like the cow’s tail, my people are always behind. Only young Piete and his skellum of a boy can keep up with me.” “Come, then,” Hendrik said, “let us drink coffee till they arrive.” He turned his horse and they rode to the wagons. “Make coffee, Susanna,” he shouted, “here is Mynheer Paul Pieters come to join us.” They dismounted as two boys came to take their horses. “Let him run,” Paul Pieters said, “he will not go far and will come when I whistle.” “But he will fight my horse, Paul,” Hendrik said. “Then in God’s name let him fight. Let them get it over quickly. It is the will of God that these things should be, and who are we to stand between God and His will? Besides,” he went on, “it will be a good fight, your black is a fine horse.” He looked at him admiringly as, free of his saddle and bridle, Hendrik’s stallion stood watching the grey. ”They are well matched,” Pieters went on, “and mine is a fine fighter. But one day, Hendrik, one of his sons will kill him; that also is the will of God unless he kills all his sons before they kill him, which is not possible, for he has very many and he will still have them when he is too old to fight, and as he grows weaker so they grow stronger and more numerous.” “Kyk daar,” he said,” it is yours who has started it, Hendrik.” With bared teeth the black charged down on to the grey who got up on his hind legs to meet him. Standing almost erect, their forelegs locked round each others, they wrestled, their manes flowing as they bent their thick strong necks, snake-like, fighting for each other’s throats. Squealing with rage they broke away and tried to chop, front hoof countering front hoof. Swinging round suddenly the black kicked out, catching the grey full in the ribs with both his heels. Paul’s laugh rang out. “Your horse fights like a mare,” he said. ”Shall I stop them, baas?” a Kaffir with a whip in his hand asked. “No, no, Frantz, let them finish. It will soon be done now.” Recovering from the blow, the grey sank his teeth into the black’s shoulder. The black retaliated by seizing his elbow and throwing him. Other loose horses had galloped up and stood watching, the mares whickering excitedly, while foals snapped playfully at each other, or tried to drink. Only one old mare with a distended barrel continued to graze unmoved. Dust rose in clouds as they fought, less seriously now, neither very keen to go on, they bickered, tossing their heads and pawing the ground. A moment later they separated and ignoring each other drifted towards the water. “You see, Hendrik,” Paul said, “it is finished, they have matched each other. They will be quiet together now, unless they fight over a mare in season. If that happens one of them will be killed. And I would sooner that it were yours, Hendrik,” he went on laughing. “Ja, you would hope that, Paul, and I hope that it is yours.” “Your coffee, mynheer.” Susanna, her head scarcely reaching the great barrel of Paul’s chest,-was handing him a cup, while from the south came the shouts of his convoy arriving. *** 4 With the coming of Paul’s people there was a great deal to be done. The laager had to be opened to allow his wagons to join it. The circle, which now consisted of one hundred and two wagons, each occupying twenty feet, locked together was seven hundred yards in circumference. There were two openings in the circle of wagons. One to the north where they were going and one to the south whence they had come. These openings were one wagon wide and the wagons which would act as gates in the event of attack stood beside them, their axles loaded with grease ready to run, manhandled, into the gaps. On them were the trek chains which, put round their wheels, would fasten them into place. The combined stock of the two treks made an enormous herd; the working oxen, in spans of sixteen, numbering over a thousand, and with cows, spare oxen, heifers, tollies, calves, and bulls, totalled in horned stock alone six thousand head. They also had five hundred horses, two hundred donkeys, a thousand goats and twenty thousand sheep. These, when out grazing, were protected by piquets of mounted men. At night they were driven into the great kraals which had been hurriedly made by dragging trees together into rough circles, their trunks pointing inwards, like the spokes of a wheel, their branches, armed with thorns, forming an impenetrable hedge. The circle of bare ground round the wagons had to be increased to match the size of the new laager and every tree and bush was cut to a distance of three hundred yards. Livestock was driven up and down and the wiry grass trampled to powder, blew about mixed with sand and dust whenever a breeze sprang up, or curled up into the air in the dust devils which spiralled, whistling, through the bush. The only trees which remained standing were those within the circle of the laager and the big hartekoal beneath which Jappie and the natives killed in the battle lay under their separate piles of stones. This tree was very near now, the laager having spread outwards towards it. Every day Anna de Jong went there to pray and to thank God that for a while at least she could remain near to her husband’s grave. Soon she knew they would trek on and it would be left behind, a big lone tree on which lions might sharpen their claws or buck scratch ticks from their shoulders. Every day she laid a small offering of flowers on the stones. Yellow mimosa, which was already in flower along the edge of the spruit, or branches of sweet-scented wild olive with its almost invisible, greenish flowers, and invariably, as soon as she left the grave, they were eaten by the goats. By the instructions of Hendrik, a wide clearing was cut between the wagons and the spruit so that the animals could be protected from a sudden raid, and a dam was thrown across it to deepen the water. The laager was a temporary settlement of over five hundred souls, white, black and coloured; the centre of activities which radiated to a distance of twenty miles or more. For five or six miles round the herds grazed under the eyes of their herders and the mounted guards. Beyond them were patrols and men in pairs hunting in ever-widening circles to supply the camp with meat. Beyond them again were the picked men whom van der Berg and Paul Pieters had sent out to reconnoitre and locate the kraal of the Kaffirs. The kraal they meant to destroy. Protected by this screen, the people in the laager were safe, and at night, though they slept with their guns in their hands, felt reasonably secure. They had armed men on watch and the innumerable dogs which accompanied them would give the alarm if danger threatened. Besides, the Kaffirs rarely, if ever, attacked before the dawn. Every one was busy refitting. It was a long time since they had halted for more than a few days at a time. Women mended clothes and made new ones for themselves, their men folk and their children. They made butter, as the cows, freshening with rest and new pasture, gave more milk, and salted it down in earthenware jars. They rendered animal fat, which, mixed with soda and wood ash, they made into soap, or prepared into candles by hanging twisted threads of cotton into cartridgeshaped forms and pouring the melted grease round them, leaving it till it hardened. Everywhere Kaffirs were coming in with sleighs, roughly made out of forked trees, loaded with the game killed by the hunters. These they skinned quickly and, stripping the meat from the bones, cut it into thin slices which after being packed between layers of salt to draw out the blood, were hung up to dry. Large numbers of buffalo, wildebeeste, koodoo, roibok, eland, roan and zwart witpentz were dragged in every day by the tired oxen. Boys played with the heads, skinning them for practice. Dogs growled and fought over the bones and severed feet. Kaffirs cut such skins as they wanted into strips for riems, or breyed them to make clothes. Here and there a man trimmed down a buffalo or eland thong into a long ox whip, or cut the breyed hide of a koodoo into achter slachs or that of a duiker ram into voorslachs. Other men were melting down pigs of lead and casting bullets, mending saddlery or making new stocks to their guns. Some had jacked up their wagons and were repairing wheels, fitting new spokes and felloes, or shortening their tyres. Children strayed and cried, dogs fought, cats had kittens in wagons belonging to strangers. Chickens, which had travelled hundreds of miles in crates slung beneath the wagons, and had grown so accustomed to this way of life that they would run screaming after them if they got left behind at an outspan, began to lose their bedraggled look, and with reddening combs, came in to lay. In the kraals there were animals to be doctored, tied to big poles sunk into the ground, they were thrown and dealt with. Maggot-infested wounds, sore and broken horns were smeared with mixture of grease and tar, young bulls were cut, all manner of stock branded and everything got ready for the time when they would trek on. According to their reckoning they had come eight hundred miles. Many thought this far enough and looked about for land that they might take up. The talk was all of soil, water and grazing. Men looked lovingly at the ploughs lashed to their wagons; their shears were dull with rust. Others handled the seeds they had brought with them—wheat, oats, mealies, Kaffir corn, tobacco, vegetable seeds and the stones of peaches, plums, apricots, the pips of nartjes and sweet and sour lemons. Old men were sad when they looked at them; trees took a long time growing. *** 5 Herman’s wound did not go on well. It was not serious but it refused to heal. The cobwebs Sannie had put on when she first dressed it had stopped the bleeding, and her fomentations of herbs had prevented inflammation, but remained obstinately open. Tante Anna de Jong who had been called in, said it was because he would persist in using it. To which Herman answered, that while he had two arms he would use them. Sannie, looking down, nodded her head and said, “Ja, Tante Anna, you are right, he should not use it, many times I have told him not to.” “You,” her aunt said scathingly; “you would never tell any man not to do anything unless it was to encourage him to do more. Ach, sis, do you think every one does not know what he does with his arms? And who blames him?” She looked round belligerently. “But, ach, God, is not one arm enough? Can you not stay on his good side and let the other heal? Surely the man who saved us can make love with one hand.” She waddled away, turned back, and shouted, “If you will help him.” Sannie sat down hurriedly and picked up her sewing, as Zwart Piete du Plessis and de Kok, who were just mounting to set off on another patrol, burst out laughing. Piete swung up and sat swaying in the saddle. “Ja, Ja,” he cried to Herman. “Tante Anna is right. Hurry up with your love making and come hunting Kaffirs with us.” Herman looked at them furiously as they clattered off, their horses’ hoofs raising a cloud of dust. They were right. Give him a week to get well and he would be with them. He, too, would ride out with his gun over his knees, his blanket rolled, and a bag of biltong and rusks tied to his saddle. Piete, he did not mind. Piete and he had taken to each other, but to be laughed at by de Kok, a Griqua Bastard! He went towards his father’s wagon where his chestnut horse was piqueted. The wound in his shoulder was healing better, far better than his own. Calling a Kaffir, he told him to strap up the horse’s leg. Taking a stirrup leather, the Kaffir ran the end through the opening below the buckle, forming a slip knot which he put over his fetlock, forcing the horse’s heel against his forearm, he threw the spare end over it and buckled it fast. The young stallion, now unable to move, stood on three legs trembling, with his ears laid back, showing the whites of his eyes. Picking up a bucket of brine that hung from a hook on the wagon, Herman began to wash the wound. It was granulating well, and in a few days the flesh would meet. “Hold him fast,” he said to the boy at the horse’s head, and picking up a feather he moistened it and drove it into the stillopen wound. The horse shivered at the pain, his skin becoming darkly patched with sweat. “That is good,” Herman said. “Make loose.” The Kaffir undid the leather, and the horse stood on four legs once more while Herman looked at him speculatively. He would have to be broken again. Once his arm was well he would do it. He would get Zwart Piete to help him, it would take them a day and then they would ride out together. They could say what they liked, but there was no horse that could compare with his chestnut, except perhaps his father’s black or Paul’s big grey. He was out of a Basuto-Arab mare, by one of the governor’s imported English stallions, and though only three years old, he was strong and tough, being veld reared and had that reserve of heart that came only with good blood. Day after day, when he had reached his full strength, he would accomplish his sixty or seventy miles and always there would be more to call on, which in an emergency would take him a hundred and fifty or two hundred at a stretch, even if it killed him. From the horse his mind switched to Sannie. They were very alike, both being beautiful, hot-tempered and difficult to manage. Both of a high courage which had to be coaxed and was not to be driven. Sannie, the elusive coquette, alluring him and then going back as he came forward. Provoking him and then repudiating the advances she had herself called forth. What did she want? What could he do to satisfy her? Herman was getting angry, unable because of his wound to do anything, he brooded, thinking backwards and forwards, covering the same ground, perpetually and unable to reach any conclusion. Unquestionably, she knew what was in his mind for his words had been very open. Sometimes he thought she loved him, for she would allow certain familiarities; at others she drew away from him with cold eyes. Yes, she was playing with him, being at one moment softly tender, yielding and bending supply towards him, and at the next cruel, drawing the sharp claws of her talk across him. He was tired of it. Let her make up her mind one way or the other. Let her choose quickly, for there were other women, and the coming spring was in his blood. *** 6 When Herman left her to look at his horse, Sannie stopped sewing and climbed into her wagon. Tante Anna was right— she had been a fool. Either she wanted him or she did not. Ach God, how she wanted him. This became apparent the moment she thought of losing him, of some one else having him. There were some pretty girls with Paul Pieters’ convoy, and she had not counted on the coming of a number of new women. There was a tall dark girl, a cousin of Zwart Piete’s, and very like him, with her bold manner and swaggering, graceful walk. She had eyes like big, blue-black grapes which she knew how to use and long slim legs. She had seen Herman talking to her yesterday and again to-day. That was what Tante Anna meant when she had said, “Do you think you are the only heifer in the kraal, mie Sannie?” That old woman saw everything; knew everything. And now, with Jappie dead, she spent much of her time at the van Reenens’ wagon, Wolf, her great dog that was as big as a calf following her, putting his nose into every pot and upsetting everything. Dragging out a box from under the bed, Sannie pulled out her sprigged taffeta and a dark-red ribbon for her hair. Tonight they were going to dance. Yes, even Tante Anna would be surprised at what she would do to-night. Praying that it was not too late, Sannie slipped the taffeta over her head. Surely it would not take long to get Herman back and put that dark girl into her place. Laughing angrily, she began to comb her hair—long fair hair which looked red in the firelight and white under the light of the moon. Sannie’s sense of property was outraged. Herman was hers. Had she not saved his life? Had she not pulled out the assegai that pinned him to the wagon side at the end of the battle? Loosening it from the wood and pulling the shaft right through his arm with one determined jerk. Was it her fault that it did not heal? Her fault that he would not rest it, or keep it in a sling? Smiling softly as she thought of him, Sannie went on combing, first one side and then the other, of her hair; holding it down with one hand while her arm rose and fell with long sweeping movements. At last she tossed her head and flung her hair back over her shoulders, where it hung in a shining golden mane down her back, on to the bed on which she sat. Poor Herman, he was unused to illness, to being crippled, restless and uneasily fretful as a colt knee-haltered for the first time. He wandered unhappily about, and she had not been kind to him. She had great power over him and had used it unmercifully while she toyed with her fancy for his father. But that she should be challenged was another thing, and that it should be a dark girl who did it only increased her resolution to force an issue, for Sannie prided herself on her golden hair and the milk-white complexion which she guarded so carefully from the sun with a mask of breyed goat skin. As she thought of him, she heard some one scratching the canvas of the wagon tent. “Sannie, Sannie, are you there? It is I, Herman.” ”Yes, Herman,” she said. “I am here.” She paused. “You can come in” *** 7 Hendrik van der Berg, Paul Pieters and Johannes van Reenen sat at a table, made by pegging some planks on to four posts sunk into the ground, examining the rough map they had made of the district. Over their heads, from the side of the wagon, a piece of sailcloth was spread, its corners tied by riems to two trees which grew conveniently near, making a lean-to that sheltered them from the direct rays of the sun. The map was in no sense accurate, but was as Paul Pieters said “gut genough.” It would do. They had compiled it from the information brought back by their scouts and hunters. One would return and say, “Ja, Hendrik, after two miles the river curls north “’n bietjie.” “How much?” “Oh, not very much, for two hours’ ride, maybe; going slow, that is, natuurlik, then it goes east again for three days.” Another would say, pointing to a blue line of hills on the horizon, “You see those mountains over there, Paul Well, it is farther than you’d think, a full day’s trek, for they are big mountains—very big. But we have discovered a poort through them, and on the other side lies a big plain where the veld is good and sweet.” The story of one was corroborated or not corroborated, by the tales of others, and the result of these reports was the map which lay in front of them. It was good enough to go on, using it not so much as a map, but as a rough guide. Springs and pans that still held water were marked on it, hills, mountains, solitary kopjes, spruits, rivers and the drifts across them, dry watercourses and game paths. The men, looking at the map, wondered where the Kaffirs’ kraal was. They felt certain that somewhere within striking distance, that is within a hundred miles, there was a native town. Young du Plessis and de Kok had gone to try to find it, according to them it lay through the poort, in the plain to the north. “Ons can niks maak till they get back,” Paul said. “Then, if they have found it we will strike.” “Now for the men,” he went on. “You say fifty, Hendrik?” He ran his hand through his beard. “Yes, I think fifty will be enough. If we surprise them it will be more than enough. If we don’t, a hundred would be too little. Twenty-eight of mine and thirty-two of yours, with ten spare horses and half a dozen coloured boys. Come,” he said, “let us make the list. Myself and you two, Zwart Piete and de Kok, he counts as white when it comes to fighting. Magtig, what a shot that Griqua is. Jan de Beer, le Roux, Retief, van Diglen, van Tromp, van de Merwe, Coetze, de Villiers, van der Bijl, Carl Schoeman, Piete Marais, van Rensberg, de Wett, Kruger, Labuschagne, Hoffman, Hertzog, van Ziel, du Buis, Coenraad Potgieter, Grief Ouisthuizen, Steggman, Bezuidenhout, van Boschotten, Reitz, Bothma, Botha, Smit, Krugel Stuurman, Davel Rousseau....” So it went on, name after name being called out, some without further comment, others with stories of their hunting or fighting exploits attached to them. Anecdotes were told, nicknames explained, physical peculiarities described. Men killed in earlier skirmishes or who had died were lamented, their qualities being exaggerated and their defects charitably minimised. Sometimes they stopped talking to stuff their pipes with the strong tobacco they carried loose in their pockets, or to call for more coffee, but always, inexorably, the plan went forward; the quills scratching name after name on the paper, or making notes of the things still to be seen to. Precisely and with infinite pains every detail was discussed. Old Jappie de Jong was going to be well and carefully avenged *** 8 Zwart Piete and de Kok rode north at an easy canter, sitting loosely in their saddles, riding as the Boers always did, with long leathers and their feet well forward in the stirrups. As they crossed the spruit the loose round stones of the riverbed slid away from under their horses’ hoofs with a dry rattle. Passing the big group of kameel-doorns that were a landmark, they turned slightly west towards the poort in the mountains. To-night they would camp in a cave they had found two days ago. It was a full fifty miles away, but they would make it by sundown, in eight hours’ time. Every hour they halted and off-saddled, and allowed the horses to roll. When they came to a spring or a pan they watered them. Twice they changed horses, de Kok being much the lighter of the two, it rested Zwart Piete’s bay. After the first ten miles they rode a hundred yards apart, de Kok in front, with their guns across their knees and slowed their horses to a triple, that running camel’s gait, which eased them. Tied on to the dees of their saddles was a feed of mealies for the night, as they would be unable to let the horses graze. At intervals both men looked back to see what the country they had come through looked like when approaching it from the north. They might have to come back fast. Vast herds of game which had never seen a mounted man raised their heads to stare at them as they rode past, or curious trotted towards them, snorting. As they got nearer to the mountains they rode at a walk, halting at every clump of bush to stare anxiously over the open space between them and the next piece of cover. Accustomed to working together, they moved alternately, one watching and covering the advance of the other. The movements of the game were their best indication of safety; as long as they grazed peacefully there was no danger. Once they both halted with raised guns as a herd of zebra broke suddenly into a gallop, and smiled with relief to see that the cause of their panic was only a charging lion who killed almost at their feet, causing their mounts to try to bolt. Calming them, the two men swung past the lion which raising its head to growl, crouched over the fallen beast. The foothills were only a few miles away now and the kloofs, fingers of dark green vegetation that crept up the breast-like slopes of the mountains were so clear that they could see each tree, isolated by its shadow, standing separate from its fellows. The folds of rolling downland ran up to the sharp escarpment of the berg, where range after range piled themselves into an awe-inspiring mass of solid rock. Piete leant forward to pat his horse’s arching neck. If they were caught up there his turn of speed would be of no use. In that rough ground a horse was no match for a running Kaffir, and what did they know of what was going on up there? Perhaps even now they were being watched by bright, dark eyes. If a picannin saw them it would be enough, and it would not be long before the warriors were out, slipping from bush to bush, surrounding them in a circular net flung six or seven miles wide about them. He had nearly been caught once, and once was more than enough. His reputation as a scout was due to the excessive caution which arose from that incident. He had been ten at the time, They—he, his father and two others—had been riding quietly over the veld when from all round them Kaffirs had sprung out of the long grass, leaping high into the air, their legs plumed with bangles of monkey skin and ostrich feathers bent under them. They had charged down, jumping like dogs, hunting for game that they scent and cannot see. Nor would he ever forget the horror of that moment. The terrible feeling of something wild and utterly implacable that was closing in on them. It had been his first experience of fear. His father, the husband of Paul Pieter’s favourite sister, had seized the bridle of his horse, the sire of the bay he was now riding, and had by sheer strength swung him round. Together they had galloped straight at the nearest of the Kaffirs. His father unable to use his gun had ridden the man down and taken an assegai through the breast. His last action as the two horses thundered along side by side was to draw the knife from his belt and prick his son’s horse in the quarters. The maddened beast had plunged forward. But even then a Kaffir, his kilt of tails swinging as he ran, had almost seized Piete’s foot. It was only that his horse was bolting, and that he was so light, that saved him. As he lay along the stallion’s neck he felt the assegais whistle past him. Of the five who had ridden out to hunt, he alone came back. He never saw his father again, though he rode back next day to guide Paul Pieters and a commando of enraged Boers to the place where it had happened. Since then he had fought Kaffirs without ceasing, killing his first at the age of twelve. ** Chapter Four When the others left him Hendrik van der Berg sat on, smoking and thinking. He had much to occupy him. He was worried by his son’s wound and the boy’s incapacity to take his convalescence quietly. There was this attack to organise; and beyond all this was his ever-present anxiety about his people, those who had chosen him to lead them through the wilderness. Their well-being was something of which he never ceased to think—their health, that of their horses and cattle, the condition of their wagons and gear were all matters of supreme importance on a trek where the speed of all had to be reduced to that of the slowest member of the convoy. And above all else, their spirit had to be kept up, which was why he had suggested the dance that night. Recognising as he did how largely their determination to succeed depended on their physical condition, he was at times almost glad that they had been attacked. They needed a rest badly, but had he ordered it on those grounds, it would have made them realise how tired they were. It would have given them time to think. Time to regret. He knew there were some who wished they had never left the colony; more and more would do so as time went on. Their troubles were far from over, and to meet trouble men must be strong, animals sleek and rested. The trek pad he had opened, which starting from the Cape, ended in the wide circle of his laager, was dotted with the graves of the men, women and children who had been killed or died on the road, littered with the bones of their livestock. Ticks were much worse here, on some beasts one could hardly lay a hand without touching one. They clung like blue peas bloated with blood, all over them. The white tick birds, a kind of small white heron, which accompanied the herds, pulled them off, and the poultry ate those on the trek oxen. Pecking them out from under their heels or jumping up with fluttering wings at those that were on their bellies. While over all the animals the rhenoster birds ran avidly searching in the more hidden places, the base of the horns, along the lips and in the ears, for the parasites that clung there. But even with all this, there remained incredible numbers of them, and with the coming of the summer there would be more. One variety, flat and very hard, beautifully marked with pale green and gold, collected in clusters on the soft parts of the animals—under the tails of the cows, on their udders and between their legs— eating great holes into them, which if not watched, became fly-blown and soon crawled with maggots. They had lost great numbers of horses from horse-sickness, of which there were two kinds—the dinne-paarde and the dikkop-sichte, the latter being the more serious of the two and almost always proving fataL The horses which recovered were salted, they never got it again, but they lost speed and fire. No one knew the cause of it, and every day Hendrik feared to find Zwartland down with it, his head swollen, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, drowning in the mass of soapy bubbles that oozed out of his lungs. Zwartland was the best horse he had ever had. There were cattle diseases too; notably one, where before dying, they stood with wild eyes, grinding their teeth and charged any one who approached them; even attacking those whom they knew well. As they got worse they would fall, as if drunk, and mill round and round on their forehand, their hind legs kicking the ground bare of grass in a well-defined circle of which their heads were the centre. When they were cut open their heart cavities were’filled with a straw-coloured liquid. Having no name for it, the Boers called this new sickness heartwater. All these things, the attack of the Kaffirs, the press of work which inevitably followed it, and the arrival of Paul Pieters with his convoy had forced Hendrik to abandon his plans for marrying Sannie van Reenen at once. The moment was inopportune, Johannes was depressed by the death of his brother-in-law and determined to avenge, his mind being better attuned to revenge which was negative, something forced upon him by circumstance, than to any constructive action. He was a man whose desires were atrophied, one that lived in the past, and if he brought the matter up now, van Reenen, seeing no reason for haste, would be bound to shelve it till after their expedition against the Kaffirs, and people getting to hear of his project might easily lose confidence in him if they thought he was in love. That he should wish to marry they would all understand, but they would think he should have chosen one of the widowed women, whose age more nearly approached his own. Not that he could help thinking of Sannie. Often when he lay rolled in his kaross at night listening to the bark of the jackals and the laugh of the hyenas which hung round the camp in search of offal, or was woken by the coughing roar of a lion, he would picture her as he had seen her last, walking about in the laager, talking and laughing with the other girls, or sitting in a chair by her father’s wagon industriously sewing. He was perpetually conscious of her, and secure in his position as leader, it never occurred to him that he might have rivals. He had known her since her birth and, when thinking of her in relation to others, still considered her a child. That she was not a child, but a woman, was a fact which he was forced to recognise, thrust upon him as it was by his feelings whenever he caught sight of her, or even thought about her. All about him the lives of his people went on. Each busy about their small affairs, they left the main issues to him. Having chosen him to lead them, they felt their responsibility at an end. Gloomy eyed, his bearded chin sunk on his chest, Hendrik watched them, unseeing. Their activities, like those of ants, busy at a broken nest, left him unmoved. For if they left him the greater decisions, he also left them the lesser. In this lay the great strength of this nation, their capacity for decentralisation; in it also lay their weakness. For so competent were they as individuals that they hesitated to combine even when it was necessary to do so; acknowledging no man their master, each wished to lead and declined to follow. From the middle of the laager came the sound of the musicians tuning up. The squeak of a fiddle, the odd wails of a concertina whose holes were partially stuffed with dust, and the sweet notes of a flute. In the wagons the women would be dressing, pulling out their best frocks and combing their hair. From near by came the sharp tap of an axe, five or six strokes, a pause, then five or six more. Old Jakalaas, having found a nice piece of karee-boom, was fashioning a yoke. Over everything was the soft mauve light of evening, a light so beautiful that it produced a hush. In the roseate glow, things lost their perspective and seemed to creep nearer, the weatherbeaten wagons on the opposite side of the laager looked as if by stretching out his hand he could touch the cracks in their sun-scorched sides. Mounted men, riding about, appeared absurdly small, so clearly were their features and the details of their clothes and gear defined. Smoke from the cooking fires rose in thin plumed columns, and away in the distance a hunting jackal gave its slavering cry. *** 2 As it grew darker old Jakalaas turned the six-foot piece of rounded timber in his hands; feeling a ridge, he took it off with a quick shearing cut of his axe and put the yoke away. Tomorrow he would finish it, lashing it on to a wagon wheel and boring holes for the skeys and the iron loop which took the trek chain. The four skey holes he would make by drilling three holes for each with an auger and burning them out with a red-hot iron. The places where he would make them were already marked and the wood lying between them must, above all the rest, be smooth so as not to chafe the necks of the oxen on whom it would lie. Jakalaas loved cattle. He loved the great wide-horned red oxen which pulled his master’s wagon and the cows that he milked, taking only a little from each so that the calves should have enough. The little skellums that tried to drink, and sometimes succeeded, while he milked, pushing their wet noses into his fingers where they pulled at their mother’s tits. He laughed as he thought of their surprised angry looks when he slapped their faces with his hand or the small switch he kept lying at his feet. On trek they had drunk as they liked, but now they were in a hok—a small subsidiary kraal—and were only allowed out one by one as he milked their dams. He thought of one cow whose calf had died, of how he had skinned it, and stuffing the skin with grass, used to set it down beside her while he milked. With the dummy in front of her she allowed herself to be milked dry. He thought of heifers with their first calves that fought and kicked so that it took two boys to handle them, of Roiland the big bull, who was so quiet that the picannins could ride on his back, and so savage in anger that he had once killed a tiger as it lay crouched over a calf. Jakalaas took snuff and squatted, dreaming happily of cattle. He had eaten, and his belly and his heart were full. *** 3 The back of Sannie’s wagon was arranged somewhat differently to those of the other women. Being an only child and unmarried she slept alone, so instead of the great bed which usually occupied the whole covered portion of the wagon, she had a narrow bunk. It was covered by a kaross of wild cat skins whose fringe of tails touched the pelt of an enormous leopard which lay on the floor. Over the bed hung the two silver-mounted pistols her father had given her. They were kept loaded and placed so low that when in bed she could reach them by stretching out her hand. Under the bed was the coffin-like wagon box in which she kept her clothes. Opposite to it, running along the near side of the wagon was a long shelf. It had a ledge round it to prevent things falling off when the wagon moved. It had drawers beneath it for her toilet things and those small oddments of which she was continually in need. Over the table she had a mirror fastened to the battens of the tent and resting on the wagon side. Near the mirror at the far end were two small brass-bound barrels, one for water; it had a drinking cup attached to it by a chain; and the other which was locked was filled with brandy for use in emergencies. On the other side was a small powder barrel and a receptacle for bullets; a holder for her tinder box and a vase of polished horn in which to put flowers, were clamped to the wagon. Across the front and back of the rear portion of the wagon were low wooden partitions to which the canvas curtain flaps were fastened by rings to an iron bar. They could be firmly laced together through their eyelet holes or fully opened and drawn back. In the middle of the wagon was a hanging lantern on a chain, its height adjustable by a counterpoise the shape of a small sitting man. Herman had often looked into her wagon, but had never actually been into it before. In some way it made him feel awkward and uncouth, it put him at a disadvantage. It was not that it was in any way daintily feminine. Except for the flowers, they were big pink scented lilies which he had brought her from the vlei, it might have been a man’s quarters. But being near Sannie always made him feel tongue-tied and uncomfortable, as if he were too big, and now that having let him in and drawn the curtains she ignored him and went on plaiting her hair, he felt it more than usual. He was too tall to stand upright, and she had not asked him to sit beside her. “Well,” Sannie said at last. “What is it? Is it time to do your arm again?” Ek wiet nie, Sannie, about my arm.” Having got here, he did not know what he wanted to say. He had been passing and had felt an impulse to scratch at the canvas of her wagon as he went by. As a rule, when he did this she told him to go away and said she would be out soon. ”I want to talk to you,” he said. How neat her fingers were as she plaited her hair, slipping the three coils one over the other. Under, over, under, over, under, he found himself thinking it was like a thick whip that she was making. “Talk, Herman? Have you found something new to say?” She laughed up at him. “And why don’t you sit down?” She moved up a little. He sat down diffidently, wondering if the bed would bear his weight. It had been built for Sannie who was very small and light. Also, he did not quite like sitting on her bed. To sit beside her outside was one thing, to sit beside her here another. As if she knew what he was thinking, she said, “It’s strong enough, Herman.” And turned her head towards him. “Come,” she went on gaily. “What is this that you are going to tell me, this new thing?” “Ja, it is quite new.” Herman suddenly felt very bold. “It is this. I am tired of being played with like a tollie at the end of a riem running round and round. I am a man. I have a wagon and a span of my own, I have horses, cattle, sheep.” “And all you need now is a wife,” she interrupted. “Some one to cook for you and mend your clothes. Magtig, and you call this new. Ja, and you think that I would do. You like my baboti and my rusks, you think I am good to look upon, and you would like to lie with me. You with your cattle and.your horses. Am I not the only child of my father? Will I go to a man without a portion. Magtig, I thought it was something new you had to tell me, not this old story. I thought perhaps you had come to tell me you were going to marry Zwart Piete’s cousin. A fine wife she would make for you. A half-wild girl who is as dark as a Kaffir and as immodest, or his sister who hunts like a man. They say she has been out fighting with her brother, dressed as a boy.” Sannie tossed her head contemptuously. Through the folded-back canvas of the wagon front Herman saw the piled goods lashed fast with riems under the dusty bucksail, above them was a triangle of sky paling now to the soft green and lilac of the evening; the sun had gone, and soon it would be dark. Sannie was still playing with him. A large bat flew past, he did not like bats, regarding them as ill-omened. Things were not going well with him. He was no longer certain of Sannie. He could not tell what was in her mind, his arm hurt him, his red horse was wounded, his new friend, Piete, away and in danger. He thought of how he would at this time be settling down for the night somewhere in the mountains, he thought of the mocking laughter of his Griqua Bastard. He thought of Stephanie, Zwart Piete’s pretty cousin, and of Sara, his twin sister, who was so big and silent. A queer girl this, moody and morose, one who ignored every one except her brother. Her face was badly pock-marked, and though usually expressionless, was as sad as that of a bush monkey when she thought herself unobserved. Sannie hated these people, but he liked them, for they were new and strange. Zwart Piete was his friend, and Paul Pieters was a hero, one of the big leaders of the day. But perhaps Sannie’s anger was a good sign, perhaps she hated Stephanie because she was pretty, because he had talked to her, perhaps ... “Listen, Sannie,” he burst out. “Next week I shall be well. I shall ride out on commando, but before that, before I go———” “Ja, Herman, and before you go?” she asked. He hated Sannie at that moment; hated her for what she was doing, throwing words out at him that cut like the blows of a whip, and all the time binding him to her by the spell of her presence, by the very pose of her body lying back on her bed against the cushions. What had she talked about Stephanie du Plessis for? If she could not make up her mind soon, he would have Stephanie. Her wishes about the matter were clear enough. His heart beating angrily, he seized Sannie’s wrist and pulled her up. “You are right,” he said. “I have nothing new to tell you— nothing. There is never anything new for a man to tell a woman. All I can say is that I love you, and that this cannot go on. The winter is over, the trees are putting out their flowers, already the bees are beginning to swarm, and birds fly about courting. In the kraals the bulls are arching their backs and the cows restless; everywhere the sap is rising, and it is not good for a man to live alone.” Letting go of her wrist, his arm went round her waist. For a moment she struggled wildly, pulling back her head and pushing him away with her hands on his shoulders, fighting furiously as he kissed her throat and neck. She felt his forearm hard against the small of her back, she felt his knees against her thighs, his hand on her breast. He was forcing her back. Through the kaross she could feel the hard edge of her bed against her calves. *** 4 Tante Anna sat on her chair watching the dancers, Wolf, her big dog, lying beside her. Sometimes as dancers whom he knew came near, he would wag his tail, thumping the hard ground or look up with bared fangs at strangers. Neither the woman nor the dog ever took their eyes off the people dancing on the piece of cleared earth round the great fire. Sweating freely, the musicians stood or sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the decorated wagon that served them as a bandstand, played unceasingly. Frikkie Laurentz blew madly, with puffed red cheeks, into his oboe. He had taken this opportunity to put on his father’s uniform, that of the old East India Company, and very fine he looked in it. The doublet and breeches of blue kerseymere lined with Indian linen, salemporis, which was now very hard to obtain, might have been made for him. On his legs he wore knitted stockings of bright red and on his head a fine hat, very high and imposing, with its front of tiger skin. His father had been a grenadier and the hat, unsuitable for oboe playing, tipped over one ear by his exertions, marred though it did not spoil the effect. Hans Graaf had also dressed up; he wore an officer’s coat of scarlet cloth braided with silver, one, which new, must have cost a hundred gulden. Tante Anna wondered where he had got it. Not from a tailor that was certain. Still, the two men gave the band a military look which was very pleasing, and what a volume of sound they produced. Ach, music was wonderful; the power of it. Even she, newly bereaved as she was, felt her feet moving to the rhythm. Couples whirled round in one another’s arms, broke up into units or linked into chains of humanity which wove in and out of each other in the warp and woof of the round dances. The clothes of the women and girls, the silks and taffetas which had been put away for months, sprang into brilliant light as they swung near the fire or disappeared, the bright colours unilluminated, fading into the darkness as they left it. The men wore clean clothes, but had not put on their best, and carried knives and powder horns in their belts. That was Hendrik’s order. Round the dancers, behind the ring of sitting women, old women too stout to dance and young ones too heavy with child, who sat on chairs or squatted on karosses watching the dancing, were a ring of coloured men holding their masters’ guns and their own. Every now and then as firelight sprang up it glinted on the long barrels that they held in their hands, and the wide blades of the assegais carried by the watching Kaffirs. In the event of an attack, each Boer would run to his group of natives and seizing his gun, be ready to fight. It was unlikely that this would happen, but Tante Anna applauded the forethought which had made provision for such an eventuality. Her hard eyes softened as she watched a girl sitting next to her slip down her frock and give her child the breast. A tall native stood beside her, his assegai point driven into the ground, his kerrie in his hand. She had been left in his charge by his master when he died, and it was understood by all that he should remain beside her even among the white people. Aaasvogel they called him, because of his keen sight, and Marietje, the wife of his baas, was safe while he lived. Poor Marietje de Wett, not yet twenty and already a widow. Tante Anna sighed. She was sorry for the girl, but in a way her pass was better than her own. Soon she would go to another man, and Louis de Wett would be forgotten, and his son weaned and learning to walk, would cling to the legs of another man, clutching at his trousers with small inquiring hands. A Kaffir threw more wood on to the big fire, a shower of sparks went up into the air and a man, one of Paul Pieters’ people, stepped out to sing. His name was Grietje Martinus, Tante de Jong had heard of him. They said he had a voice which would charm the birds from the trees and bring the snakes out of their hiding-places to listen. Certainly he was a fine figure of a man, tall and powerfully built, with a great red-gold beard that reached down to his belt. His wife and child were dead. The woman having died from the bite of a snake, and the child, fostered on a Kaffir woman, only surviving her for a few weeks. This was his tragedy. All that had been his was gone, only his courage and his voice remained. Slowly, to his own accompaniment on a small harp, he began to sing. His voice, a magnificent baritone, coming from deep down in his chest, increased in volume till it seemed to fill the laager and spill out into the veld beyond. He sang a love song. He followed it with a lullaby. In the firelight Tante Anna could see tears running down his cheeks as he sang. When he finished the song he paused and broke into one of his own compositions called “Voorwaarts,” a song of the great trek they had all made, a song of their dangers and tribulations, of border fights on the Great Fish River and of the martyrs of Slagtersnek As the last notes died away a lion roared, another took it up, and another. Not only birds can he charm, but lions, Anna de Jong thought, and looked at the girl by her side. Marietje’s baby was asleep, his head lolling back. Marietje, her breast still out, stared with wide tear-suffused eyes at the man standing alone on the bare space by the fire. He played a final chord and tucking his little harp under his arm strode off through the people into the darkness beyond. Catching Tante Anna’s eye, Marietje blushed and pulled up her dress. The child woke and cried, and once again every one began to dance. Missing nothing, Anna searched for Sannie in her wine-red taffeta. She was not there and nor was Herman. Herman should have been there. He was wounded in the arm, and not the leg. What were they doing? She thought suddenly of the advice she had given Sannie. What a girl to choose to-night when her absence would be conspicuous. But on the other hand, when would she get another chance like this when every one was busy making merry, with even the Kaffirs standing about watching the dancing. Ja, Sannie was a clever little piece and capable of making the most of her opportunities. She wondered what it was about her niece which made her so attractive. She was not beautiful, she was too small and slight for that, with skimpy little hips and long thin legs. But she had something, a magnetism of some kind; it showed in the way she moved and spoke. It was this quality that they had in common. Ja, under that small, calm exterior there was this other thing that men guessed at. Ach sis men. They only wanted one thing; the only thing they could get from a woman, the only thing she had to offer them. Tante Anna sniffed loudly and then smiled—well, they would get it from Sannie, she had plenty to offer. Unless the man were young and strong it would be too much. *** 5 “Let us go out, Sannie,” Herman said. He could hear people moving about, and at any minute one of her friends might come and look for her. “Out? Do you mean out of the laager?” She raised herself on her elbow. She looked at his face which she could see silhouetted against blue-black sky of the night. He was her man, her lover; what he said she would do. “Yes, out under the stars where we can talk.” ”What about the guards?” “To-night they will be looking inwards watching the dancing, besides, here, on this side, I am on guard.” He got up. As they crept out of the front of the wagon a black shadow sprang up beside them. Swirling round, Herman caught the man by die throat. “Baas, baas, it is I,” Jakalaas gasped as he felt the fingers biting into his neck. “Let him go, you fool” Sannie said. “You must not throttle my Kaffir,” she went on, laughing gendy. She turned to Jakalaas who was rubbing his neck. “Bring your assegais and come with us,” she said. “With you, mie meisie? And where is it in the heart of the meisie to go?” he asked. “We are going to the river. I wish to talk to the baas.” Trembling, the old Kaffir followed them as they dropped over the side of the wagon among the oxen, who tied to their trek-gear slept, their heads curled round on to their hind legs like dogs, or lay chewing the cud, their stomachs rumbling. Sannie spoke to them, calling them by name: Engelsman, Bloom, Gielbeck, Bosveld, Kaptien. Blinking their big eyes they looking at her and continued to chew their lower jaws, moving sideways as they ground the Gid with their molars. Bosveld threw back his head to lick his flank, his long horns glistening in the moonlight as they walked past him. This was certainly the madness of the white people, Jakalaas thought as he followed them. That the young baas should make love to his meisie, he understood. He had foreseen it, either this baas or another. He had lain listening to them at it for a long time. But why now, when it was all over, did they want to go and talk. What was there to talk about? What they should have done, in his opinion, was to part and sleep and when they had rested to make love again. That was the normal, the sensible, thing to do. Out here there was danger He stared into the black bush beyond the clearing, his eyes wide with fright. Lions. Kaffirs. And worse than either the spooks of the warriors killed in the battles, the shafts of the assegais he carried in his hand rattled together as he thought of those wild Kaffirs-—their earth bound spirits must certainly be wandering round the encampment. They would haunt it forever since their stomachs had not been ripped open to allow their souls to escape. And no doubt his meisie would leave him alone to watch from behind an ant heap while she went off to talk with the young baas. His teeth chattering with fright he clung to their heels. A nightjar on silent wings swept over him, and he clutched Herman’s shoulder. “I’m bang, baas, he said,” Lie bang vir die spoke. They are all around us.” “There are no spooks,” Herman said. No spooks, indeed, more white man’s nonsense. Oh, unquestionably the white people were very great, very strong, but of some matters they knew nothing. ** Chapter Five The KLOOF towards which Zwart Piete and de Kok were riding was very like the others which indented the foothills of the mountains, except that it was larger, opening out into a wide delta of alluvial soil on the south side, and instead of ending, ran straight on in an ever-narrowing gully which cut right through the range. Here, to the mouth of the kloof, growing in the deposit of silt carried through it by the rushing waters of the spring and summer rains from the higher lands, were the big marula trees they had been making for Beyond them was the valley, dark and menacing now as the sun, low in the sky, was hidden by the mountains. Only a spur on their right, covered with red aloes, was brilliantly illuminated by a shaft of light which struck it diagonally from between two peaks. The red flowers in the red light stood out against the indigo shadows of the valley. High up above them the main berg was streaked with pink where the evening light fell on the chalky droppings of the nesting vultures. Each peak, each shoulder, each rock and every tree and bush, was stained red in varying shades; pale pink below the vultures’ eyrie, orange on the bare granite face of the cliffs, dull crimson on the dark evergreen scrub which grew on the mountain slopes. Every object threw purple shadows of fantastic length, and where the trees grew close together, merged into a pattern that moved almost visibly, growing, as the sun fell The silence was profound, movement of man and beast arrested, even the light breeze which had been blowing ceased, and the leaves hung immobile and unrustling on the trees. For three minutes, for perhaps five, this would last, this miracle that divided the African day from the African night. The men, the white man and the coloured, drew rein. From the mountains came the bark of a baboon. The horses, impatient at the delay, and knowing that they carried mealies for their evening feed, tossed their heads, their bits jingling. A night-appie sprang from one tree to another, spreadeagling through the air and clinging to a branch, looked down at them with wide round eyes. The spell was broken. Taking off his hat Piete wiped his forehead, and pressing their horses’ flanks with their knees the two men rode on. In an hour it would be dark Both were thinking of their plan. It had at least the merit of absolute simplicity. They would camp in the cave, it was near now, and in the morning would climb the mountain till they could obtain an uninterrupted view of the plain beyond it. *** 2 Soon afrer Sannie and Herman had left the wagon her father came to look for her. Climbing into it he lit the lantern and glanced round. She had been here; she had been lying down. Perhaps she was not well and had gone to get some medicine from one of her friends; thinking it a pity she should miss the dancing he shrugged his shoulders and went back. There was no accounting for girls, any girl, and Sannie more than any other. Long ago he had given up trying to understand her movements. On one thing, however, he did congratulate himself about—Sannie never did anything without a reason. It was something to have a girl who knew her own mind. He would miss her a great deal when she married, and feeling that the time was not far distant when this would happen he wondered what he would do when she left him. It would be very lonely without her. He supposed that with Jappie dead Tante Anna would come and keep house for him. This was something he did not look forward to. How different Anna was from her sister. If she had lived he would never have trekked, but she hadn’t lived and he had welcomed this excuse to get away from the farm which had been their home. He was not a politician, among a nation of them; he was one of the few who did not care who ruled, a man who was happy with his flocks and herds, his pastures and his cultivated fields. *** 3 Hen A pause, in which the boy’s song hung poised on a high note in the tree tops, as he staggered, raised his hands and fell. *** 8 In the late afternoon the watchers on the hill to the north of the laager saw a man riding towards them from the north. He was coming very slowly and appeared to be carrying something on the saddle in front of him. It was Zwart Piete’s Griqua and what he held so carefully were a man’s legs, they could see no trunk. Had the Kaffirs cut him in two? Were his master’s legs all that de Kok had been able to rescue? Two men immed.ately galloped up to him, while a third rode for the laager with the news and led back the band of horsemen he collected. The camp which bad been waking slowly into movement, buzzed like a hive of angry bees, and gathering into groups the people talked loudly of vengeance. Zwart Psete is dead, they cried. The Kaffirs have killed Zwart Piete. Sannie, wno after her walk had been resting in her wagon, came out in time to see Sara du Plessis run up to Herman’s horse, it was the only one available, jerk a bridle into its mouth, slap on a saddle and, pulling up her skirts, spring on to its back With a shout to her uncle, who mounted on his big grey, waited for her, she wheeled the chestnut and bucked her way out of the camp, scattering dogs, children and chickens «n ail directions. The horse, enraged, tried to unseat her, but every time he bucked she hit him with a heavy sjambok. Running against the wheels of the wagons, overturning tables and chairs, the chestnut tried to scrape her off, but the girl with her frock kilted round her waist, continued to thrash him till, giving up, he bolted after the grey and overtaking him, the two horses thundered through the gate and galloping neck and neck over the veld, made for the party returning with de Kok. Sannie and her aunt joined the crowd, every one was there; every one except Hendrik van der Berg and his son Herman. ** Chapter Seven It seemed to the people waiting outside the laager that the cavalcade approaching them moved very slowly. Certainly it waj right, Tante Anna thought, that the remains of a brave man should be treated with respect and not bumped about at a gallop. But these men, the Griqua and those who had ridden out to meet him were hardly moving, and as if that was not enough, stopped every few moments to make what looked like gestures of horror, touching each other and pointing to the Bastard’s burden. At this rate it would be a long me a quarter of a hour at least, before they arrived, so she sent Louisa to fetch her chair. Sannie, standing beside her aunt, looked round for Herman. He had told her he was coming straight back to the camp. This would upset him and she doubted very much if any effort of hers would now prevent him joining the punitive expedition which would go out to avenge this murder. As the party got nearer it became apparent that they were laughing. Slapping each other on the back and roaring with laughter to such an extent that they could hardly sit their horses. Tante Anna, furious with impatience and unable to understand this extraordinary behaviour, banged the arms of her chair and sent Louisa running to see what had happened. If they laughed like this Zwart Piete could not be dead. If he was not dead she might be able to keep Herman back. He is not strong enough to fight yet, Sannie thought, and again looked round for him. “Magtig,” she heard some one shout. “Magtig, what a man.” And another roar of laughter went up. Gert K einhouse, who was riding a little apart, was holding his stomach and the tears were running down his face. In the middle of the group the Griqua sat his horse smiling quietly. From where they were Sannie and Tante Anna could see nothing, only the heads and shoulders of the mounted men appearing above the crowd of people on foot who pressed round them They saw Louisa force her way into the press and come running back. When she reached their side she was laughing so much that she could not speak. “Oh, Nfevrou,” she gasped. “Oh! Oh!” Spring ng up, her mistress boxed her ears and waddled of* to see for herself. “What’s all this?” she said. “What in the name of the Almighty is it?” The impetus of her weight carried her through the crowd to de Kok, and then, like the others, she began to laugh. “Ja ja,” she said; “it is funny. It is the funniest thing I have ever seen.” In their relief, every one was laughing hysterically. Doubled up, Sannie clung to her aunt’s arm. Oh, where is Herman? she thought If only he could see this. De Kok, his bare yellow legs sticking out beneath his shirt, smiled at them. With one hand he held his reins, with the other he clung to his trousers. Tied at the bottom of both legs, they straddled his horse’s shoulders stiffly. They were filled to the top with ostrich eggs from a nest he had found on his way home. Still shouting with laughter, the Boers rolled off their horses. “Where is Hendrik van der Berg?” they asked. “Now with de Kok to guide us we can start to-morrow. He has found the kraal,” they said. “Where is Hendrik? Hendrik must be told.” “I am here.” They had not seen him come. They did not recognise his voice when he spoke. Towering above them, they had all dismounted, on his black horse, he sat looking down at them his eyes as cold and hard as stones. At the back of his saddle was tied a duiker ram, its head hanging downwards, under the black gash of its cut throat, moving as the horse’s flanks rose and felt In front of him, across the pummel, his arms dangling like the broken wings of a bird, was his son. There has been an accident,” he said. “I have shot Herman.” He paused. “Come to my wagon, de Kok, and give me your news.” Raising his voice, he went on, “And to-morrow we ride out” De Kok was forgotten as they crowded round Hendrik. How did it happen? Why? Where? How? When? Coldly Hendrik explained He had been shooting. Something had moved, he had fired thinking it was a buck The boy was dead. He had died instantly. Overwhelmed by the tragedy and many of them crying, for Hetman had been much liked, they took the body from Hendrik and carried it to the wagon. Sannie, opening her mouth to scream, felt her aunt’s fingers on her wrist, the nails biting into her flesh. “No, Sannie. No,” Tante Anna said. “But he is dead, dead” “Ja, Sannie, he is dead, and if screams could bring your lover to life I would say scream, but they cannot, they can do nothing, no one can do anything.” And she dragged the girl away. At that moment the storm, which had been threatening, broke with a roar of wind and an all-enveloping cloud of dust. Unnoticed in the press of passing events, the sky had fallen, covering them like an inverted leaden bowl closing them in, isolating them between its restricted horizons. The noise of the talking, the shouts and the cries were drowned in a howling gust, torn away on the dark wings of the storm Red dust, in clouds, covered everything. The women, their skirts pressed against them and billowing, lost in the opaque semi-darkness, pressed their hands to their eyes, while sand, particles of grit, and even small stones carried on the terrifying wind, slashed at their cheeks, as they sought panic stricken for shelter. Children cried, clutching at their mothers, as they tried to hide among their petticoats. Poultry which had gone to roost early were swept away like pheasants on unaccustomed wings Horses which had been securely tied to the wagons smashed their riems and galloped headlong round and round. Only the cattle stood still with their patient, high-hipped rumps turned to meet the wind. In Tante Anna’s wagon, when at last she reached it, Sannie flung herself down and, grasping the older woman’s knees, gave way to paroxysm after paroxysm of dry tearless sobs. Herman—her Herman—was dead, he had been brought back, slung like a shot buck over his father’s saddle. Now they would not be married. Now life was over. Now no arms would ever hold her, no hands touch her. Outside the storm raged, bending trees before it, or breaking them, brought them to earth with tearing, thunderous crashes Guy ropes were whipped loose, canvas shelters hung stiffly horizontal, thrashing till they broke adrift and sailed, like kites, away. The tent of the wagon, pressed against its battens, made tight little convex squares, sails, which rocked the heavy vehicle. Rubbish of all kinds struck at it and was held there by the force of the wind, whiie sand and dust pouring through every crevice, piled itself in crumbling heaps. From being dark it became light, as flash following flash illuminated everything. A wagon was struck and burst into flame; the explosion of the powder barrel it contained lost in the crash of the continuous thunder. Fortunately, before more wagons caught, the rain came down; not in drops, but in a solid mass, as if the bottom had been suddenly withdrawn from a lake. A flood of water a foot deep swept over the veld. The Kaffirs who had been crouching beneath their master’s wagons were forced to climb on to them as the water swept between the wheels. The spruit which had been a trickling stream half an hour before was now a raging torrent whose roar could be heard above that of the storm, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, the weather changed and the sun came out. People soaked to the skin, for the canvas of the tents was incapable of withstanding such a downpour, stood white-faced on the wagon beds or waded knee deep in the water, trying to rescue such as were left of their belongings. In that hour, since Zwart Piete’s servant had come back without him, Herman van der Berg had been brought in dead, a wagon had been wrecked and its occupants—the Marais family, a man, a woman and two children—killed; a vast number of sheep swept away and all possibility of attack on the Kaffirs made out of the question until the floods had subsided. It was a disaster compared to which all the others they had passed through were as nothing, an experience which had affected every one by the swiftness of its coming, by the piling of climax cn to anti-climax, by its exposition of the awful power of their God, the God of Israel, who was a jealous God. *** 2 Herman’s body lay on his bed. It was there that Sannie saw it, washed clean by the rain, lying surrounded by a pool of pale, pinkish water, on its canvas cover. They had not even thought of pulling a blanket over him. He had been put down and left. A thousand conflicting ideas swept through her mind. The desire to fling herself down beside him and weep evaporated, a cold anger at death caking its place. There was nothing to weep at here. This was not the Herman she had loved; this was a stranger, a boy whose mouth hung open foolishly, whose eyes, unlit and glazed, stared vacantly upwards. No longer a young man, but dead flesh, something which must be put away before it turned rotten The spark was gone, and nothing left to kindle that which within her had flared so easily, so recently, to meet it. Having seen death many times, but never her own dead, she was appalled by her lack of feeling. All it meant was an end. Death did not come, that she realised suddenly was the truth of this thing; instead, life departed leaving a great vacant space in one’s heart, a vacuum of thought and desire. Herman was dead. They would bury Herman and no one but her aunt would know what he had been to her. He was already part of the past, like a flower which had bloomed and died, no longer beautiful. For a moment she thought of taking something of his. His handkerchief, a lock of his hair; and then a premonition of what was to happen came to her, a thought as swift in its passing as the flight of a bird and as certain. She needed no memento of her lover. No, rather would she remember him as he had been, passionate and strong, the young man who had taken her so angrily. A memento, she smiled sadly; she had it, and before the water dried up in the pans and grass turned yellow it would be born. *** 5 The next day was a sad one, more graves were dug near Jappie’s and this time they were dug quickly for the ground was soft and wet. First that of Herman, then those of the Marais with their children lying between them. Soon, if they stayed here long enough, they would have a cemetery, but at least this thought comforted Anna de Jong, her Jappie no longer lay alone. Sannie’s self-control was perfect, she went about composed and thoughtful as if she were waiting for something. In a week now she would know. Her only remark to her aunt was that had he been able to choose, Herman would not have chosen this place to be buried and her eyes had strayed towards the Kaffir-boom whose scarlet flowers had gone, destroyed by the storm. Composed, dignified and withdrawn into herself, Sannie moved, lost in the world of her fantasy, through the days that followed, wandering absent-mindedly through time as though it were space. Eating, talking, smiling even laughing a little, sleeping soundly; a woman who now drew ail eyes by the perfection of her youthful maturity. *** 4 Once the work made by the storm and flood had been dealt with the men grew uneasy and quarrelsome; they wanted to be off and have done with this place of ill omen. Every day they went down to look at the river which remained impassable. Surely soon the waters would run down and they could go De Kok’s story of the ease with which the Kaffirs could be attacked, his description of the vast herds of cattle, which, acclimatised to this hot northern area, would so swell their depleted herds excited them. Among the Boers, as among the natives, a man’s standing was inextricably tied up with the size of h s herd, his importance being to a great extent measured by the number of his cattle. A man was important when he had thousands of cattle, negligible when he had none. Few of them considered Jappie or thought of revenge; to them the coming expedition was one which would, by dealing the enemy a decisive blow, secure them from further attack and at the same time enrich them by the loot they would acquire. Everything was ready. The men who were going with Van der Berg and Paul Pieters were picked. Men in their prime, experienced hunters, fighters capable of withstanding exposure and forced marches on small rations. Their horses, having survived the trek, were as tough as their owners, true Boer horses, of Arab and Basnto strains, small, veld-reared beasts, which could forage for themselves and were well accustomed to gunfire and war conditions. The older men and boys were to be left in charge of the camp who, together with the women and girls, wotnd be strong enough to hold it unless they were attacked in overwhelming numbers. In addition to them a small force of selected men who could operate mounted, independently of the laager, were also staying behind under the command of Johannes van Reenea *** 5 Where the others were merely nervous and irritable, Sara du Plessis and de Kok were anxious. Twice he had tried to swim die river to get back to his master. On the first occasion he had nearly done it and on the second had had bis horse drowned and narrowly escaped death himself. The Bastard and his master’s sister were always together staring towards the mountains and talking about Zwart Piete. “What will he do?” Sara asked. “How much food has he? How much ammunition?” One thing was certain, when they did go, she was going with them and to that end had bought Herman’s red colt from Hendrik. Once broken thoroughly he would be better than any of her own or her brother’s beasts and all her time which was not spent on the bank of the river she devoted to the horse and soon had him under control. With his head tied to that of de Kok’s horse they rode about, fixing then guns, charging and wheeling. She taught him to stand quiet with the reins flung over his head, to carry a double burden and to ride down any one she put him at. The more she saw of the horse the more she liked him and the more certain she became of her security when mounted on his back. To Hendrik the idea of a woman going on commando was unheard of, but Paul Pieters, with whom she was going, only laughed. He was used to her and told van der Berg that he would soon forget she was a woman when he saw her fight *** 6 Zwarr Fiete, when he sent de Kok back, had gone on towards the farther range of mountains. Here was a temptation which he was unable to resist, the call of the distance, the i narriculate cry of the hills, with their ever-changing hues now light, as airy as gossamer, as transparent wood smoke; new stark and hard, their jagged peaks sharp with danger, they exercised an irresistible fascination over him and he had time to explore them— there was no need for him to return. In two days de Kok would be back and he would meet the commando when it came. De Kok could guide them as well as he. Then came the storm. Caught in the open plain Zwatt Piete shivered beside his horse with his saddle held over his head and his powder-horn securely hidden under his arm-pit. Now, not only would the coming of the Boers be delayed, but whether he willed it or not, his only course was to go forward for the streams between him and the cave were swollen into impassable torrents and his direction was less governed by desire than the necessity to find shelter within the restricted area winch lay between the streams on his right and left. His powder was dry—that was the one essential—and he was certainly safe from the Kaffirs at the big kraal. W thout option he pressed on; he must find, within the next few days, a place where there was game, for here it had been exterminated by the natives. If his sister and de Kok had been with him he would have been happy. He was tired of the ttek, and spending ail his time Eke a butcher killing meat for other people to eat He wanted adventure. Ke wanted to see life; and it seemed to him that life was escaping him, hiding from him, among the kloofs and krantzes of the mountains in front of him. Always, with every range he felt this, and always bis heart beat faster as he climbed, ready to meet what he would see before him; and each time he was disappointed, one side of a mountain being so much like the other, the view in front so like that behind. *** 7 Hendrik was morose. The sympathy he received for the death of his son was unwittingly tinged with irony. It was a terrible thing to have happened,” they said. J?, it was terrible.” But only he knew hew terrible it was. “It was doubly sad because he had no other son.” He had killed his son in order to have others by the woman his son had loved. No, he must not even think that, such thoughts must be dismissed. He had prayed, God had given him guidance, and he had punished the seducer. Like Abraham, God had demanded the sacrifice of his Isaac. Unlike Abraham, God had not saved his son. Why had he not? Why had God, the omnipotent, not caused his gun to misfire? or the boy to return a different way? Why? Because God had meant him to be punished for his sin, and he, Hendrik van der Berg, had been God’s chosen instrument of vengeance Time after time he reread the passage he had found that night by the fire. Reread for confirmation though the words were engraved upon his mind, though they stood out as if they were cut in stone upon it. The Lord had spoken to his servant in no uncertain voice and be had obeyed the Lord. His prayers, his thoughts, his hours of agony were past. He bad come through the valley of desolation into the fair fields that stood beyond them and a great p ace spread over his soul. The decision had not been his and he was without responsibility. Once again he turned to the tenth verse of the twenty-second book of Genesis. Once again he read the words: “And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.” And why should it be wrong because it fitted in so well with his own wishes? Surely here was another manifestation of the Almighty’s will; it was God’s wish that Sannie should become his wife. That, fruitful, she should bear him fruit. That beautiful, her beauty should be his consolation. Knowing what ne did of the relations between her and his son he was astonished at Sannie’s lack of feeling. It only added to the certarnty that his action had been right. Her new composure, her new beauty, was due to relief, to freedom from the vicious bondage in which Herman had held her. Since the death of his son the lines on his face had deepened and new ones had been added to them. His hair had become more grizzled and his eyes fiercer. Still less than ever was Hendrik van der Berg a man to be crossed in love, or spoken lightly of in anger. At the slightest opposition his fangs bared, like those of an old boar, he would turn and rend. His life, the last strong urge of his powerful virility, was at stake. The die was cast. His plough had turned the first furrow of the last field it would cultivate. The field his son had sown so carelessly, so joyously, he would rip up, tear, with strength alone, down to its very subsoil, burying Sannie s girlish memories deep under the skilled fertility of his experience. More and more, while he waited for the waters to fall, he read his Bible, turning with quick thick fingers such passages as dealt with Uriah the Hittite who was sent into the forefront of the battle, for that had been one of his plans which he had abandoned as too uncertain, skipping the story of Susannah and the elders, and concentrating only on those passages which dealt with the Almighty God’s revenge, with his punishment of evil, and the distorted tortuous methods by which be achieved his inscrutable ends More and more as he read he grew to associate himself with God. From being the instrument he became part of the thing itself, a madman who by virtue of his physical strength, temporal power, and wild religious fervour, swayed all who approached him. *** 8 At last the river went down and the commando assembled. In the cold grey light of dawn, their saddles loaded with food and ammunition, they said good-bye and mounted. For a few minutes the laager seemed over-full of men and horses as they shouted to each other and sorted themselves out into groups. Bay, brown, black, chestnut, strawberry and blue roan, grey, dun, cream and piebald horses swirled about in a pattern of flowing manes and tails, a disorder which remained orderly because each man and horse was a complete unit, carrying its own supplies and capable of fighting its own battles. ‘That they were riding our in one body in no way destroyed their undisciplined individuality, they were separate men, who for a specified purpose, were co-operating under the somewhat tentative command of their own elected leaders. A few final shouts, calls of “Are you all ready, then voor-warts,” and they moved off raggedly. A force of fifty white men, one white girl dressed as a boy mounted on a chestnut horse, and their armed, coloured servants and spare horses Well equipped, angry at being delayed, led by the visionary Paul Pieters and the coldly-raging Hendrik they were going to smite the Philistines. Where before they might have been content to defeat them, they now intended to destroy and to leave nothing, not a roof on a hut, not a pot unbroken, not so much as a calf or a lamb alive. What they could not drive off they would kill, what they could not kill they would burn. By the leaders rode de Kok, slouching in his saddle, his dark eyes missing nothing. Beside him was Sara du Plessis, who, only by a conscious effort managed not to ride on ahead. Her brother had been alone in the wilds among hostile Kaffirs for ten days. Was he safe? Was he even alive? Nothing the Griqua could say would satisfy her. It was useless for de Kok to point out that Zwart Piete had often spent a month hunting alone, to repeat stories which she already knew of his prowess and his cunning. Whatever de Kok said Piete was only a boy of twenty. What chance had he among those savage mountains, alive with Kaffirs, leopards, lions and snakes. In her imagination every disaster she had ever heard of overtook him. And if he was safe how would they ever find him? Where would he be? Even the Bastard’s skill at spooring would be useless after such rains as they had had. Their one hope was, that having been so much together, they would be able to guess the way h,s mind had worked and follow him The Boers rode silently, spread out in a loose diamond formation which was capable, by the mere turning of their horses, to face in any direction. No longer boastful they were occupied by their thoughts. Thoughts of the past, of their wives and children in the laager and of the future which might so quickly be shortened to length of time it took for an assegai to fly from a black hand into their breasts. That they would all return was possible but unlikely. Some of them were certain to die up in those mountains and each hoped it would be one of the others. Yes, hoped t, even if it was his best friend. *** 9 Anna de Jong’s indigestion was not better, but it troubled her less now that she had no time to think about it. Her flatulence being chronic was only a subject for thought and conversation when all others failed her. It remained a conversational reserve, a last line of defence, a cross she either bore with silent fortitude or when the occasion demanded it, flaunted. Sannie was going to have a child and though this, io her opinion, was a most natural, in fact the only natural result of an adequate love affair, it would nevertheless, among others less open minded than herself, create a scandal which must, somehow, be avoided. Nor was she happy about Herman’s death. Hunting accidents occurred but rarely, and never quite so opportunely. She remembered hearing the shots, one of which had killed Herman and the other the duiker ram. Hendrink was a fine shot and he was out for meat. She had made inquiries on this point and it appeared Susannah had asked him to shoot something for the pot. But why when shooting for food had he gone in the heat of the day instead of waiting till the evening when game was on the move? There were a number of whys in this matter; the pieces did not fit except in one way. The way which made it murder. Considered calmly this was the answer; and also considered calmly, for Sannie to marry Hendrik was the most practical solution of the other problem. It was not only the solution, but it would also be his punishment, for Hendrik would get no joy of Sannie. She would sap him, break him and, xn the end, leave him. The grapes would be bitter as gall in Hendrik’s mouth and his strength turned to weakness in her small hands. His punishment would be that of achieving his ends and finding diem nothing, of having dug a pit and falling into it himself. Marriage, it was most reasonable of Hendrik to want to get married. It was in fact impossible for a man to farm without a wife to manage his home. But why a girl like Sannie? Why not a competent widow? A widow like herself for instance. Anna admired Hendrik van der Berg greatly. His having killed his son, though unquestionably wicked, was at least the decisive act of a man who seeing things as they were took a hand, twisting the tail of providence as though it were a refractory bullock to make it jump his way. She sighed deeply and began to plan Sannie’s immediate future and her own, more nebulously, with Johannes van Reenen. Her brother-in-law was a dull man—it was only wifh an effort that one could respect him. Still, it was a pity about Herman; he had been a fine young man, full of promise and a pleasant sight for a woman’s eyes. ** Chapter Eight Many months ago, many hundred miles to south there had been a big war dance as there was each autumn. In Chaka’s great kraal, regiment after regiment of Zulus had danced, stamping till the reed huts shook, advancing, their thousand feet moving as one, their glistening, oiled bodies bent, their plumes waving, their spears shining. Each regiment headed by its captains, some of them greyheaded, scarred with wounds, passed before their king. Regiments with white oxhide shields, regiments with red, with parti-coloured shields, black and white, ted and white. Sometimes slipping past as silently as buck, running on their toes, at others halting to stamp and raise their weapons, the short wide blade assegais with which they charged when they had thrown their spears. On they came in a well drilled, neverending stream, their kilts of wild-cat tails flowing as they ran, the ostrich plumes in their heads dipping and swaying. Sometimes two reg ments would run at each other in mimic battle, passing through one another’s ranks and reforming. Foam flecked their lips as they awaited the signal of the black elephant, the black bull, before whom lions trembled and the very leaves fell from the trees in fear as he approached “Give us blood,” they chanted; “give your men blood in which to dip their spears. The spears of the young men are thirsty, oh Chaka, oh black elephant.” Among his indunas the king sat silent, watching impassively Wrapped in a kaross of leopard skin he never moved as they charged up to him, their bloodshot eyes looking into his own. In his hand he held a throwing assegai with a long, thin shaft. At last he stood up, the robe fell from him, and he stood naked save for his loincloth of breyed skin towering over his men. The assegai was raised, his biceps swelled; he paused, smiled, and flung it north That was the signal. In whatever direction be flung, his imp’s would go, taking death and destruction with them. One year it was one way, another year ir was in a different direction, but the result remained the same, the spears of his young men drink blood. With a shout they were off, wheeling past him, they trotted out to kill, regiment after regiment, under their captains they swept by, raising their assegais in the royal salute, their cries of “bayete, bayete,” re-echoing in the hills In an hour the kraal was empty save for the seasoned veterans who were tne king’s own guard; away to the north there were some clouds of dust. *** 2 The Boers, guided by de Kok, reached the range before dark, and dividing, took cover When the moon rose they advanced again, going straight through the kloof and debouching silently through the poort, on to the plain. Looking much bigger than they were in the moonlight they wound in single file over the veld towards the kopje where they would lie hidden till it was time to attack. After some argument they had decided to wait till the sun was well up and hot; by then the Kaffirs, having eaten, would be dozing in the shade and more vulnerable than in the deceptive light of the dawn. Ten men climbed to the mountain plateau where de Kok and Zwart Piete had lam..Their instructions were not to fire till the battle had begun Once engaged, this fire would disconcert the natives and allow the main party to force the attack, pressing it home, as the natives swung about trying to meet the new onslaught from above Lying beside their horses the men dozed, talked in whispers of the coming fight, or prayed to the Lord of Hosts. Tired by their ride most of them oscillated between the wildest optimism and the most profound depression. Only the more hardened slept, those who from their wide experience of war had become fatalists, or who deeply religious had faith enough to leave all in the hands of that God who had chosen, so markedly, the Boer people for his own. The kopje on which they lay had a depression in its centre, and here, unless some one actually stumbled upon them, they could, even in broad daylight, remain unobserved. The night passed, growing colder as the dawn approached, but at last the sun rose and the men, shivering and blowing on their numbed fingers, crept to the edge of the kopje to peer down into the plain beyond. In two or three hours they would attack W th grim, stiffened faces, they looked at each other and drew in their belts. Their stomachs had grown small with fear. Life was stirring in the village, columns of smoke rose, cocks which had crowed all night, challenging each other, were now silent and the lowing of the cattle, the deep throaty roar of the kraaied bulls, the sheep-like cry of calves and heavy maternal call of the cows filled the air. The Kaffirs were moving about, singly and in groups; looking absurd, like very perfect dolls the size of ants, they went unconcernedly about their small affairs. This was what the Boers on the kopje saw, but de Kok from the mountains saw something else. He was the first to see it. All round the village, almost a mile from it, where the grass was long and sour, he saw a movement. At first he thought it was his imagination, that it was wind stirring the grass and finally he realised that it was not wind, wind could not blow in three directions at once. Closer and closer came the movement. Every moment the circle was getting smaller, drawing in, approaching the open, tramped out sweet grass which surrounded the village. He touched the arm of the man lying next to him. “Look,” he said, “look.” As he spoke the Zulus broke cover. The returning impis, depleted in numbers, but with their blood lust unappeased, were on their way south, on their way home. Going north they had kiUed and ravished, coming south they continued to do so. With a wild shout they ran forward, their war plumes tossing. jumping high into the air as they ran. They swept inwards towards the v’lhge brandishing their spears, their big shields raised. The Kaffirs, entirely unprepared, tried to fight. They formed small groups round which the oncoming wave of Zulus lapped for an instant and passed on, thrusting and stabbing. These were the horns, merely the two outer portions of the main Zulu force, sent out to envelop and to hold, while the main body, two regiments, a solid mass of warriors charged irresistibly, a black wall of men that moved silently, shoulder to shoulder, spear to spear. In half an hour it was over. Where there had been a village there was a smouldering ruin. Where there had been life there was death, and death only. Everything was dead; man, woman and child, had been put to the spear and every beast was driven off By some chance the hill where the Boers were lying had not come between the Zulus and their quarry. By some chance, by the mercy of God, those fifty white men, the one white girl, and their coloured servants, had been spared. Had the Zulus found them they would have been eaten up, for the Zulus were as numerous as locusts. Even their horses would not have served them, for in the rough going of the kloof they would have been run down and butchered. Slowly, holding their hats in their hands and thanking God for his mercy, the Boers rode through the smoking ruins. Vultures were already circling down, swinging in effortless >ntersecting arcs, dropping lower and lower with their heads poked forward, moving from side to side on their bare ruffled necks. Dead Kaffirs, pierced many times, lay tn every position. Here was one who had died fighting, here was another, who, running away, had taken an assegai in the back Women dead, with dead babies clasped to their breasts. Girls, young women, old women with pendulous dricd-up dugs, all lay as they had been killed, singly and in heaps. Scattered among them were a few Zulus who had been killed in battle, or who, severely wounded, had been put out of their agony by their friends. A blow with a kerne, a belly-slash with a spear, was the end a wounded Zulu warrior craved. Most were young unringed men, but few were veterans who had fought their last battle, men of property, with wives, fat black picannins and cattle, who were now offal, men who had died as they lived, by the spear. The feelings of the Boers were mixed Their vengeance had gone to some one else and so had the cattle; this was a severe blow, for they had looked forward to driving home those herds. But on the other hand they had suffered no casualties and with the Kaffirs exterminated they were now safe from attack and would be able to continue their trek What the Zulus had done in one place they had certainly done in another and the whole area must, they were certain, have been devastated. Leaving the rained village they turned homewards and rode slowly through the poort, talking and laughing. With the Kaffirs defeated, the high mountains were no longer menacing the narrow defiles no longer places to be carefully reconnoitred in fear of ambush. One of the elements of risk which perpetually menaced them had been, by an act of God, eliminated. Only the normal dangers of nature with which they were well accustomed to cope, remained. Canaan was now theirs for the taking when they found it. Paul Pieters and Hendrik van der Berg, riding side by side, were discussing the trek on. They had decided to part company; since there was no further necessity for mutual protection, it would be better to graze their herds apart Towards evening they camped and soon the buck they had shot on the way were grilling on the fires. It was only then, as the Boers who had been riding scattered over the veld seeped in, that the absence of Sara du Plessis and de Kok was noticed. They had given one of the coloured men a message and told him to deliver it when he off-saddled for the night. They had gone back to find Zwart Piete. For a moment Paul Pieters looked upset and talked of follow ng them. Then he laughed. What was the good of going back? Those three, Zwart Piete, his sister and de Kok, were accustomed to each other and could not be parted. Even if Sara and de Kok were brought back by force they would go again. One day they would turn up, till then he would look after their stock, running it with his own. Hendrik, however, took a more serious view, feeling that a white woman should not go off alone with a Griqua. He might take advantage of his position, of their solation “Ja,” Pieters said, “he might. So might a jackal take advantage of a lioness, and if he did, my friend, what would the end be do you think? A dead jackal that is ail. No, God help any man who tries to interfere with Sara. She is strong and as quick at a man with a gun or a knife.” *** 3 Thirty miles away Sara and de Kok sac cooking their supper in the bashman’s cave. “Me will have made for the mountains,” de Kok said. “He always goes towards the mountains and with the rivers flooded he can only have gone one way. You will see,” he went on, “by to-morrow we will have picked up his spoor. There are not many big trees on the plain and he will have camped near one of them. That also is his habit.” De Kok was happy. He was quite confident of finding h.s master and things were coming his way. He had a plan. He went over the story he would tell in his mind. He would say that the commando had been eaten up by the Zulus, that only he and Sara had escaped. Ach, how he would lie He smiled as he thought of his skill in lying. Unfortunately Zwart Piece knew what a good liar he was, but this was a lie that his master wanted to hear, one that he would be only too ready to believe. De Kok knew that his master was tired of the trek. Tired, too, of being under his uncle’s command; and as for himself, he wished to get away from the white people who, while on the march, treated him as one of themselves, but who, once they settled down, would once more remember that he was only a Griqua, a Bastard. His relation Adam had founded a people, why should he not do the same? Why, once they got away could he not succeed’ become a president, a leader, a king? His eye’ glowed as he thought of his possible greatness. He had all the necessary assets. Already he would have been great if it had not been for his yellow skin. He sighed, thinking of the ostrich eggs he had brought back to the laager and wished he could find another nest. Even if there was only one egg in it, one ostrich egg was equal to two dozen hens’ eggs, and he felt like eggs to-night. Turning to Sara he said: “When we find the baas let us say the impi caught the commando; that all are dead and only we escaped.” “Why should we say that?” she asked. “Because then we shall go on together.” “On where, de Kok?” “Ek wiet nie, just on. Listen, mie meisie, the baas wants to go on, that we both know, and I have made up this beautiful lie to tell him. It has taken me all day and it is the finest lie I have ever thought of.” He smiled ingratiatingly. “What a pity it would be to waste a lie like that,” he said. Sara sat silent. She was thinking over the Griqua’s words. After all, why not? They, she and her brother, did nor want to settle down. They were not farmers like the other folk. And she, too, wanted to get away. In the camp she felt the eyes of the people upon her. Some sniggered as she passed, nudging each other. Some offered her the indignity of their sympathy while others ignored her, passing her by as though she was something unnatural, unclean. That they laughed she understood, for she was different, more like a man than a girl with her great stature, her strength, and the ruggedness of her pock-marked face. And her answer to their laughter was laughter and a bitter hatred of the men who would never love her and of the girls who would know those men’s love. What had gone wrong in the darkness of their mother’s womb that she had been formed like this? That in all but her organs she was a man. That her strength was that of a man, and that with this she should have been given a woman’s heart, and that then, on top of everything, as if it were not enough, had come her illness, the pox that had ravaged her . “Ja,” she said, “we tell your lie. We will go on into the mountains that Zwart Piete loves so much, and see what lies beyond them. Somewhere there is the sea. I should like to see the sea To hear people speak of things is not like seeing them for oneself. I shall sleep now and to-morrow we will go and find him and you can try your lie. It will have to be well done, de Kok, if it is to deceive my brother.” She smiled. “It will have to be the best lie we have ever told.” “I will think more of it while I watch,” he said, “and be not afraid, it will be a fine he, a very fine one indeed.” In the morning they rode on and before crossing the plain decided to have a last look at the village. Zwart Piete, seeing the smoke of the burning huts, might have come back. If he had been there they would see his spoor. Unpleasant as the sight had been on the previous day it was now much worse. The bodies of the dead stank of putrefaction, those without abdominal wounds were grotesquely swollen, while others, partially devoured, revoltingly disfigured, lay as they had been left by the night scavengers, which, hiding in the vicinity, would return with the dusk to continue their foul work. The big tree in the middle of the village was covered with vultures which sat unmoved, while others, already gorged to such an extent that they could not fly, waddled away, clicking their beaks, or running clumsily along the ground tried to rise, flapping their enormous mouse-grey wings. For a few days, for a week perhaps, this would go on and then nothing would be left except the white splinters of bones and the skulls that were almost indestructible. As they rode past a hut which was not entirely destroyed a hyena with an assegai through its body tried to crawl away. Automatically they raised their guns. A few yards farther on they saw another hyena dead, speared, and two dead jackals. Beyond them, propped against a broken wall, was a wounded Kaffir. He was strangely ugly, very old, with a creased, wizened face. Beside him stood a sheaf of assegais and round him, perched on the blackened walls, were vultures waiting for the end. “Shall I shoot?” de Kok asked, raising his gun. The Kaffir’s eyes met hers and Sara heard herself saying,” No, there has been enough death here.” Why had she said that? Never before had she spared a Kaffir Why did this little brown man covered in dust and blood with his twists of greasy hair falling like the tails of lizards over his face.remain unmoved and unafraid when threatened’ Why did he sit there with his arms folded over his chest waiting impassively, his eyes fixed so unblinkingly on her own? “What is your name?” she asked. “My name, white woman,” the Kaffir repeated. What is my name to you? I have so many names. Which shall I give you? Some of them are terrible. Once I was called the Little Flower. That was by a woman whom I loved greatly also; it was many years ago. At another time I have been called N’yala because I was so swift. Some have called me the Lion, others Tiger. Mamba I am called and Rinkals because of the venom that I can spit, but mostly I am called the Little Cloud, for I come before the storm. Behold the storm,” he said, making a gesture, “where there was much there is now nothing. These people, dogs and sons of dogs, doubted my magic and they are gone. I breathed upon them and out of my breath came Zulus.” “Are you not afraid?” de Kok asked. How dared he mock at them, to bandy words? “Let me kill him, mie meisie,” he said to Sara. “Ride on and let me kill this man.” Did you ask if I was afraid?” the Kaffir said. “Or is it possible that my ears deceived me? That I, who caused these people to be destroyed and who sent for ycu to come to succour me should be afraid. Afraid of a woman who dresses like a man and a yellow Bastard?” he laughed. “Destroy me,” he said, “and you will never find the man you seek. I have seen him, I know him well, a fine young man, wild and full of ardour with hair as black as the night and eyes like the stones which burn. A young man who mar do great things or——-” his voice faded away. “Or what?” Sara asked. “Or not do great things,” the Kaffir said. “It is thus I have seen him.” “Tell me more” Sara said. ”If I were well I would tell you more, but a sick man cannot consult the dead. If, when the body is weak I send my spirit among them it might not return, the tie between my spirit and my body not being strong enough to recall it.” “If you can do all these things how is it that you are wounded?” de Kok asked. “That, for an ignorant Bastard, is an intelligent question and the answer lies not in the small mystery of my wound, but in the much greater one of my being alive where all else is dead. Now I have spoken enough.” He closed his eyes. Sara dismounted and went towards him De Kok covered her advance with his gun, pointing it at the Kaffir’s breast. The girl was mad, as mad, as reckless as her brother whose servant he was. “Let me see your wound,” the girl said. ”Then it is.” The Kaffir showed her a gash in his thigh. “It is nothing; with good mouti it would be well in a week, but without mouti, without food, or water, it will bring death; and they,” he pointed to the vultures perched about him, “would consume me. That,” he sail, “is their gratitude for the many I have given to them, for the killings I have caused.” Turning to de Kok Sara said,” Put up your gun, we will keep this man.” “Keep him, mie meisie? What for?” “Because I say we will keep him. Dismount and put him on your horse.” With the Kaffir gripping its mane, with Sara riding beside h’m and de Kok leading the horse, they made for a group of trees by the river some four miles away. Here Sara decided to camp, while de Kok cast about for signs of his master. The Kaffir was helped off the horse and made as comfortable as possible while Sara considered the question of his wound. As far as she could see no muscles were severed and if it could be kept clean there was no reason why it should not heal quickly. He had lost b’ood and must be fed, but with food and water and the flies kept away, there should be no difficulty in curing him. Leaving him propped against a tree with his spears beside him she went to look for some herbs near the water. Finding what she wanted, she came back and showed them to him. He nodded his head. This was good mouti. Sara rolled them in her hands, bruising them and working them, till their juices began to run out and then pointing to the wound asked him if he was ready. Setting his teeth he allowed her to dress his leg. In the distance she heard a shot. De Kok had killed something; to-night they would have fresh meat. Before dark ae Kok came back with a snen buck and said he had picked up Zwart Piete’s trail. He had recognised his way of arranging the stones on which he cooked. *** 4 In the laager Tante Anna was talking to Sannie. Everything was very quiet and every one subdued. The commando was not back yet and in the minds of each was the thought of how many empty saddles there would be when it returned How many dead and how many wounded? “A man’s love is like cream, Sannie,” the old woman said. “It ripens and then when the moment comes it must be churned befoie ir turns bad.” “And yet you always say the best butter is made when the cream is slightly sour, Tante Anna,” Sannie answered absentmindedly. This trick of talking in parables was a weakness of her aunt’s. “Sour, yes, but not rotten.” “And you think Hendrik looks sour?” ”Ja, sour as sour-lemon, mie Sannie.” ”I don’t want to marry him,” Sannie burst out. “It was his son I loved.” “Ja, and it’s his son’s son you are going to bear You are certain, Sannie’” she asked Ach, ja, I am certain.” “Then when he comes back you will marry him.” God help him, she thought. Sannie, looking sullen, consented. She had always known it would be the one or the other and now apparently, it was to be both. But she did not want both, she wanted her lover. She wanted his arms about her, to feel him near her, desirous of her. Hendrik revolted her now. The way he had held her when they danced came back to her. She did not want those hands on her. Coarse, old and searching, they frightened her. She realised that his attraction, when she had weighed him in her mind against his son, had been due to the resemblance between them. She had seen in Hendrik a more mature, a more certain Herman and when her body had called to the boy her mind had gone out to the man. Bat it was with the body that one loved and clasped close, the wisdom of discretion faded. With Herman gone the very resemblance of the man to his son, of the living to the dead, turned her from him, distorting the traits she had loved till by their very resemblance they subtly offended her, making what had been lovely, gross, what had been fine, small The look in his eyes was Herman’s look, it was hungry, but without gaiety The scent of his body was Herman’s scent, but it was bitter and acrid, as if it had gone stale. And yet soon, to save herself and her child she must give herself to this man, deliver the body that Herman had loved to his father “It is not good to be a woman,” she said. “It is very good. For women get everything both great and small. We are the fire; and men, ach, men are nothing. Flint and steel which strike useless sparks. Men are empty drums which make much noise about small things, while we are the vessels carrying the future in our wombs.” “Ja, Tante Anna, vessels to be filled by men,” Sannie said angrily. “It is not their fault that they are made like that, mie Sannie. And what do they get out of it? Their potency is a burden, their lack of it, if they lose ft, a reproach. Ach, sis, I am often sorry for men, now that I am no longer young, that is. Listen,” she went on, “Hendrik is a fine man, a rich man.” ”Ja, Tante Anna, a fine old man,” Sannie said,” and because his son’s son is quickening I must hold him in my arms. But you are right, I will do It. It is the only way.” Yet in her heart she did not hate Hendrik. It was something to have a man like Hendrik van der Berg tame to her hand. A man whom all feared, trembling when he was near her with the urgency of his desire. And seeing Herman dead had cured her of Herman. He had looked so young, such a boy, such a foolish boy. Already the past was fading, it had not lasted long, and at times it almost seemed as if it had never been, as if she had dreamed of those afternoons under the Kaffir-boom and the night of the dance in her wagon. *** 5 Away among the mountains Zwart Piete was camping. He had shot a koodoo cow and with his horse, knee haltered, grazing near him he looked about for three flat stones on which to cook. Arranging them tn a triangle he made a small pile of dry grass between them; on this he arranged twigs, dropping them lightly, pointing upwards and on to the twigs he put fragments of game dung; there was plenty of it about now that he was back among the herds. Striking the flint and steel he had in his brass tinder box, he blew up the charred rags and rotten wood it contained and lit the grass. As the fire took he added bigger pieces of dung and the sweet, almost invisible, smoke of the mis rose in a thin column. He was quite content. Up here alone in these highlands he had found what he wanted; a peace, a silence, where secure from interruption he could think. In a few days he would go back, by then the water in the spruits would be run down, but now he would enjoy himself It was very pleasant here, though colder at night than he liked. If only Sara and de Kok had been with h’m it would have been perfect. He wondered if the Boers had attacked the kraal yet. They might have with de Kok to guide them. He was sorry to have missed the battle. He was always sorry when he missed the chance of killing a Kaffir. The stars came out, there seemed to be more of them up here. There seemed to be more of everything; it was a fine big country he had found. With so much game he need not worry about lions except for his horse. Getting up he caught him and sat holding him till the dawn. He would sleep when it grew hot. *** 6 Johannes van Reenen was surprised when Hendrik said he wished to marry his daughter. He would have been still more surprised if his sister-in-law had not prepared the way for this proposal by dropping ponderous hints about the possibility of his doing so. Anna de Jong was so often right. It was, when he came to think of it, one of the reasons that he disliked her so much. Her sister had never been right about anything; she had always been gently, sweetly wrong. And now, if Hendrik did marry Sannie, which he would, Tante Anna would come and look after him. She had promised to do so. He did not doubt that she would do it most excellently well, but there were great objections to Tante Anna, very great objections. He sighed and looked after Hendrik who had just left him. A hundred reasons against Sannie’s marriage occurred to him now that it was too late to use them. She was too young, which she wasn’t. That she looked after him and he could not spare her. That she might nor be certain in her mind. That their difference in age was too great. He had said none of these things and really it did not matter for none of them were good reasons and Hendrik would have overridden them all. Also, since she was marriageable, Hendrik van der Berg was a good match. He was rich. He was a strong man who would look after her. His Sannie would be safe in his hands and yet it seemed only such a short time ago that she had been a baby pulling at his beard, and now she was a woman. Was more of a woman than even he, her father, knew. All round him people were bustling about, packing their wagons. The loads were being relashed, riems tightened, brakeblocks readjusted. A parr, of Kafirs were working at the drift trimming down the banks. To-morrow they would break laager and move off. Once more the great wheels would turn, lumbering on their way. ** Chapter Nine SINCE IT WAS to be marriage, since no one saw any reason for delay, and Anna de Jong every reason for haste, it took place at once, the last event in that laager; took place while the Kaffirs were inspanning the oxen and chasing the last chickens to put them in their coops. Anna de Jong wanted security for her niece, also she wished to get Sannie married while she was still stupid with grief and dulled into acceptance by her pain. Taking advantage of the girl’s desire to ger it over, to know the worst and end the suspense of waiting, she had hurried matters on. Sannie numb and acquiescent, her mind and body blunted, was as pliable as dough in her hands. Later she might change: would change certainly, for nature was not to be put down, but bending beneath the blows of life, w’ould the again, triumphant. If things were delayed Sannie might refuse to marry Hendrik or waiting, consent, and then give birth to a full-time child which would cause comment and much lifting of eyebrows among the women who were not to be deceived in these matters. Thus the marriage which should have been a festival was hurried, almost furtive, during which men looked round at their wagons wondering if the loads were evenly distributed and lashed fast, while the women hoped that none of their poultry would be left, that the jars of salted butter would not be broken and that a calf born on the previous day would be strong enough to run with ts mother. “Wey .. Wey,” the drivers shouted as the oxen, clumped in spans together, raised their heads waiting for the riems to be put about their horns. Whips clapped, dogs barked, a rooster crowed. Devoid of sentiment, Sannie s marriage was nothing, lost in the stark reality of the move, of anxieties about the livestock, of the bustle, which was only in abeyance during the ceremony; of the tragic things which had happened in this place, of the fact that here was no young man but an old one; all helped, adding their mite to the disillusion, turning romantic fantasy into practical necessity, travestying love, into the desire of a man for a woman as he had a horse or a gun, something that could be owned, the desire for an essential possession. When ir was over there was no talk of it; the people did not drift away in groups; they hurried off to finish their own affairs. To see that no mistake was made Within an hour the wagons were moving and the first one, Hendrik van der Berg’s, rumbled with locked back wheels through the drift. At the back of it, her feet over the brake handle, sat Sannie, his wife. Behind nis wagon came the others, matched span after matched span, red, black and parti-coloured, but Martinus the singer, as he had come to be called, had a span of creamy yellow oxen. Like a snail uncoiling from its shell the wagons left the circle of the laager, faltered and streamed out as the trek chains took the strain. To break them from the ground softened by the storm the oxen had to exert themselves, the achter-oxen almost on their knees as the drivers shouted to the voorlopers to swing their teams while sharply as pistol shots they cracked their long whips. Once again the trek moved on, leaving their dead, their memories and the bones of the wild beasts they had killed for meat. The laager was gone, nothing of it was left except for the great ring of wheel marks round the trees in its centre. Once again the disselbocms pointed north and the great wheels turned. At midday Paul Pieters rode up to Hendrik and said: “This is where I leave you.” The two men shook hands, Paul Pieters swirled his horse and cantered back to his people; the long snake of wagons broke into two, dividing, one segment going on, the other turning west, swinging away with Paul Pieters on his grey at its head. As they left they shouted and waved their arms in farewell, in greeting, in the hope of meeting again. “Tot Siens Tot Siens,” they cried, their voices grow.ng fainter, their wagons smaller and smaller till at last nothing of the convoy was to be seen except a cloud of dust above the trees, a cloud no bigger than the hand of a child. Paul Pieters was going to the plain which had been inhabited by the Kaffirs; he had decided it was good enough. Good soil, good grass and good water, all in fact that a reasonable man could desire, all that he could with justice ask of God. His wagons followed the spoor of the commando. They would have to clear a way through the kloof, but apart from that, there would be no difficulties. He had found what he sought; here on this plain he and his people would rest. The going of Paul Pieters and his trek had an effect on Hendrik van der Berg’s people. Paul, with his immense vitality, had in the short time he had been with them buoyed them up. His laughter, his rude fervour, his enthusiasm, had all become definite factors in their lives; without him and his followers things seemed flat and though still numerous they felt very alone and isolated after his departure. In addition to this, things* no longer went so well. Day after day cattle deaths were reported by the herders. The dreaded heart water increased, gall sickness, due to the young grass wilting under the hot sun, caused many deaths, three day sickness, which as a rule animals recovered from if left alone, meant abandoning beasts since there was no time to wait for them to recover. This factor of time became an overpowering one governing them, causing them to move on almost hysterically. Voorwaarts. Voorwaarrs. They passed many promising places but none satisfied Hendrik. He knew what the promised land would look like. It had been revealed to him. Continually he described it to them, ecstatically, till at last »t became as real to the others as it was to him. “It is below a range,” he said, “and partly surrounded by high hills; it is watered by many streams with big trees growing scattered about in it. Trees where the cattle can stand in the shade, up to their bellies in the buffle-grass There is a vlei surrounded by small fountains which replenish the lake in its centre, and the whole is alive with game and filled with birds whose brill’anr plumage Is a joy to the eyes, whose song is a delight to the ears. There are flowers everywhere and the humming of the honey bees as they fly from bloom to bloom is never ending. Such is Canaan, and it lies beyond us to the north. Voorwaarts.” Voorwaarts, and again the oxen leaned patiently against their yokes, and with their hocks bent under them, drew the heavy wagons on. Whips clapped, men shouted and each night they out-spanned ten miles, fifteen miles, nearer to their goal. The leisurely advances of the old days were done with. No longer could they trek comfortably, moving only a few miles each day. In a fever of anxiety they surged on to seek this land that Hendrik promised them. A land flowing with milk and honey. Of all the people, old Anna de Jong was the only one who mistrusted Hendrik’s inspiration. She had once seen a map of Africa. It was shaped like a pear set upside down. The Cape where they had come from was at the one end and it seemed to her that soon they would reach the other. “Magtig, what a country. What a size it was.” She had many arguments of a geographical nature with Johannes about their position on this inverted pear of a continent. But when at last they reached a stream which ran due north she was certain that they had discovered the source of the Nile. For in Africa no rivers run north, they all run from west to east or east to west. In this most of the ethers agreed with her and they called the river the Nylstrom. Ja, they were now in Egypt, and soon no doubt would find the Red Sea. Each day she ques ioned the coloured herders and the hunters on this point and verified their observations in the Scriptures. Certainly the country was changing in character, it was more heavily wooded, better watered and hotter than anything she had imagined possible. Aloes as tall as trees grew out of the veld, and there were palm bushes in clumps as big as a loaded wagon. *** 2 Sannie, Mevrou van der Berg as she was now, continued day after day to sit at the back of the leading wagon. Oddly content, she sat staring backwards into the past, along the road she had come. Her pregnancy brought with its bodily discomfort, a spiritual satisfaction in which her mind moved slowly, a thing apart, through a void tinged with expectancy. Instead of living, she was producing life. Caught in the trap, she waited patiently for that which would inevitably occur, when it had occurred she would go on, but till then she could float statically on the stream, unnoticing, unperturbed and unrepentant. She had no fear. She was young and strong and her bones, still soft with girlish ’mmaturity, would part freely, bending like the branches of a supple tree when her time came; and having parted, knit again. It was to that end she had been made A vessel filled soon to overflow. Hendrik’s attentions which were frequent, she endured stoically; they were quite apart from life. Divorced from all reality, they were merely something unpleasant which occurred at irregular intervals. She knew by the flame in his eyes when they were coming and armoured herself against him by sending her spirit out of her body to rest, perched like a b.rd, till he had done. This, though the act was the same, bore no relation to the rough tenderness of Herman. Here was no young flame leaping upwards, but a dull fire that burnt savagely as it was fanned by contact. To Hendrik she was something to be used, and he used her often, both by day and by night. But she minded as little as a cup would mind who drank from it. She was not sentient, she could no more be ruffled than china and, unlike china, she could not be broken. *** 3 Riding ahead of his people on his black horse, Hendrik, his hair slightly greyer, the skin over his high cheek bones stretched a little tighter, his eyes more savage, searched expectantly for that which had been promised him. Guided by God, driven on by his vision, inspired, he was indefatigable. His reason for starting on the trek, his indignation with the British, was forgotten in this attack upon the horizon which retreated perpetually, running like a live thing from him. Voorwaarts, Voorwaarts. Distance was something to be devoured, to be destroyed, the meaningless miles which lay between him and the fruition of his dream, the land of plenty where Sannie should bring forth his seed. Hour after hour as he rode he dreamed of his child. Sitting slackly in his saddle with his eyes veiled, he let his mind wander. Her pregnancy was the only satisfact on he got from Sannie, for though he took her often he got nothing from her and left her unassuaged. Left her crushed and gasping, but still triumphant, for if her body was his her spirit remained inviolate and apart His strength was as nothing against the impalpable resistance of a girl so small, so fragile that he could have broken her like a twig, and against this passive acquiescence he raged, flinging the weapon of his potency upon it, striving vainly to conquer the citadel of her integrity, to make her his. One day he would succeed, of this he was certain, for in the end weakness must succumb to power. Slowly and inevitably he would batter her down, weakening her by his renewed and unresting attacks God would not abandon him. God would one day, in His appointed time, give him the fullness of Sanme, and God would lead them to Canaan. From God he demanded signs, and God gave him signs. Once, when short of water the Boers had stood gazing at a trickle which ran out from between two rocks, he had cursed them for their lack of faith and, dismounting, rolled away one of the great stones. Water in abundance leapt forth, the very eye of the spring was exposed; held in abeyance for centuries, the water, cold as ice, bubbled out, tumbling down the thirsty hillside. Day by day the reverence of his folk for him increased, and daily his power grew, as unfailingly, never hesitating he led them on. From where he was, seven or eight miles ahead of the wagons, Hendrik watcned the mountains in the north-west burning. A pillar of smoke by day, a pillar of fire by night. Once more God had directed him, given him gu.dance. His sacrifice had been accepted, the death of his only son had pleased the Lord of hosts. This was the only interpretation of such events. Confident of success, he led the wagons towards the fire. To him it was a signal, a sign and not a danger; to the others Hendrik van der Berg, the man who could make water gush from the arid rocks, was a prophet before whom the flames would part allowing them to pass unscathed through their fury. Unhesitatingly he led; unhesitatingly they followed, breasting the low hills, creaking and rolling down the cup-like depressions between them, always north, the fire still moving slowly towards them on their right. Long before it reached them they would have passed on. There was no wind and the summer grass, exuding moisture, choked down the tangled, inflammable carpet of the last year’s growth. There was danger, but it was negligible, till, as they reached an open valley between the mountains, a breeze sprang up. At first it came in small gusts which hurried the fire on, carrying the smoke in low, rolling clouds towards them. Then freshening, it took hold, and seizing the flames, flung them forward like a weapon. Inexorably, its arc widening, the fire swept down hungrily, threatening to engulf them. Halting the wagons, Hendrik shouted to the men to follow him, and rode forward to light the veld in front of them. This was his answer to fire, more fire. The way to meet flame was with flame. Working feverishly with torches of grass in their hands, they sent a line of fire leaping and tumbling away from them down wind, a wave which, devouring everything in front of it, would arrest the oncoming sea of flame, and another, burning more slowly, towards it. From the wagons the women watched the black strip between the fires growing. Small hawks and insect-eating birds hung hovering above the smoke, diving into it for the fuddled insects which rose with singed wings from the ground, or scooped for the small animals that with burnt feet tried to escape. Mounting their horses the Boers galloped wildly in the direction of the main fire and, turning, lit the veld again; burning it inwards to meet the slowly advancing flames of the first fire that was creeping up against the wind, trickling forward, licking at the grass with small orange-coloured tongues. To be safe they must have a big piece of burnt grass, an island on which their wagons and their herds could stand and weather the storm which swept towards them. Game caught between the two fires swung panic-stricken to the still-open flanks. Martinus the singer was knocked down by a running rhinoceros; his horse killed under him, he was picked up by Hendrik van der Berg. Standing apart from the others, Sannie saw a lioness, carrying one of her cubs in her mouth, galloping with great bounds away from the crackling flames. Coming to the second line of Are the lioness arched her back, brought her powerful quarters under her, sprang the oncoming wall of fire and stood twitching her tail on the burnt grass so near to the girl that she could see the singed ends of her whiskers. A coloured man shot her and, picking up the cub, was about to kill it when Sannie took it from him. Spitting and snarling, she carried it back to her wagon. It was spotted like a kitten; holding it by the scruff of its neck, away from her, staring at it as it wriggled and tried with small bared claws to reach her arm, she saw Hendrik, carrying Martinus on his saddle and followed by the others, thunder past her to bring up the cattle and horses. Their mounts, plunging and rearing, as the hair round their heels singed, were forced by the blows of their riders’ sjamboks, to face the hot ground which burnt their hoofs. Soon, bellowing and milling, the herds began to arrive. Cattle, horses, sheep, donkeys and goats were driven on to the burnt grass by the whips of the herders, as the fire, now roaring and screaming, swept up to them, broke at the black island on which they snood, and ran round them. Clouds of thick white smoke, their undersides reflecting the red glare of the flames which licked upwards at the trees, jumping, in a last frantic effort to destroy before they were carried on, drifted over them. Hardly able to breathe, their eyes streaming, the people waited, praying for the end, for the fire to pass In an hour it had gone, and Hendrik led them on, up the smoke-blackened hills where there was no grazing, and where little pillars of smoke still rose from the burning dung of beasts; a country of sharp jagged rocks, of tortured leafless trees, of dead stumps burning, charred, streaked with incandescent ash. They had been saved from a hideous death, and beyond them, beyond this dead stretch of mountain was Canaan. So Hendrik said. Fearing nothing, his thighs clipped to his saddle, he rode up and down the line encouraging them. Soon, he told them they would arrive. That place, which had for so long been distant, was now near, the day of rest at hand. The place where they should lie down in the green pastures and be led by the still waters. Night coming, they camped in the desolation of the fire-swept foothills. In the distance they still saw the fire climbing the mountains to the east, hanging poised along their crests and disappearing into the valleys beyond them. All round them big dead trees still burned and would burn for days. The country was a desert, a desolation, but no one had been hurt except Martinus whose leg was broken. They had lost only the weakest and most easily spared of their stock; those animals which footsore or sick had been unable to keep up when the main herds had galloped in. *** 4 For two days they laboured, penetrating deeper and deeper into the range. For two days their cattle had not eaten. If there had not been plenty of water they would not have been able to go on, nor could they have returned. It was a test of faith; their faith in their leader, and m their God. They had come to the place whence there was no go^ ig back and, therefore, with all haste, they pressed on, driving their jaded beasts to their uttermost and beyond it. More than ever now they looked to Hendrik to save their herds; Hendrik, the prophet, who was so certain of himself, so assured of his revelation that none doubted him nor thought that he might be w rong or fail. On the third day he rode up a mountain and, crossing its flat top, saw, instead of another range, a wide expanse of country spread out beneath him. There, three thousand feet below, lay the promised land. There was the vlei, there were the trees, the herds of game, the rivers—all five of them The trek was over, here was their home. Taking off his hat, he rode to the edge of the precipice and looked down. Never had he even dreamed of so rich a land. To carry such herds of game the grass must lie good, to grow such trees the sod must be deep, and water, the one thing which was so scarce in Africa, was here in plenty. Not only the rivers that he had seen at first, but small springs, which overflowing, ran down from the higher land. Water, which from its situation, could be led where they wanted it. Already he saw the furrows cut along the hillsides, the fruit trees and the crops. Where there was now game he saw cattle, where there were now no people he saw many. Wheeling his horse, he rode back at a canter. All that they had to do now was to find a road down—-no more than that, and soon ten men were in the saddle scouring the mountains, shouting to each other. By nightfall they had found a way for their starving cattle and, leaving the wagons where they were, they drove them down. The herders gave giowing reports of the valley which, by their extravagance, perturbed Anna de Jong. Somewhere in all this there must be a catch. It was too simple. Ja, Magtig, it was much too simple and much too good to be true. To set out like this in search of the promised land and then to find it; she shrugged her massive shoulders They could say what they liked, but such things did not happen. Still, perhaps there might be somewhere down there where she could plant her pumpkins, some spot in which they would grow. Though it was late in the season to plant them this year. She wondered doubtfully if Johannes was as skilful a farmer as her poor Jappie had been. Deciding that it was unlikely, for Jappie had had a way with things; his hand on the land had been tender and coaxy. Louisa’s child had been born, a girl, and luckily for her mother, not only veiy pale in colour but very like Jappie; a butter-coloured miniature of the man whose daughter she was. Sometimes Tante Anna loved the child, at others she told Louisa to take it away, but she never forgot it and was, though she would never acknowledge it, profoundly jealous of Louisa who, walking proudly erect, her hips swaying, carried her master’s bastard tied in a breyed goat skin on her back, its small head wobbling as she moved about her work. Anna, the child was called. Anna, after Anna de Jong, who was its father’s wife. *** 5 It took them a week to find a wagon-way down to the valley below them, and another week to prepare it. Cutting trees, moving rocks and building up the hollows which would otherwise have broken the backs of the wagons, with banks of loose-packed stones. Even when completed, following the contours of the mountain, zig-zagging dizzily along its face, it was less a way down than a possible way—a way in which disaster, instead of being certain, became only a conceivable eventuality to the more optimistic; a probability to the others. Tante Anna, who sitting in her chair at the top, had spent much time watching the operations in progress, voiced the general view when she said: “Ja, we shall get down, perhaps even faster than we wish, but we shall never get up again. Still, if it is the will of God” —she was doubtful about God’s will in this matter—” that we must go, then go we will.” After all, with Jappie dead, it did not matter much what happened to her. But all the same, she was not going to tempt providence too far by going down in her wagon. This, she felt, would be unfair both to Providence and to herself. No, from the very first she had decided to ride down on Jappie’s dun-coloured horse She eyed him speculatively. It was many years since she had ridden. The problem of mounting occupied her; its solution was the building of a ramp up which she could walk. Dismounting again at the bottom would solve itself if she ever got there. If there was no other way, she would wan until the horse lay down. It was strange up here, with a blackened waste behind one and a vast green world spread out in front; a panorama of flat, rich bush veld which stretched on, apparently endless. It was, Anna thought, unnaturally green, vivid, livid, different in every way from anything she had seen before. But then, naturally, since they were now in Egypt it would be different and unhome-like. It was strange too, to be living, with most of the men away, in a community of women and children without sheep ox cattle and only a few saddle horses, dogs and poultry about. Ach ja, if Hendrik van der Berg got them down safely he was a great man, a very great man indeed. She gave the wide sea of bush another look and closed her eyes. It was no good worrying, what happened would happen, and pricks were things for young people to kick against; she had long since learnt that by the use of one’s intelligence they could be walked round. Getting the wagons down was Hendrik’s business, getting herself down her own, and anyway, she would sooner go down than up, and it was God’s mercy that it was down, that, at least, was something to be thankful for. She called Louisa to keep the flies off her face and settled herself for sleep. Two days later they started on what many considered an impossible feat, that of getting the wagons, some of them carrying a load of over a ton, down the precipitous mountain-side. Even with the practice acquired on their long trek, the descent taxed the ingenuity of the Boers to their uttermost. Taking the back wheels off the wagons and fastening tree tranks under their axles, they began to skid them down, behind half-spans of oxen. With each they sent men with riems tied to the back and the top of the load. The dangers were those of the wagon running away and overriding the oxen, or of its turning over and falling into the precipice. Twice the first wagon hung balanced precariously, and was held swaying ‘ill it righted. Slowly, carefully, always on the verge of disaster, and always avoiding it, they reached the bottom at last. Fresh oxen were inspanned, and wagon after wagon rolled away, lumbering and swaying through the long grass that brushed their hubs. After trekking a year and a half they had arrived. Here they would die. Here their children would be born. ** Chapter Ten Next day, leaving Sara with her Kaffir, de Kok prepared to ride off in search of his master. “I will be back soon,” he said. “In two days—in three days at the most—I shall have found him.” Turning to the old Kaffir who squatted at the foot of a tree staring vacantly into space, he said: “If anything happens to her while I am away then my master and I will hunt you. Ja, we will hunt you into your own kraal and flay you alive in front of your wives.” The old man grinned and, pausing to spit, said: “My kraal is destroyed and my wives are dead. And how would you catch me, Bastard, since I can change my form at will or, if it pleases me better, I can change yours. That, I think, is what I will do. It only remains for me to decide into what I shall change you, a snake perhaps. Or a mole. Or would you like to be a bird, Bastard?” he asked “Pah.” He spat again. “Your mistress will be safe with me. I will ring her about with strong medicine and fence her with spears.” “Spears,” de Kok said contemptuously. “You are not a fighting man.” The Kaffir’s eyes flashed angrily. “Stand fast, Bastard,” he shouted, “and you shall judge my spears” Seizing a branch, he dragged himself up and, leaning against the tree, stooped for his assegais, one after another they passed over de Kok’s head, the first taking off his hat, the ring of wildebeeste hair on the shaft of the last whipping his cheek as it drove past him. ”Before I was a doctor I was a captain,” the old Kaffir said. “Now go, yellow dog, and search out your master, and when you find bun which will be at dusk on the second day, say to him these words, say unto him that “the little cloud which precedes the storm’ is waiting for him. Say to him that you have an old Kaffir who was once called ‘Little Flower,’ and who has been called ‘Mamba’ and ‘Rinkals’ in your camp, a man who is wise and knows what lies beyond the mountains.” “Aye, I shall tell him all these things, and no doubt my master will be pleased,” de Kok said. “So pleased,” he added, “that he will beat me with his sjambok for not having shot you at once.” And this was the man of whom Sara said they would make a servant, a drawer of water, a hewer of wood. Aye, one day, no doubt, she would want to catch an elephant so that it could collect the eggs from under the hens with its trunk, or python because, curled up, it would be cool to sit upon. Still, a tame witch-doctor might be useful. Magic when all was said and done, remained magic; something incontrovertible. Turning his horse, de Kok rode away, and two hours later, making a wide cast, picked up his master’s spoor. Before dark on the second day, just as that accursed witch doctor had said, he found Zwart Piete camped, about to turn back. “Ach, you skellum, so you have spoored me. I knew you would.” “Ja, baas. It is my business to spoor, and you left many traces for me to see.” Zwart Piete smiled affectionately at his man. “I left them knowing you would come when the waters ran down.” “Ja, I have come, baas, and the baas’s sister has come also.” “Sara? Where is Sara?” “Over there”—the Grtqua pointed over his shoulder— “and she has a Kaffir,” he added sadly. “A witch doctor who called me a yellow dog. She says she is going to tame him. At one time I thought only the baas was mad, but now I see that it is different. She is even madder than you. Perhaps it is the sun Does the baas think it is the sun?” he asked. “If she says she will tame him, then she will do so. But what of the Kaffirs? And the attack? Did you guide them weU?” ”That is a sad story, baas,” de Kok said. “It makes my heart sore to speak of it; please do not question me much.” lie took a dirty rig from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “They are gone, all those fine men, and the women, and the little children Iread, baas, killed, eaten up by the impi that passed. There is nobody left but us. No white folk, no Kaffirs, no beasts, no wagons, not even a dog is left alive. Like a fire the impis swept over them.” He rose and made a sweeping, dramatic gesture. “Ach, how we fought, shooting till the guns were red hot in our hands. Hundreds fell, hundreds, no, not hundreds, baas, thousands. Blood ran in rivers, and the shouts; ach, God, the shouts, the blood, the cries, and now noth-ng is left, baas; nothing. Only your sister and I escaped by the mercy of God, and the swiftness of our horses.” Half-closing his eyes, he looked at his master. “What shall we do now?” he asked. “Shall we go on? Over there”—he pointed to the east—” there are things to be seen. Listen, baas,” he said, “we are not ordinary people, you, I and your sister, let us go and make a kingdom; let us conquer strange peoples, take wives and cattle, hunt elephants, find gold. We are not farmers, we are hunters, fighters; our path is that of the bullet, not of the plough.” Zwart Pi ere was silent. De Kok’s dreams coincided so well with his own. “Come,” he said; “we will go and find my sister.” He got up. “And you wifi shoot that Kaffir, baas,” de Kok pleaded “I do not like him; he says he was once called ‘Little Flower.’ Ja, he smells, but not like a flower.” “If I do not like him I will shoot him,” Zwart Piete said. “Now bring my horse.” When de Kok had gone, Sara wondered if she had been wise. Perhaps he had been right, perhaps she should have let him shoot the Kafir. She could not think why she had not let him. She hated Kafirs as much as her brother, and had killed nearly as many as he. Was it because he was old? Or because he had lain there so bravely, impassively fighting off the vermin which waited for bis end? Or was it—this was a frightening thought—that she had not been able to kill him. That he bid, as he said, sent for them? She tried to get clear in her mind the impulse which had led her back to the village. With his eyes on her face, the Kaffir said: “There is much thought in your head, white woman, and your thoughts are like two yoked oxen which being strange to each other, and untrained, pull different ways. You have thoughts of me and why you did not slay me, and you have thoughts of your brother whom that yellow Bastard calls his master.” From the little raw-hide bag he wore round his neck he took some powder and dropped a pinch of it on the fire. “Keep still, inkoose,” he said, “and I will go a short way into the times that are coming. Time, he went on, “is round, like a necklace, what is passed and what is to come are one.” A haze of smoke rose from the fire, hanging suspended above it neither rising nor falling, but within an apparently solid outline, writhed round a central vortex into which Sara could not see. Holding up his hand, the old man peered into it intently. “This is very strange,” he muttered. “Very strange indeed” “Do you have women in your race whose hair is very long and pale, the colour of honey in sunlight?” he asked. “Yes, we have them,” Sara said And they are esteemed, considered beautiful above the others?” “Yes.” “Then it is such a one that I see with your brother. Also, she has pale eyes like a jackal, midway between green and yellow. He has much pleasure in this woman and also, because she is beautiful, much trouble with her. Beautiful women always bring trouble, it follows them as files follow meat. The woman who first called me ‘Little Flower’ was like that, a slim, proud woman for whom I had to pay twenty cows, as much as for two ordinary women, and then she would not work, and finally betrayed me, for which I killed her, which was a mistake. Had I not slain her I should have got my cows back and many of them had bad calves. Ai,” he said; “but when one is young and hot blooded one does these things. A young man makes no profit from his wife’s adulteries. Ai, ai, wisdom is only bought with years, discretion with weakness. Yes, I see him with this woman. I see also an older woman very fine and fat, like the wife of a chief and men in white clothes with much hair on their faces, and many people moving all. one way, in long lines yoked to one another like oxen, but they draw nothing. Also, I see many teeth of elephants—great piles of them. More than that I cannot see, but your brother is a great man among these people. Perhaps when I am stronger I shall see more, perhaps I shall dare to venture further among the dead ones.” “But my brother is well?” she asked. He is safe?” “Oh, yes, he is well. He is sitting by his fire holding his horse. His stomach is fall and he is happy. This woman does not trouble him yet, he has no thoughts of her. Now be at rest, inkoosi, there is no danger either for him nor for us. When danger is near I will tell you, and we will make provision for it The vulture who will pick our bones is not yet on the wing. I have medicine against every danger and while I am near nothing can harm you for my spirit is very strong, it is much too strong for my body. Ai, it is braver than a lion, its vision stronger than the sight of an eagle and in strength greater than aa elephant. Also,” he went on, “you wonder what you will say to your brother, who is a notable hunter of Kaffirs, about me.” He paused and, smiling, said: “Say this to the baas, your brother, that I am yours as a hotse or an ox would be yours, and that will be the answer to his questions.” That was the answer. That was what she said to Zwart Piete when he came back. “He is mine, Piete,” she said and that settled it, as it would have had he been a cow or a sheep for a few more days they remained camped till the Kaffir was well enougn to travel, talking of their plans. Rinkals, as they called him, knew the country to the east and north. Fortunately, since they had come to fight, Sara ard de Kok had plenty of ammunition. Zwart Piete did not believe a word of de Kok’s story of the disaster, but was amused by his desire to break away from the routine of the trek, amused, too, at his grandiose ideas. Now, at least, he would be able to realise his ambition of adventuring in the unknown mountains, of travelling through new country independently; and since they were untrammelled by wagons or live stock, they would be able to go fast. There was much to be done, much to see. Somewhere up there, he looked east, there were settlements of white people—Portuguese whom he was curious to meet. They were all strong, with good horses beneath them and ammunition in plenty, they should go far. Life hung in front of him, a ripening fruit, ready to be plucked. At first their progress was slow, the wound in the old Kaffir’s leg making him lame and unable to trot. But as soon as he gained in strength they were astonished by his speed and endurance as he ran beside them for hours, holding on tG the stirrup leather first of one and then of another. Stopping only to kill for food, they went on swiftly, eating up the distance, leaving the ashes of their fires many miles apart. Seeing mountain ranges, crossing them and leaving them to fade into the horizon at their backs. *** 2 Sannie, much to his disgust, gave her Eon cub to Jakalaas to look after. It was not in his nature to like lions, he said, and had the meisie realised what would happen, he asked. To-day it was as big as a cat; ja, that was so, in a few months it would be as big as a dog, then as big as a small ox. Did the meisie intend him to look after it then? It followed him about now and people laughed. But would they laugh when it was big? Would he be welcome If he was followed by a lion? Would he be able to get another wife? Socially, there were innumerable objections to this thing the meisie had put upon him, and if was not fair, she knew he liked visiting people, liked sitting by other men’s fires. Truly, the little lion made his heart sore. He was only a Kafiir, and a lion was too grand a thing for an old Kaffir like himself to possess. Hendrik also was somewhat at a loss about the cub, but realising that women in Sannie’s condition had queer fancies, he gave in about it. It was a pretty little creature as, quite tame now, it rolled and played about like a kitten. No doubt when she had her baby he would be able to dispose of it; till then it occupied her, and it seemed in some queer way to recognise that it owed its life to her. Abandoning all thought of Sannie and her lion, he set himself the task of reorganising his community. They had, on arrival, laagered as was their custom, but now, having spent some days riding round the neighbourhood, were anxious to take up their farms and get back to their normal way of life. On the move, they got on well enough with each other, but any form of closely knit communal Efe was contrary to their natures, their ideal being the patriarchal family unit, but even this, to please them, must be sub-divided into its integral parts of a man, his woman and their children. What they liked was to live apart, so far apart that they could not see each other’s smoke, and then at intervals to foregather for a nachtmaal or inspanning their oxen to go on a tour of visiting which might last months, calling on every one they knew, going even hundreds of miles to do so. There they would ta’k of crops and cattle, of hunting, or sit silently together for hours smoking. Nothing was too small to be mentioned, discussed, argued about; men and women sitting apart, each dealing with those matters which fell in their own sphere. In this way too, the young people courted, sitting in a room lit by a candle stuck in a bottle. The length of the candle a clear indication to the visiting swain as to how welcome he was, for when it went out he was expected to leave. All this, their old culture, their way of life, they were anxious* to resume, to force their lives back into its static pattern. It was as much for this as for anything else that they had left the Cape where outside influences, French and English, were creeping in, where the customs to which they clung were being modified and their ways laughed at, even by the more progressive of their own people. Canaan as they had named the district, was not as flat as it bad at first appeared to be; rather was it like a broken cup, surrounded on three sides by the almost sheer w alls of the mountain they had come down, and on the other by a little jagged rankie. Still, the bottom of the cup was a large area, amply b g enough to accommodate the thirty families van der Berg had with him. It was shaped like the palm of a man’s hand, the five fingers being streams which, rising below the mountains, flowed down into the vlie, and seeped out again as a single river at the lowest point between the bosses of the inside of the wrist, the fracture where the rankie was divided from the main mountain system. Apart from the five streams there were innumerable other small fountains all round the base of the berg, and it was here that the Boers settled, in the kloofs, where, hidden from each other, they could live their secluded self-contained lives. In time of flood they would be able to reach each other by keeping on the high ground near the headwaters while at other seasons the rivers were all fordable on horseback The apportionment of farms was done in the usual manner. Hendrik bad first pick and after him the others drew lots, and then rode off their properties. To do this the head of each family or his representative started from where the last man had stopped and rode for two hours in each direction. As he changed his course, he would dismount to make a rough beacon and mounting, gallop on, coming back in the end to the point he had started from. Roughly, the farms were sixteen miles in circumference, and varied in size from ten to twenty thousand morgen. Though theoretically they were square, in actual fact they were of all shapes, natural obstacles basing been avoided and changes of direction made to nclude springs or patches of particularly good grazing. Each man, as soon as he had chosen his farm, drew out, collected his herds and began to build his homestead. Hendrik’s nearest neighbours were on the one side, Johannes van Reenen, with whom Tante Anna had, as he had feared, joined forces; and on the other, Martinus, the singer, who had left Paul Pieter’s trek in order to court Marietje de Wett, and who after sufficient delay to satisfy even the most malicious tongues, had at last, almost maidenly in her reluctant pleasure, consented to marry him. Thus, in January of the year eighteen thirty-eight, was the settlement of Canaan begun. The homesteads all going up simultaneously round the crescent-shaped foot of the mountains; little huts, which would be replaced by bigger ones whose place would in time be taken by houses. The silence of tbe lew veld was broken for ever. These people had come to stay. It was broken like the shell of an egg. The sharp ring of axes sounded, the cries of drivers to their oxen and the barking of dogs. Where there had been peace there was now activity. *** 3 The site that Hendrik van det Berg had chosen for his house was, by accident, a beautiful one. Beauty, other than that of live stock, meant nothing to him, and in beasts the best were the most beautiful. Cows with roomy barrels, wide hips, big well-hung udders with long tits, easy to grasp; or fast horses that could carry weight and stay; or strong mules or sheep that clipped ten pounds of wool. These were Hendrik’s standards— the standards of all his race who, seeking the practical, so often stumbled on sheer delight. Here, where Hendrik outspanned near the mountain, its wall was split into a sharp kloof which was filled with the growth of a great wild fig from whose branches roots hung growing downwards, like straggling beards, to seek the soil, and under the tree, shaded by it, was a deep pool of water fed by a strong spring. Farther away were four tall appies-doorns, which from their size, must have been hundreds of years old. Beyond them there was nothing but bush-veld, and the land dropped leaving the view open on to the tree-tops—a view as wide as a view of the sea. Between the spring and the appies-doorns Hendrik kicked away a tussock of grass. This would be one corner of his house. Calling his boys, he told them to scrape the place clean, and then driving four pegs into the bare earth, he outlined the walls. It was thirty feet by twelve. Along the line he laid the Kaffirs dug holes with their crowbars, round holes very close to each other, and emptied them of earth with their fingers, going down as deep as they could reach, working till they were up to their shoulders. Others cut trees of hard wood, Kaffir wach’n bietjie, suikerbos, hartekoal and tambouti, which they sunk into the holes, ramming them tight. More trees were cut for the rafters of the roof, reeds from the vlei for thatch and earth was m xed with water, the Kaffirs turning it with their shovels and finally tramping it with bare feet till it reached the consistancy of thick whipped cream. This dagga they flung against the rough wood poles, filling in the spaces between them, and finally plastering the whole, inside and out The floor was also made of dagga and finished oft with a layer of cow dung mixed with blood. These floors when dry turned black and took a fine polish. The home had two rooms, each of which had a window that । was fitted with a wooden shutter. The roof on the north side projected eight feet, and covering the open sroep rested on massive poles up which creepers could be grown. In a fortnight Hendrik’s house was finished, a hut not much better than a Kaffir’s, but nevertheless, a home, somewhere to live while he developed his farm and quarried stone from the mountainside for the house he intended to build when he had time. *** 4 Tante Anna was pleased to be settled again. Now things could be done as they should be done. Lands were being made, trees planted, kraals put up as permanent structures. Here courting could be conducted on approved lines, babies born solemnly, with privacy, instead of like calves on the veld. Ja, even death lost some of its terrors when one could be planted neatly in a corner of one’s own farm; planted in the soil one knew, on the land that one had served. What she missed were her pots of preserves, and even if one made confiet what could one put it into? Not that one could make it, because they had no sugar. But if one had sugar? Sugar, cloth for clothes, ammunition and a few tools were all that a community like theirs needed from the outside. Perhaps the Lord would provide these things. Hendrik said He w’ould and, anyway, there was no need for the Almighty to hurry, for they had enough of everything to last some time, even sugar enough for ordinary purposes, if not for the making of the preserves she liked so much. Salt also, they were short of, but one of the men had discovered a salt pan not twenty miles away and one could do without sugar more easily than salt. Hendrik saw the finger of God in this discovery, but Hendrik saw the finger of God in everything. If this was so the Almighty must have many hands, each furnished with a hundred prying fingers, poking, feeling, touching, disturbing, interfering. Sometimes Anna de Jong wished that God knew when to let well alone. When to let sleeping men lie. It was now cool enough to go and visit Sannie. She called for her cart The girl was not well and a little mad about her lion which would, without doubt, eat her baby when it was born Ja, and then what would Sannie say? Many times she had told her that the lion would eat the baby, but her argument had lost force as there was as yet no child; but when there was, it would be too late. What, after all, was a baby to a lion? A mouthful less than a piece of confiet to her. If we only had sugar, she thought. And definitely, a house was no place to keep a lion. As she drove slowly along the rough track between the big trees, over the long, very green grass, past flowering shrubs and creepers she smiled grimly. This was not Canaan, it was Eden. There were concealments in this voluptuous beauty, dangers which she felt were nearer than the others realised; and God, what a place for snakes, pythons, puff-adders, mambas, boomslangs, rinkals; wherever you looked mere was a snake curled up, even when one went to collect eggs, there was often one of the accursed things asleep under a sitting hen. She looked at the heavy sjambok at her side, wondering how many snakes she had killed with it already. As the Cape cart banged and bounced down the rough track her mind turned to Sannie The baby was very near now, it might come any time. As she got nearer she hoped that the lion cub was tied up. Her horses were much afraid of it, although it was as yet quite harmless, indeed, even amusing to watch, it smelt of lion to them. How like a cat it was, and yet, how unlike. Its spots were fading now, and its loose skin rolled about over its shoulder blades as it moved. Life was really very odd in the way it took people, very odd indeed. She supposed there must be sane people, people like herself somewhere, but Magtig, they were rare. Not that one could expect much of pregnant girls, they were entitled to their fancies, but when it came to lions that was too much. Why not an elephant or a kameel? It was nice to have pets, and as soon as she could, she would get one. Ja, she would have a baboon chained to a post in front of her house, on the top of the pole she would set a box in which it could sleep. Pets gave one something to watch. Young bucks were nice too, and birds, a crane, or a secretary bird. She remembered one that Jappie had brought home many years ago,, he bad ridden after it, galloping it, till it could fly no more. A good pet it had been, killing many snakes and frightening no one. Below her she could see some of Hendrik’s Kaffirs clearing a piece of land. Hendrik had chosen his farm well. The soil looked rich and fat. Soon there would be crops growing—wheat, barley, oats, grey peas, green peas, yellow peas, haricot beans; meilies and Kaffir corn in great waving fields. Soon the horses would tread out the grain on the threshing floors. Tante Anna laughed as she thought of Pierre du Toit who had tried to tread his grain with oxen. Ja, oxen, whose dung when they were chased round and got hot, was fluid. Many muids of good wheat he had spoilt by trying to be too slim. And though he cleaned it as best he could, his bread was not good that year, Magtig, it was not good. Meditating on the qualities of horse dung, which was hard and dry, which broke up and could be winnowed away, she drove on. And yet, in the book it said, “muzzle nor the ox which treadeth out the corn.” It was not a muzzle they wanted—ach sis, no, it was a cork. She burst out laughing, but perhaps in those days they did not mind, or perhaps they did not have enough horses. Ach, ja, it would be fine to see the horses cantering round, vp to their bellies in the long golden corn again, their long tails flowing, as they were driven round and round, inside the mud wall of the grain floor. She turned sharply towards the mountain, the bar supporting the pole of the Cape cart rose under the horses’ necks as she checked them and fell again as the traces tightened. There was Sannie sitting on the stoep. She waved her whip and shouted. Sannie got up heavily and came towards her. The lion cub was not with her. Perhaps Hendrik had killed it, or it might be tied up in the shade at the back of the house. The native behind her sprang down and seized the horses’ heads, while Jakalaas brought a box and set it down beside the cart. Hesitating a moment and consigning her body to the care of the Almighty, Anna de Jong closed her eyes and stepped out into space. Jakalaas put his hands forward and checked her, grasping at the part he took to be her waist. For a moment they swayed together, another step forward and she was down “How goes it, Sinnie?” she asked “Its goes well, Tante Anna; very well. Come in and drink coffee” Arm in arm, they went towards the house while the boys outspanned the horses. “I have brought you a small barrel of pickled fish,” Anna said. “Steenbraas, that should be very tasty. It is my last barrel,” she added,” and I have saved them for this moment. Ja, mie Sannie, I thought many months ago of this. I said to myself when a woman’s time comes what is it she wants most in the world. First of all she wants to be delivered, that natuurlik, but after that what does she want? And suddenly it came to me. A still small voice said ‘fish, Anna de Jong; that is what a woman wants. Something nice and tasty.’ “Ach,” she went on,” how I long for fish sometimes. Steenbraas, or a nice klipvish baked in the oven, or crayfish or mussel-fish. Always it is game or mutton, mutton or game. One day I think I shall kill a calf. Ja, mie Sannie, when your baby is born I will kill one to make a feast. I do not care what the folk think, for you know the saying; that if a farmer slaughters a calf, there must be something wrong either with the calf or the farmer.” She rolled about on her chair with laughter. “But there is nothing wrong with me, mie Sannie, and it will not be a sick calf that I shall kill. Nie, nie. It will be a fine fat little bulliekie. For you must live well. Ja, Magtig, you must have food Can you make milk from air?” She leant forward and pinched one of Sannie’s arms. “You are too thin,” she said. “A thin woman gives thin milk, but all the same, I think you will milk better than your mother.” She looked at the girl’s breasts “Do they hurt you?” she asked. “Ja they hurt me.” “Then that is good, you will get great pleasure from feeding your child if they hurt you. Ach, God, how my breasts used to hurt me and how I milked, people used to come from far to see how I milked. Even with my fiist one I could not keep it in, but then I was always a fine woman with much blood.” The two sat silently for a while, drinking their coffee The murmur of her aunt’s chatter had comforted Sannie; her presence as she sat massively, staring into space dreaming of her own children, somehow made things easier. Nowhere in the world was there a bigger woman, or any one who was more of a woman than Anna de Jong. Rounded till her convexities intersected, forming a ponderous mass of female matter, a thing that was all but oval, as specialised as a queen ant to her function of maternity. “You are not afraid?” her aunt asked. ”Ja, Tante Anna, I am afraid,” Sannie said. “It is nothing,” Anna said. “Nie, me, it is niks. With our people it is soon over, in two hours it will be over. In three days you will be up and laughing, remembering nothing.” She looked at the girl’s face; she looked pale and unhappy, her time was near. “Listen, Sannie, I will be with you. I will bring your baby into the world and, Magtig, how we will laugh when it is over, when you have him rolled in his swaddling clothes. And it will be a boy—a fine boy of that I am certain. I will stay with you now; I shall not go back. Your father can let a Kaffir cook his food. Then when I return, no doubt he will say he has missed me, “Klaas,” she called. “Klaas, inspan at once and fetch Louisa and all the things I have prepared. Also tell her to bring the small barrel of salt pork, she knows where it is. Maak gou jou skelm, ek is haastig, bale haastig. “Now listen to me, mie Sannie, it is nothing. I will tell you of my children and you will see how easy it is. Why, once I delivered myself alone with only a Kaffir maid to help me— that was in one of the wars when we lived up by the Great Fish River. Jappie was on commando and all my people had run away. Ach, you would nave laughed. Magtig, there I was with three guns on the bed beside me and that little Tottie maid tied by her leg to a ring in the ceiling or she, too, would have gone And always on the second or third Sunday I was able to ride to the church to have mie klienkie baptised. A very fine horse I had then, Sannie, big and strong, and so safe that even riding through the mountains I could suckle my little one without fear. Ach, sis, here it is nothing with all these people about as thick as the lice on a wild pig. In the old day on the border it was different for there the Kaffirs were fighting men who had firearms and horses; they had with them escaped slaves who knew the ways of white folk and some white men, deserters from the ships. Ach,” she sighed,’ all this trek that you think so much of, what has it been? Just a picnic that went on over Jong. If it was not that it had killed my Jappie I could laugh st the noise people make of it.” She cook Sannie’s hand. “Do not fear—with your old Tante Anna by you things will go well,” she said. ** Chapter Eleven Hendrik was relieved to have Anna de Jong in the house, for among his Kaffir women he had no one he was prepared to count on, they were all young, careless and not to be trusted. Also, though he fought against knowledge, the presence of Louisa with her yellow baby gave him pleasure. The way she went about on her mistress’s errands; deft and s’lent, flitting past him, her hips swaying as she moved, the way she took opportunities to pass near him; the way she looked at him somet mes, meaningly, and then let her long black lashes droop on to her creamy cheeks while her colour rose, mounted, flushing upwards from her neck. Still, this was not the moment for such thoughts as came into his head, and he spent much time outside. The land that Anna de Jong had seen begun was now almost finished stumping, and the trees were being drawn off to make a fence about it. He had planned a furrow from one of his hillside springs that would irrigate it, and although it was autumn he would plant soon, for here in this part, it was so warm that with water led on to them he was assured most crops would grow. Also, a thing which pleased him greatly, he had found a place where he could make a storage dam just above the lands and would thus be able to accumulate and manage a strong head of water with a minimum of waste or effort. The house now was such a woman’s place that he was glad to be out of it. Anna, moving about in it like an elephant, her great haunches brushing the door-posts as she went from one room into the other. Sannie so patently about to become a mother, stoically waiting for her pangs, and the coloured girl more of a woman tnan she ought to be, all conspired to drive him our and all conspired to bring him back. That was how he spent his time, leaving the house in a fury and returning to it with curiosity, in doubt and fear But when Sanme’s pains started, when he heard, her cry out he sent for his black horse and, taking his gun, went off to hunt. All the time as he rode, he thought of Sannie, treasuring her in his mind; Sannie the beautiful, who was being broken so that the seed of his loins should see light; Sannie, for whom this would only be the first of many such event*; it was for this purpose she had been given to b m, a bird snared by the hunter, a vessel now emptying, to be refilled. Duty, the endless duty of paternity, the curse of bis potency and the necessity that it should be continually proven was upon him. A son had died. God had demanded this sacrifice and to what end? To the end that he should have many more, that his sons should be numberless and his grandsons fill the earth. Hunters, fighters, prophets, men like himself, they should be reared to fear God and to serve Him. And as he thought so he shot, killing, killing, killing. There was too much game here, they ate the grass he wanted for his herds. The sleek red cows, the mares, the ewes and the she-goats that were his. This country was rich, it was his and his sons, the first of whom was now being born, would enter into possession of it. Like God, he would make men in his own image, many men. He was the power and Sannie, his young wife, the instrument. Everything was as nothing to this, there was no pleasure, no joy to be obtained in life except by fulfilling the injunction—increase and multiply. This was the road to peace and to contemplation. Female things were beautiful only when swollen by ttieir pregnancy, male only when taut and strung by the use of their powers. It had been his misfortune to have a wife who, if not actually barren, had given him few children. A man had the right to expect a child a year. He thought of old van der Merwe, seventy years old, with his third wife nursing a baby. The number of his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, was eighty-three. When he said “my family” it meant something; it meant a commando of men and boys; it meant fifty or sixty wagons, many thousands of cattle and horses and perhaps a hundred thousand sheep. The mystery of the blood tie, of the begotten, held Hendrik spellbound. That the child being born was his own he did not doubt nor did it matter, for were it his son’s it was still his own, the projection of his own seed; the dead Herman its carrier. Continually, the increase of his race must spread, widening, deepening like a river—ach, ja, he saw it thus; gaining in size and strength as it flowed forward, a vast stream of which he was the source, the fountain head. It was another revelation. A herd of roibok passed him at a gallop, jumping yards high into the air as they ran. With each bound, the lyre-like horns of the rams were silhouetted against the sky. He did not fire, his desire to kill was gone, he had used it up. Satiated, he turned back. As he came near the house Louisa ran towards him. He felt his heart beat faster. “Baas, baas, it is a boy. A fine one,” she said. A moment later Anna de Jong waddled out. “No, Hendrik,” she said;” not yet, but do not worry, things have gone well. There were no complications.” Almost Anna wished there had been, so that she could have used her skill” He came head first,” she went on,” as easily as a foal.” Hendrik lit his pipe and sat down, he was once more a father and his wife was safe. Louisa passed him, brushing her leg against his thigh. He moved his cha r and Louisa, laughing shrilly, tossed her head An hour later he saw his son very red and crumpled lying in Sannie’s arms. Women, women with their paraphernalia, their looks and low laughter, their solidarity about this function which was so peculiarly their own, oppressed him, making him very conscious that he was a man. This time when Louisa pressed against him he did not move nor did she laugh. *** 2 Three days later Sannie was up, and Tanre .Anna, proud of her midwifery, had her horses inspanned to drive away. She could do no more; all that was necessary now was food, any quantity of it for the making of milk. She explained this at some length to Hendrik, told him also, how, if Sannie was not hungry, he could tempt her with the pickled fish. Gave him, in a last burst of affection, half her barrel of salt pork; said she’d be back to-morrow, and told the Kaffir to let go of the horses which plunged forward at a gallop, they were facing home. Booking and swaying in a cloud of dust, Anna de Jong left Hendrik’s house, taking Louisa with her. Ja, things had gone well, thanks to God and to her. It is a fine boy, Louisa,” she said as she slowed down the horses. “Ja, missus, it is a fine boy.” The coloured maid for once was no: in conversational mood “The delivering of children is a woman’s business,” Anna de Jong said. Ja, missus, who ever heard of a man delivering a child? Such a thing would not be decenr.” “I have heard of it. It is God’s truth, and happens often now in Kapstad. It is one of the customs of the English.” “A ch sis, no, missus, that is not true.” ”Do you chink I lie? Do you think I would bother to lie to a coloured slut?” her mistress shouted. “I say it is true. It is for such things as this, to save the purity of our women, that we have trekked. Also,” she added, “because the land up here is better and costs nothing. Ja,” she went on, “Kapstad, which was once a respectable town is now a Sodom and Gomorrah. Though they do say that the men who do these things put muslin over their heads” “But one can see through muslin,” Louisa said. “Of course one can see through muslin. And if one couldn’t, do you think a man could be trusted not to look? Men are like children, always looking and prying at things which don’t concern them. Men are all the same, Louisa, they are no good, but the world would be a dull place for us without them. They are sent by God to plague us, as He has, in His wisdom, given fleas to dogs. Do you believe what I say now, Louisa?” “Ja, mie missus, I believe it. Certainly it would be dull without them, and how would we get babies?” “Not that. Can you never stop thinking of men’ I mean what I told you about men bringing children into the world with their heads wrapped up in muslin. Muslin.” Anna de Jong sniffed contemptuously “If the missus says it is true then it is true.” The way a child began was more interesting to Louisa now, than the way it came into the world. After all, once they were on the way they arrived, and not even an Englishman with his bead wrapped in muslin would be able to stop them. She went on th nking of Hendrik van der Berg; a few weeks ago it would have been easy with his wife like that. Now, she shrugged her shoulders and lay back in the cart, now it weald not be so easy, but it might still be done. Anna was in a hurry, she had beer? away a week, and in a week much could go wrong. The main thing that worr’ed her was how Blesbock, her fat-tailed ram, had got on. No one understood him as she did, no one could fasten on the little cart—it was really a plank with two wheels—that carried his long, fat tail as securely, or as comfortably as she. And if it came off, not only would his tail get sore dragging along the ground, but he would suffer from constipation being unable to void his dung. Nowhere, not even at the Cape, was there a finer ram. She had thought of sending for him, but to do that would have been to put him in the way of the lion, to whom his lovely tail on its little wheels would have proved an irresistible attraction; and she had not brought him safely a thousand miles to be made a game of by a lion. It was worries such as these which made one old. She loved her sheep and had six hundred of them left—a mixed lot of Kaffir sheep, thick-tailed, black-headed Persians, and a few real eastern long, fat tails like Blesbok. They were all, except the eastern sheep, being grazed up on the berg, where the grass was short and sweet. By now they should have got over their diarrhoea; that was the worst of sheep, if they weren’t having one thing it was another, and sometimes many things together. But even if the young, tender grass scoured them at first, it did them good in the end, and she hoped Johannes had taken out the flock rams. It did not pay to allow the ewes to Iamb twice in a year. This was one of the subjects on which they did not agree. On the trek, naturally, they could not be separated, but now things should be done properly, and the matings of the beasts controlled. She smiled as she thought of the fools who kept thin-tailed sheep, they would be sorry when their butter ran out, for the melted fat of a sheep’s tail was a good substitute for it and even when one had butter, made a nice change if spread thickly on slices of bread. She wondered if Sannie had any, she had forgotten to ask her. If not, she would take her some, it would help to keep up her strength. And no doubt one day people would come to her for her fat-tailed sheep, and she would sell them some young rams. The ewes she would not part with at any price. *** 3 Sannie’s pride in her child was very great. It was the first thing that she had ever found completely satisfactory. It embodied all she was and all she had ever been, their lives, hers and her son s, were one thing. Here at last was something real which would go on, moving with her at her side, waxing as she waned, a newly lit flame that flickering now would one day burn brightly, strongly, in an altogether admirable fashion—a man, and she the mother of a man. Jakalaas’ interest .n the boy was unbounaed. Leaving the lion tied up, he would stand staring at it for hours, or when Sann e left it, sit by its side dreaming happily while he picked the thorns out of his feet with a thin steel spike. He remembered his meisie as a child, her own child reviving his memories. Always when she went out he had accompanied her, and always she had come to him when she was unhappy, when her puppies or her lambs were ill it was he who had nursed them. He had brought her flowers and killed the snakes in her path, he had taught her the names and told her the virtues of many plants. And now in this new, strange land he would do the same for her son, guarding him from danger, showing him where the birds nested and making him whips and little throwing kerries. He looked at the sun, it was time to go to the kraal and begin the milking. As he rose, the cows came filing in, their bellies wide with grass, their flanks rounded with the water of their evening drink His life, like that of the white people, was falling back into its accustomed mould, solidifying and slowly resuming its shape and texture. All over the place that they called Canaan the Boers were developing their homes, breaking land and building. There was no end to their building; they needed shops for their craftsmen, blacksmiths’ shops, where the great leather bellows could be set up, carpenters’ shops, store houses, chicken hocks. They had to make innumerable kraals for their stock; those for the milk cows, for the calves, for the heifers, for the tollies, for the fat oxen, for the working oxen. The ewes must be kept separate from the rams and the mules must be kept away from the horse and donkey mares whose foals they killed. And each clompie of beasts had its own herders, black or coloured, who looked after them and were responsible for their well-being. The plough-shears tore long new furrows through the virgin soil, ploughing up rectangular acre after rectangular acre, working inwards till at last it was done. The sun glinted on the now shining mould-boards as they were lifted out at the headlands and dragged over the rough grass till they bit the soil again. Once again the flocks and herds led out by the bulls and stallions, streamed over the land, weaving little paths over the veld which had been pathless. The roots of the people were striking down into the fertile soil. Other children were born after Sannie’s, and an old man died Soon the black patches of ploughland would be green, and the trek merely an incident between farming in one place and farming in another. Something which those who had accomplished it would speak about with the self-conscious modesty of people who, knowing that they have performed a notable feat, make little of it. Necessity, that of planting crops that they might eat, of making shoes that they might walk, of building furniture, beds, stools, tables and chairs that they might have more comfort, occupied their minds to the exclusion of all else, even to the greatness of their adventure. *** 4 Frikkie, as Sannie’s baby was called, was very like its grandfather. This was almost inevitable, for Herman had resembled Hendrik. The van der Bergs were pre-potent, a race who forced their physical traits on to their offspring from ore generation to another, turning them out recognisably their own, even as infants. Always, there was the rather long upper lip and the eyes set slightly too close to the nose. “Ja, Sannie,” Hendrik said, “it is easy to see to what breed he belongs, we are a strong, well-marked race and beget others like ourselves.” Turning the fly-leaf of his Bible, he read her the names of his ancestors. The name of Jacobus who had landed at the Cape of Good Hope in 1657, his name heading the list of the seventeen free burghers who had come from Holland with van R’ebek. The name of Gerhart, his son, who had married Catalyn Harmaans of Middleburg, and by whom he begat Jacob, who had married Sibella Passman, and begotten Hendrik who had married Hester Anna Laurentz, in 1780, whose son he was. As she sat over her sewing listening to her husband’s deep voice droning on, Sannie smiled. It was like something out of the holy book these pages of begettings, these issues of long-dead wombs, this endless repetition, this fearful egotism of men who saw themselves only thus, as fathers. She wondered how many of them were right. It was only a mother who knew the father of her child. Ach, ja, one could have many pages without much truth, much begetting and little begotten. Perhaps even those long biblical pedigrees were not quite what they appeared to be. People even in those days were still people, much the same in their thoughts, and the feeling of their bodies as the people of to-day, both men and women; and betrayal was no new thing. Poor Herman Poor, poor Herman. All that was over, but how good it had been while it lasted. She tried to remember his courtship of her, some of its more intimate parts, but nothing came to her mind except how on one occasion when they were lying side by side in the grass she had become covered by small ticks, and how on another she had watched some vultures swing in vast circles round and round in the cloudless sky-—she had watched them till her eyes ached. No, she could remember nothing, and it was exasperating that such feelings as she knew she had had should pass, should be lost like the scent of a flower. Naturally she could remember what they had done. Remember his urgency which bad so soon been equalled by her own. But of her sensations, nothing. Pulling down her bodice she gave her child the breast. He drank avidly, sucking and pummelling with his small fat hands Soon Hendrik would call her and the baby, full of warm milk, would sleep. Hendrik, who was as avid for her as her child, or as bis son had been. This was the power of women. This was God’s gift to them while they were young. She looked down at her hands as they lay in her lap curved round the body of her child. With a gesture of those hands or a touch she could inflame a man as old, as experienced, as Hendrik van der Berg. Her feelings for her husband were mixed; he satisfied the desires that Herman had awakened but revolted her while he did it, causing her, where she had gone forth to meet the young man, to withdraw into herself from the old one. Ja. there was pleasure to be found in men. the pleasure of satisfaction and the pleasure of power; it was there in the small hands that she was using to wipe her baby’s mouth; it was there in her capacity to give or to withhold herself. Her power over Hendrik balanced very justly the scales of her feelings, armouring her against the hurt of Herman’s death. Smiling down at the child on her knee, neither content nor discontent, but very strong in her knowledge, very secure in her detachment and as free spiritually as she was bodily tied, a mother, a widow in all but name, a wife, a girl whose mind moved secretly, flying like a bird through the night, she waited. ** Chapter Twelve AS ZWART Fiete, Sara and de Kok travelled they noticed the little bag that Rinkals carried round his neck getting fatter and fatter. He was collecting, as he went along, the specifics and necessities of his magic; an odd assortment of herbs, of roots and fruits, knuckle-bones, pellets of dung, feathers, pebbles, and was much amused at the white people’s interest in his collection and at their incredulity when he told them of the diverse uses to which they could be put. “Yes,” he said, “the white man with his gun can make thunder and lightning”— he had been much impressed by Zwart Piete’s marksmanship— “but can he make a barren woman have a child? Or can he send locusts on to the fields of his enemies so that they eat his substance and he starves, or can he, out of a thousand men, smell out an evil doer? Can he make rain? Or stop rain and cause droughts? All these are things I can do,” he said, “but to do them I need certain charms, not many things, for being a great wizard I can do much with but little, but a little I must have.” “Well, if you are such a great doctor, can you tell us what we shall find to-morrow?” Sara asked, smiling. “To-day,” Rinka’s said, “is the child of yesterday and the mother of to-morrow; to-morrow is already in her womb striving to be free” “Yes, tell us,” Zwart Piete said, “we go on and on, and always there are nothing but mountains.” “The great white lord is ngnt, mountains,” the old man said, “yes, it is so mountains. Bur would the great lord be surprised if I said that after to-day there will be no more, that is no great ones?” he added. “And that to-morrow the baas will see great marvels, such things as he has never seen before.” “Ja, I should be very surprised,” Zwart Pice said. “But if it was so, if what I said was true would the baas give me a measure of tobacco? It is not much that I ask for So great a marvel,” he whined. “Why, men have given me whole herds of cattle for doing much less than this. Tomorrow,” he said, “you will see beasts in such numbers as you have never seen before “Elephants?” Piete asked. “Yes, elephants, for to-morrow, unless my spirit has deceived me, we come to the home of the elephants, the place to which all elephants return to die.” “So it is an elephant that lies curled in the womb to-day,” de Kok said. “Not one but many.” “If there are elephants you shall have tobacco,” Piete said. “Thank you, baas The baas is good I will leave you now and go see to it. The making of elephants is no light matter.” The prophecy came true. That is to say. that having climbed the range next day they were confronted by no more hills and instead of rising the ground fell away, sloping down to an enormous bite edged with pink. If these were flowers Zwart Piete had never seen anything like them before and rode down the slope to see what it could be. Suddenly, as he got nearer, he realised that the whole lake was bordered with flamingoes, hundreds of thousands of them standing all round its margin in a wide pink border. As he came nearer they raised their heads which had been sunk beneath the surface where they were feeding, turned their Jong serpentine necks towards him and began to wade out into deeper water. There seemed to be two kinds, one rather bigger and paler in colour than the other. Here and there birds, apparently decapitated, paddled about with their heads under the water, but most seemed to feed, standing on their long legs in the shallows. As he came still nearer they rose in clouds, their heads looking oddly heavy tor their sinuous necks, their long legs trailing out behind them; pale pink when they stood with their wings closed, they now flashed into red as their pinions opened; red, bordered heavily with black. The mud at his feet was covered with moulted feathers and the smell of droppings was like that of a chicken house, very foul and fishy. They were so numerous that at rimes they darkened the sky, throwing great patches of shade, like the shadow of a cloud, over the water as they circled in continually changing formations. Hundreds would sweep together, wheel in an enormous flock and break up again, patterning the sky as they manoeuvred. Near him some hippopotami, which had been lying in the mud with only the curved tops of theit backs, their eyes, and nostrils showing, reared up and plunged away. “Is this not a great marvel, baas?” Rinkals asked. “A marvel worth much tobacco. Have I not charmed away the hills, just because the baas said he was tired of them and that they made the feet of his horse sore.” Where are the elephants?” Zwart Piete asked. “Birds have no ivory.” “If the baas will come with me I will show him elephants. More elephants perhaps than he will wish to see. But the baas mast bring no gun; later, if he wishes, he can hunt them, but to-night, if the baas dares, we will watch only; to-night my spirit is very strong for elephants.” Gomg back up the hillside away from the smell of the lake they made camp and ate. Before the moon rose Rinkals got up. “Is the baas ready?” he asked. Leaving his gun Zwart Piete followed the old Kaffir. Keeping away from the water they walked along the hillside for an hour, walked till the camp fire where the others slept was no more than a pin-prick of light in the distance, and then they went downwards towards some big trees between which the water shone silver-white. Here, in the shadow they waited, nor did they have to wait long; hardly had they settled themselves before the animals began to arrive. Not in ones and twos not even in herds. They came in solid serried masses, they came in such numbers that they shook the muddy ground, causing it to quake. First a herd of elephants, led by a gigantic cow, came down to the water, to drink, to roll, to play. Among them the river horses moved about unperturbed, their feet, as they walked through the mud, making sucking noises as they lifted them. More and more came up out of the water, clambering clumsily on to the bank to graze, like cows, on the long grass. A herd of buffalo came down, their horns curved black scimitars, the old ones looking almost white as the moonlight shone on their thick, hairless hides. A herd of giraffes, their necks swaying, came down, and spreading their long legs lowered their heads into the water to drink. More elephant great bulls carrying rusks which must have weighed hundreds of pounds, came down, drank and stood about, their stomachs rimbling. Some, in pa rs, caressed each other with their trunks, their enormous ears, as big as tables, moving slowly to and fro. As the moon climbed into the sky, its .light increasing, the great beasts were painted black against the bright indigo of the night, their tusks curving upwards milk white on either side of their hanging trunks. Rhinoceroses moved about aimlessly, their horns pointing to the stars. One, which came very near to them, carried a horn longer than a tall man, and the noise made by the beasts as they moved was like that of a tempest. The elephants trumpeted, hippopotamus bulls roared at each other, opening cavernous mouths, jackals cried and hyenas laughed. Never in ah his hunting had Zwart Piete seen anything to equal this. Never had he dreamed that such a thing was possible and later if he spoke of it no one would believe him. “You lie, Piete,” they would say. “Ach, God, how you lie,” and they would shout with laughter, and almost he would be prepared to believe that he had not seen it, that he was not seeing it now, that Sara’s Kaffir had bewitched him; but the dawn brought proof. As the animals had come so they left, as swiftly and as suddenly, and apart from a river horse cow with a new born calf the lake side was empty of all wild life. But the banks, and the ground round its edge, looked as if it bad been ploughed up by madmen. Soon, Rinkals said, there would be no spoor, for within an hour the sodden soil would resume its normal shape; this thing that they bid seen happened every night and had happened since time began. “You have been here before?” Zwart Piete said. “Ja, baas, I have been many times.” “Then what about your magic, you skellum,” Piete cried, laughing. “Ja, baas, what about it?” the Kaffir said “It is very great, as one day you will see. Listen,’ he went on, “you are thinking of shooting these elephants for their teeth.” “Yes,” Piete said, “I was, but how did you know?” “My spirit told me, my magic, bur what I say is of what use is ivory without carriers? Let us go on and then one day we will return.” Yes,” Piete said, “you are right We will go back to the others and sleep. To-morrow we will go on. When I tell de Kok of this he will say to me,’ Baas, if this is true, come with me and show me the spoor.’ Ach,” he said, “if even my own Griqua Bastard thinks I lie, of what good will it be to tell others?” No good, baas, if you want the ivory for yourself, there are men who will go as far as you to seek riches, and some might even go to prove your words lies and stay to reap the reward.” “Where do we go now?” Piete asked. “That way, baas,” Rinkals pointed north, “and then later that way,” he pointed east. “In five days,” he said, “we will come to the country of a new race, tall fighting men who live on milk and blood and who have many cattle. They know me there and we shall make medicine.” He looked at the sky. “It may even be that I will make some rain for them if their grass be poor.” *** 2 It came about as Rinkals had said; for five days after leaving the lake and the rich swamp which surrounded it they marched through highlands that were full of game. The herds, numbering thousands, almost covered the veld and were entirely unafraid; they were not wild animals but tame, easier to move among than cattle; and then they came upon the men of whom Rinkals had spoken, fall men, naked save for their tanned oxhide cloaks, carrying long, narrow-bladed spears. It came about as Rinkals had said because he knew the country like the palm of his hand, and they swung north instead of proceeding due east as they could easily have done, because he had a debt to collect from these men, A debt of some twenty cows which had been owing for two years. That these pec;pie were honest and would pay him he knew, but he said nothing of his debt to Zwart Piete, de Kok, or Sara. Instead, he told them about the habits of these men, of how they grazed their herds among the wild game, hurting nothing, for the only meat they ate was that of their own beasts, and while there was much game, the lions and the wild dogs and the leopards left the cattle. He told them that sometimes they hunted the lion and the elephant for sport. Of how a brave man would creep up behind an elephant and sever his hamstrings thus making him helpless; of how on other occasions they fired the grass round an elephant and, as he. stood not daring to move, filled him as full as a porcupine with their spears. Time and again they would do this, never letting him rest till at last he died of exhaustion and the blood lost from a hundred wounds. It might take weeks and the ivory, when they had got it, belonged to the king; they got nothing from their hunting but the sport of killing. So they went on passing through these people, greeting them as they came to a kraal, bidding them good-bye as they left it, moving on in goodwill and friendliness till they came to the home of a chief called Matiba. It was this man who owed the cows, and here their greeting was not so gracious. ”Do you come in peace, Mamba?” the chief asked. “Or do you come bearing the tail of a leopard?” for such was their custom if a man came in war. “I come in peace, oh Chief Matiba, I come with empty hands.” “And who are those with you that ride quaggas without stripes?” the chief said. “Ah, those,” Rinkal said, lowering his voice, “are nor to be call rd by name. They are spirits.” “Spirits which, by report, eat and drink like other men,” the chief said. “Naturally, if a spirit takes the form of a man, it must eat and drink but do not fear, chief, they will not hurt you; it was not for that that I summoned them out of the beyond.” “Then why did you summon them, wizard?” “Only so that they should be there to help me in case of need. They are very strong,” he went on, “and there is a small matter between us. Yes,” he said, “a small matter of twenty cows and in two years each cow should have had two calves.” “Very well do you know that cows do not have calves each year, that they will not take the bull until tlieir calves are weaned,” “That I know is usually the case, oh chief, but when you look carefully in your kraals and think for a while, you will see that these particular cows have had forty calves; mere, that those forty calves are all weaned heifers, and more, that in two years the rings round the horns of their mothers are fewer than they were” “As cows grow older so do the rings round their herns increase, one ring to a year,” the chief said. Yes, that is so, oh black elephant, that is what occurs with ordinary cows, but look in your kraal and you will see mine are different. That is because I am a great magician who caused your brother to die.” “My brother died by the bite of a mamba” “And was it not as a Mamba that you greeted me, oh lord? And listen, ch ef, so great a doctor am I that if I am left here With my attendant spirits much longer without food, or beer those twenty cows will be forty and each with two heifer calves. Just to show you how great I am,” he said, “I will perform a small wonder for you.” Going to Zwart Piete he said: “Baas, give me your flask, we are in danger. ”Now, oh bull elephant,” he said,” perhaps you have a small cup, a bowl, or a vessel” A girl brought him an non cup and squatting on the ground he called for fire. “No,” he said, “behold fire, behold a cup, behold water.” He filled the cup from the flask. “Now I will cook the water. I will not cook it much, only a little,” he held it over the flame for a moment. “Now,” he said, “my spirit will burn up the water.” The chief laughed, those gathered round him laughed, and the girl who had brought him the cup, she was the youngest of the chief’s wives, laughed till her pointed breasts rrembled. “Watch, fools,” he said, and picking up a burning stick he touched the fluid, it caught alight, burning with a strong blue flame, “Watch more,” Rinkals shouted, and he emptied it at the feet of the chief where it ran along the ground still burning, faded and died. The chief was pale and speechless.” You ate a great man.’ he said. “Yes, I am great, and yon will give me twenty young cows, each with two heifers nearly as large as herself.” ”It is a big price,” the chief said. “You have but one river, oh Black Bull whose roar shakes the world, and what will your people do if I set it on fire? If I burn it up?” “You shall have your cows, wizard, and then you will ger hence To see you makes my eyes sore and my bile to be bitter in my teeth” “I cannot leave you yet, oh chief, for these spirits that I have brought mounted on quaggas without stripes are fatigued Also my heart is sore for you about the loss of so many of your cows and I have a plan coming in my head by which you might easily regain them.” “Let the plan not take too long, Mamba, or else go quickly, for I also have a plan coming. It is not easy to part with cattle when I have but to say the word, but to raise a hand.” “You have but to raise a finger, chief, and your river burns. Give me beer, send me a maiden with it to a private hut for I would think and commune with the dead ones Has she,” he pointed to the young wife, “a sister? Hold,” he said, “do not speak.” He stared at the girl and turned away. “Send me her sister,” he said, “and your river will be safe. It may even be that if things go well I will give you rain and tell the grass to grow about the bellies of your cattle so strongly that you will not see even the ears of the small calves.” “And does this depend on the maiden?” the chief asked. “Al, much may depend on a maiden, oh chief, if she be a maiden, but not in this case. A maiden is as nothing to a spirit, while to me, one is much like another provided she be comely and well formed. Speak no more words chief lest mischief be done; already I can feel the dead ones round me.” *** 3 Of all that the old Kaffir had said Zwart Piete de Kok, and Sara understood nothing; looking at each other they had almost laughed when he set the brandy on fire and when he had strode off, followed by a young girl carrying a big pot of beer on her head, they bad been unable to restrain their mirth. What an old skellum,” de Kok said, “to take the baas’s brandy and use it for frightening a chief into giving him beer and a woman was good; ja, it was very good.” Since they were apparently going to stay here a few days they decided to make themselves comfortable. They had come fast, and had no objection to resting. The huts that they were given were new and clean and the fresh milk which was offered them with every mark of respect was a pleasant change of diet. Sara, more even than the others, enjoyed the rest.and never had she seen her brother so gay and happy. Ever since they had been children together they had planned and talked of just such an adventure as this but at the back of her mind there liad always been the thought that it would not happen, the certainty that one of them would marry and leave the other. She smiled ironically as she thought of her marriage and the dreams she had had of it. That had been before she had been smitten by the smallpox, before she had grown as tall and as strong as her brother. Except that I have no beard, she thought, I might well be a man. And because of her appearance she had become manly, and more than manly, justifying her actions by her appearance, while all the time she felt a woman, curiously soft and tender with a longing for a home, and for children clinging to her skirts. Dismissing these thoughts scornfully did not help; they always ret imed. Whatever she might appear to be she was, and would remain, a woman. Behind the barrier of her looks and her bravado there lurked this spiritual weakness which drove her forth to hunt game and Kaffirs savagely and which, because she felt softly, made her harder than any man could be—quite merciless. There were many lions about and Zwart Piete decided to shoot one and make a present of its skin to the chief. He spoke to Rinkals about this and he agreed that it would be a gesture of politeness. “When will you go? Tomorrow?” he asked. “Yes, to-morrow,” Piete said. “Ja, that is good, then I will at once go and ask the chief Matiba if he will give you permission to do this thing.” Leaving Zwart Piete cleaning his gun Rinkals found the chief. “Oh, chief,” he said, “for so great a man it seems to me that your karosses are poor. It cannot be that you sleep with the beautiful one” this was the sister of his helper, “on a skin whose hair is worn off in places. How can a woman be proud of her hut however fresh and fragrant the cow dung on the floor if her bed be the bed of a slave?” “What do you know of the beds I sleep in, Mamba?” the chief asked. “Ai, and how do you know?” “Again you call me Mamba, oh Bull whose breath causes the hills to tremble and again I say as Mamba I know much. As Mamba I can crawl in where men would be slain and see that which is forbidden, and this I say that a handsome coverlet is a guarantee of virtue for cold maidens seek warm beds.” “She is a new wife,” the chief grumbled, “and I have twenty wives all calling for skins, each wanting the finest. Bat soon I will send out my young men and get her what she wants.” “Ai, soon. But will soon be soon enough? I have looked into the future and have seen terrible things and because I am your friend I am sending out the spirits I have brought with me to kill you a lion. I only hope that it will be in time,” he added. “Your wife is ashamed of her couch, it is a mockery.” He paused and continued, “Where are my heifers and my cows? I have the business of the lost ones to attend and the beer you sent to-day was less good than that of yesterday.” *** 4 There was a black-maned lion that Zwart Piete had seen on two occasions and which, it seemed to him, would make a fine present for the chief. He frequented a stony kopje some five miles from the village. Rinkals, when consulted, threw the bones and said that everything was propitious for the killing of this beast and that also no gift would please the chief more, black-maned lions being particularly favoured by him. “Then you will come with us in the morning?” Zwart Piete said. “Come with you, baas? Come where?” the old Kaffir asked. “Come and seek this lion.” “No, no, baas. Why should I who have lost no lions seek one?” “You will come because I say so.” “Ja, baas. I will come because you say so, but I have no lion magic with me. I had a very strong lion magic once. Ai, so strong that when a lion saw me it ran away crying like a woman.” That must have been strong medicine,” de Kok said. “Ja, it was strong indeed, Bastard, like dogs they ran with their tufted tails between their legs.” “Crying like women,” Piete said. “Ja, baas, crying like women, with their tails between their legs.” “Then be ready at dawn and come sober” Sober,” Rinkals said, “does the baas think that I drink that beer? That beer,” he said, “is for the lost ones who come crying to me for it. Has the baas never heard the lost ones crying for beer?” At dawn the party set out; Zwart Piete, de Kok, Sara and Rinkals, with the maiden who was the sister of the chief’s wife tied to his wrist by a thin thong. She was chattering wildly. “Why do you bring her?” Zwart Piete asked. “She is my new medicine,” Rinkals said. “For lions? Of what good is a maid against a lion?” de Kok asked. “Let the Bastard but think for a moment,” the Kaffir said. “Let him consider the ways of a lion. Would it not appear even to one as foolish as I know you to be, that a wise lion would prefer a young and tender maid to an old and shrivelled man? Is that not sense?” “You talk of lions as if they were men.” “I speak of lions as they are and it is well known that the souls of the dead often go into the bodies of beasts. The spirits of brave men into lions, that of yellow Bastards into jackals.” “And that of old doctors?” de Kok asked. “If they be wise remain where they are. My soul is more than a thousand years old. Ja,” he said, “and it rests comfortably in my body.” He put his hand on his stomach. “Let the maid go,” Zwart Piete said, “and we will begin.” “The baas means that?” “Ja, I mean it.” “The baas has spoken, but if harm comes to me I shall haunt him. Ja, day and night my spook will torment the baas.” Reluctantly he let the girl go. Jumping away from him she ran, springing like a buck, running without turning her head. Soon they found traces of the lion, a fresh-killed wildebeeste surrounded by his spool. The horses plunged and reared as the scent rose from the long grass. “He is near,” Zwart Piete said as they tied the heads of the horses together and turned them with their backs to a clump of palms where they thought the lion might be lying asleep. “When he gets up,” Piete said, “I will shoot and you,” he turned to de Kok and Sara, “will wait; if he charges do not Are till he is on you, then shoot for his lower jaw and breast.” “Shall we fire the grass?” de Kok asked. “No, we will walk up to him; he is a tame lion.” “What will I do?” Rinkais asked. “I should like to help the baas in this matter. Can I not hold the horses?” “My horses will stand,” Piete said; “also it is not so long since you feared horses.” “I fear them still but I am a brave man and having conquered my fear would be willing to stay with them.” “You will stay with us and if you run I will shoot you and your spirit can go into a lion,” Zwart Piete said as they advanced slowly some ten paces apart. The lion, which had been sleeping, rose and walked quietly away. De Kok, raising his voice, let out a cry; the lion turned and Piete fired. The lion roared, sprang forward and fell “Shoot,” Piete said, and two more heavy bullets took the twitching beast as Piete reloaded. “Ai, ai,” Rinkais shouted, running forward, “I will have his claws.” Without hesitating he sprang on the body which, as the air was expelled from its lungs, gave out a terrifying roar; as he leaped away a lioness came out of the bush and seeing him standing beside her mate launched herself at him with an enormous bound. As she leapt the old Kaffir flung his spear and went down under her; almost as he fell Piete, who had reloaded, fired. The heavy bullet knocked the big beast sideways, penetrating her heart. Picking himself up R inkals returned to them. “That, baas,” he said, “was not well done. It is a shameful thing that the baas who kills so swiftly should allow a lioness to play with his servant as a cat would play with a mouse “Play with you,” Piete said. “I fired at once* “The lioness played with me,” Rinkals repeated. “I was under her for a great space. She might have hurt me,” he added. “This is a thing for which I will not forgive the baas. A thing that I will not forget.” He rubbed his buttocks. “And Baas,” he went on, “I fell upon a stone.” *** 5 On the following day the cattle which were owed to Rinkals were driven in; twenty cows and forty heifers nearly as big as their mothers. Piete looked at them in astonishment.” What is all this?” he asked. “Whose cows are these?” “They are mine,” Rinkals said. “A present from the chief, a small sign of his respect.” “And do you think we are going to carry this mark of his respect with us?” “No, baas. The baas will see; I have a plan and even now I go with it to the chief.” Finding Matiba in front of his hut Rinkals squatted down before him; he did not speak but stared past the chief. At last, however, after looking at him sourly for some moments Matiba said, “What now, Mamba? For what reason do you seek me?” “I come to bid the great chief farewell Also I would ask his counsel of certain matters which concern him. Some questions which so great a lawgiver will no doubt be able to answer.” ”If it is but answers to questions that you want you may have them, snake, but no more cattie.” “How many cows is it the custom here to pay for a young wife?” Rinkals asked. ”Ten cows.” “How many for an old wife? A widow?” he asked. “Who wants old women?” the chief said. “Not old, that is true, nobody wants them, but women shall I say no longer quite so young. Women in whom the sap flows less strongly.” “Five cows.” “And has the Great Bull such women?” “I have many,” “And he would part with them?” “Oil, yes, I would part with them,” Matiba said, chuckling. “Then, listen, oh wind that bends the mighty trees, or bull elephant, I will give you back some of your cows for women.” “If it was women, old ones, you wanted, why did you not ask for them at once and then there would have been no bad blood between us. Tell me what you want,” he said. “This is what I want in return for the small service I once did you. I want the maiden who has attended to the spirits, they have become used to her presence among them and she pleases them greatly by her pretty ways; for her in the name of the spirits I will give ten cows, and for myself I want an old woman skilled in the making of beer, another who works well in the fields, for it is in my heart to make a garden, and one who cooks better than the average, and a fourth who works in leather breying and tanning it; for these I will g.ve ten cows and ten heifers.” “And the heifers?” the chief asked. “And the heifers that are over?” “Those, oecause my heart is full, I will give back to die chief to keep in trust for me and for this, when I pass this way, he will give me a seat by his fire, and meat for myself and those who are with me.” “It is done. Mamba. I have spoken and there is a wall about the word of chief. Though truly for so great a wizard you have gone a long way to achieve a small journey.” ‘The king has spoken; I am indeed a great wizard and full of wisdom. But let the chief see that the women are strong with all their teeth and still able to walk. Perhaps also as I am so great, the chief would give me one of his riding oxen, the one with twirly horns like Koodoo that is milk white.” “You shall have it, wizard. You shall have all you ask at dawn” “And chief——” “Yes, Mamba?” “Let the chief see to it that my cattle breed well. Let them be marked and have special herders. Let them be spoken of as the cattle of the Little Cloud Who Precedes The Storm. The cattle of him who was once called Little Flower. Thus shall my name be remembered, and the herds of all your people prosper.” *** 6 Zwart Piete was talking to Sara when Rinkals returned. “Have you got rid of those cows?” he asked. “Ja, baas, I have got rid of them, but it makes my heart sore to think of it. They were beautiful cows.” “ Then be ready, for to-morrow we leave this place.” ”If the baas says so it already is done. I will collect my mat and pot. At dawn I shall be ready to gu le the baas to the country of the white men by the great water. In two moons we will be there and the baas will see more wonders, canoes with wings, great houses; he will also see the fathers of his thunderstick. they are fat and made of brass. Ai, they have thunder and death in their bellies. All this I will show the baas; Ja, and because I am without malice I will show him even though he let that lioness so ill-treat me.” Next morning, having bidden good-bye to the chief, Zwart Piete, de Kok and Sara waited for the old Kaffir. “What has happened to your wizard, Sara?” Piete asked. “I do not know bur I think he will come soon,” she said. “He will come,” de Kok said. “More, he comes, and he comes not alone” They turned and saw a strange procession coming out of the village. The maid, the sister of the wife of the king, came first; she was leading a milk white ox whose horns were twirled like the horns of koodoo. On the back of this ox sat Rinkals. Behind him came four old women bearing burdens on their heads, pots, karosses, and a roll of mats. “What is this?” Zwart Piete shouted, riding up to him. “What is all this?” “Baas, this is nothing The maid the spirits have grown fond of and will not part from; the ox is a present from the king who, seeing I could not walk, said that I must ride. The baas must remember that I fell upon a stone.” “I remember; and there?” Piete indicated the old women. ”Oh, those,” Rinkals said. “Those I bought from the king. They are the mothers of his young wives who trouble him and being skilled in the domestic arts will be a comfort to me, for daily my need of comfort grows.” “But will they not trouble you?” “Why should they? I do nor sleep with their daughters.” He looked at them distastefully. “I gave five beasts each for them,” he said, “and they are pleased. They were much flattered. But had I asked I could have had them for nothing.” “And the maiden? What did you pay for het?” “Ten cows” ”A great price,” Piete said, smiling. “She is a lovely maiden, well formed and young; the lost ones are much pleased with her.” “Truly,” Piete said, “you are a great wizard. But tell me one thing, why only one maiden?” “That is the proof of my wisdom, oh white man. For I am no longer young and my thoughts are now hotter than my blood—much hotter—and are young women warmed by thoughts? Let us ride on, baas; in two moons to the day, unless evil befall, we shall arrive at the great water.” ** Chapter Thirteen In the settlement life went on; went on, less well for the men than the beasts, for though the cattle were far and increased there was much sickness among the people. Fever, which they already knew, was rampant, but nothing would drag them from soil so fertile or grass which suited their beasts so well Their livestock were an integral part of the Boers; a man’s herds were the man, his mind a space in which the thoughts of his cattle mated mixed with the thoughts of his children, those who would inherit them At first they had lost many horses but soon they discovered that horse sickness could be avoided by keeping their horses in kraals high up on the hillside and not allowing them to graze until the dew was off the grass. So among fat well-liking beasts the people moved, dragging themselves to work in the rich lands, thinking themselves its owners when they were slaves to the ploughs they used, and the servants of their own calves and foals. Grow, Magtig, never had things grown like this before. Tante Anna’s pumpkins, which she had planted so diffidently, sprang up with their great rough leaves and trumpet yellow flowers, fruiting and swelling till it took a big Kaffir to span one. Ach, God, had there been somewhere to sell their produce how rich they would all have become. But there was nowhere, and what, after all, were riches? A snare and a delusion, and was it not easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven? Hendrik said that the fever would pass, that they would become hardened and immune to it, and so they did, many of them, but many died. The little cemeteries near the homesteads increased Ja, the fat soil was fruitful also with crosses. They were in contact with other treks new, others, who had settled, very near, less than a week on horseback away. It was through a man from one of these, passing in search of a wife, that Tante Anna heard of the sow. Little by little, with much peach brandy wine she drew the story from the visitor It seemed that a man had started from the Cape with six pigs; he had died and the pigs, all but one sow, had failed to survive him. His widow did not understand pigs “Ja, one sow,” Tante Anna said, “that is very sad. One sow, a pig alone; and how old is this sow?” she asked. “She is eight months old.” “Ja, that is very sad to think of a sow eight months old alone; neither a man nor a pig should live alone. And when were the others killed’” “That is it, mevrou, that is what makes it so sad, for it was only the other day, the day before I left that the last one, a little boar, was killed by a leopard.” “Arid this woman who has the sow is sick, you say, and has a child that is small and neither milk in her breasts nor cows in milk. How sad life is. Ach, ja, a woman alone, a pg alone. De Fries you said her name was, did you not, mynheer? Once I knew some people called de Fries. I wonder if she is one of them?” “Not de Fries, mevrou. Coetzee her name is.” “Ach, ja, Coetzee,” Tante Anna said. “How silly of me, but I am an old woman now and my memory is going. Once, mynheer, there was nothing that I could not remember. Ja, I even learnt a poem once. How did it go? It was about flowers and maidens. Perhaps you remember it’” she asked. “You seem to me to be a very well-educated man, a remarkably learned man. I find your conversation both interesting and instructive.” Tante Anna looked down and raising her hands from her stomach gave her breasts a shake. She sighed; this stranger was not apparently susceptible to the charms of women though he said he was seeking a wife. Calling Louisa she said, “Send a boy for my grandson Gert Kleinhouse and tell him to come with all speed. You will stay to eat, mynheer. Ja, you must stay to eat.” She wondered if Sannie had finished those pickled fish and f it would be worth while to send a boy to see. “That is a fine girl,” the stranger said as Louisa went out “A coloured wench,” Tante Anna said. “A fine girl,” he repeated. Ach, sis, it was always the same with me, without regard for virtue, they were taken in by their eyes, led into evil ways by the superficiality of their vision, seeing goodness where there was only wantonness and closing their eyes to solid virtue. Certainly no one could call her wanton now, that at least age had done for her; Tante Anna w shed that age had not done it. Ach, God, if I were young, she thought, I could have shown something to that Louisa; ach. sis, she has not half the tricks I had. A tear came into her eye as she thought of how provocative she had once been. “You are sad,” the stranger said. “Ja, mynheer, I am sad. It is the thought of that woman with a baby and no milk cow, and when I think of how I used to milk, of all the milk I have wasted, bottles and bottles of it,” she said. Gert Klienhouse did not come till the morning and when he came the stranger had gone. Tante Anna was not the wife he sought “Now, Gert,” Taate Anna said, “you will take a good milk cow, her calf and four tame oxen to Leman’s trek and there you will find a widow with no milk” ‘How shall I know her?” he asked. “Fool, how do you know a dry cow? But her name is Coetzee. To this woman you will say that Tante Anna de Jong has heard of her plight, and is making her a present of a cow.” “Then what are the oxen for?” “Are you God that you can drive a cow alone? Not that I think God could drive a cow alone.” “And then what do I do?” “You stay there with her.” “How long do I stay?” “You stay till she decides to give me a present in return. She will say to you ‘What can I give this Mevrou de Jong for her kindness, two dry cows or some heifers?’ and you will say no, to everything you will say no, till at last she will offer you the little sow that she has and then you will accept it and you will bring it back” “What? You will give a good milk cow for a little pig,” Gert said, truly you must be mad.” “Listen, that little pig is not so Ettle, soon it will have small ones for she is eight months old, and such is the nature of pigs. This is something that no one else seems to have considered. So go at once and be careful to milk the cow on the way for she gives more than her calf can drink.” “You are a slim old woman to take advantage of a widow like that.” “No, Gert. I am not slim. I am kind. By doing this I perform an act of charity which God will reward, and soon we shall have the only pigs in the north country.” “Ja, the only pigs, and what do I get for doing this, ouma?” “You will get my thanks, Gert, and a small pig.” “Will it be a little sow?” “Nte, Gert, I am too slim for that, it will be a little boar and when it is big you can eat it; and listen, each year I will give you a little boar. The sows are mine, never will I part with one of them.” *** 2 To drive four tame oxen, one milk cow and a calf through lion-infested country was no small thing and Gert, with two mounted Kaffirs, set out with a heavy heart Truly it was a misfortune to have a grandmother like his, a woman so masterful that it was impossible to resist her. Even the thought of the nigs she would give him failed to comfort him. How did she know the sow would farrow? How was he to approach the widow Coetzee? He was nervous of widows—they knew too much. He doubted if he was clever enough to deal with a man-hungry widow. Ach, ja, his ouma demanded too much of him when she sent him on this journey. Still, widows were not necessarily old. He though: of Marietje de Wert who had married Martinus and smiled. A widow would be more practical than a young girl; she would see beyond his cross eyes, she would see deep into his soul, which was beautiful Ja, ja, there were widows and widows. If it had not been for the milk cow with her swinging cabbage of an udder he would have trotted. He wondered if the widow was dark or fair and how much she weighed. Gert had a weakness for big, handsome women, deep breasted and vde hipped. There was much comfort to be found in the arms of such a woman Alert for danger he rode on with his Kaffirs chattering behind him, while in front of him the cattle moved slowly, stopping now and then to crop at the grass as they walked. Sleeping four times on the road he arrived at last and inquired for thr widow Coetzee Lemans settlement was much like their own, at the same stage of development, but the land seemed less good and the stock in poorer condition. The widow, it appeared lived alone on her farm ia a depression of the hills to the north of the river. It was here he found her, sitting on the stoep of her house with her child upon her knee, sitting as if she were awaiting him. Even from a distance he could see that she was a beautiful woman with a flat face and a well-fleshed body suitably clad in a dress of black flannel cloth with a wide white turn-over collar and sleeves neatly buttoned at the wrist. Her skirt was heavy with flounces round the hem and almost hid her fine strong legs. He could not see the colour of her hair as it was covered by a big black linen kappie which came down over her shoulders. There was about this woman an air of placid well-being which brought Gert’s heart into his mouth and made him glad that he had thought of wearing his pale yellow bell-shaped top hat and the dark yellow corduroy trousers which went so well with his coat of blue nankeen. The hand of God was certainly in this. Unless more were to come of it than a sow for his grandmother why should he have been prompted to wear his best? To doubt th’ truth of this would be to doubt the goodness of a providence which invariably did everything for the best. Cocking his hat over his left eye and inflating his chest he rode slowly towards the widow who, after a quick embracing look, modestly lowered her eyes. Dismounting, and with the reins over his arm, he approached her. “My name is Gert Kleinhouse” he said, putting out his hand. “I am Mevrou Coetzee,” the widow said. “I have been sent to you by my grandmother, Tante Anna de Jong.” “I have heard of Mevrou Anna de Jong” the widow answered. “Come inside and I will make you ccffee and then you will tell me why you have come.” “I have come to bring you a present from my grandmother; she is a very kind woman and has heard that you have a small child” “Ja, that is so, it is a boy.” Mevrou Coetzee held up her son. “Also she has heard that you have no milk and that your best cows are dry” “Anna de Jong has long ears, but all she has heard is true Ja, it is God’s truth.” “And therefore,” Gert went on, “she has sent me to bring you a cow and a calf. The cow milks well,” he added, “and her name is Bloometjie. When you call Bloometjie she comes. She is more like a dog than a cow, very tame and affectionate.” “Ach, ja, mynheer, I know; once in the colony I had a tame cow. How beautiful she was. Black, with a yellow nose; Gielbeck she was named, but she died with her second calf. Ah, God, how I cried. You have no idea how I cried, mynheer, for I have a very tender heart” “One has but to look at you, mevrou, to see that you have a soft heart. Even on so short an acquaintance I would say your heart was as soft and as full of juice as a naartjie.” “Ach, that is strange, mynheer, for that is what my husband always used to say. Ja, he would say, ‘Martha, your heart is like a naartjie.’” “So yout name is Martha, mevrou. Truly that is a beautiful name. Martha,” Gert repeated. Ignoring his remark Mevrou Coetzee said,” Am I wrong in thinking that your horse is lame, mynheer?” “My horse is not lame. He is never lame,” Gert said angrily. “Then I was mistaken, but I thought he was going a little lame. It is no shame for a horse to go lame after days in the mountains. I thought perhaps a few days’ rest would do bin. good.” “Ah, a few days’ rest, mevrou, that is another thing A few days’ rest for a horse in rich pasture is always good It eases them,” he added. “Rest is good for men folk, too Ah men, they burn themselves up. You, mynheer, are the kind of man who burns himself up. Any one could see that you are full of fire” Gert felt himself burning up and full of fire.” Ja, mevrou, it is so and yet you are the first to have seen it You are indeed different to other women. Most women,” he went on, “are either foolish or ugly, and many are both.” “Ach, mynheer, how you flatter me and how like you are to my dear Jan.” “He must have been a fine man, mevrou,” Gert said. “Fine, fine is no word to describe my Jan, Ah, God, what a man and how he could love. In love and anger, mynheer, he was a lion, very quick and bold, quite irresistible to a weak woman like myself, one who knows that women should submit themselves to that which God sends them. And when he looked at me out of his great blue eyes, Mynheer, there was a storm in my heart. Ja, the very first day that I saw him when he drove up to my father’s house with a pair of matched red horses in his cart I knew that he would not leave without me. In that first look he held me like a young pigeon in his hand. ‘Here,’ I said to myself, ‘is certainly the man who will be the father of my children,’ for even to a maid do such thoughts come no matter how delicate her mind may be, especially when she feels the eyes of a man upon her.” “It is certainly sad that such a man should die,” Gert said. “Ja, it is sad, and what a worker he was. Look at the furniture he made for me.” Mevrou Coetzee pointed to the enormous four-posted bedstead in the corner of the room. “Ja, he was a very skilled man in all ways, and one who was much respected. I hope you will stay and rest for a while, mynheer, there are many things about which I should like to consult you. It is not that there are no good straightforward men here, there are many of them, but it is not good that those among whom one lives should know too much of one’s affairs. You have a fine open face, mynheer. You certainly ate not a man to take advantage of a widow—that I saw at once when you rode up on your fine horse. Ja, ja, I am very quick to make up my m nd about people,” Mevrou Coetzee said. “It is a gift that I have and I am never wrong” “Bate dankie, mevrou. It is indeed kind of you to bid me stay some days.” ”And does mynheer care for the smoked thigh tongue of an eland?” the widow asked ’‘In all the world there is nothing I like as much as the smoked thigh tongue of an eland,” Gert said. Crossing the room he looked at the small spinet that stood against the wall. “You are musical,” he said. ”Ja, Mynheer, I play, but not so much now that I have to do a man’s work as well as my own “Music is wonderful,” Gert said.” Ja, it is wonderful. It twists one’s stomach like a purge.” “Then you too are musical, mynheer, you understand” “Ja, I am musical. Too musical. For, like love, music gives me a pain low in the stomach.” ”You play an instrument?” Martha Coetzee asked. “I do not play,” Gert said, “but I sing. I sing bass,” he added *** 3 Hendrik was dissatisfied. Time, the one thing over which he had no control, was pressing upon him. If his seed was to inherit the earth he must have seed. Many men of his age were already several times grandfathers and was he not, like Abraham, to be the father of a multitude? To Abraham God had made the promise that his seed should be as the dust of the earth, of whom he had said, “That if a man can number the dust of the earth, then shall thy seed also be numbered.” His mind swung in anger from Sannie to Louisa; to other women; to all women, potential mothers of his children. One woman was much like another to him and only with difficulty could he differentiate between them and yet his thoughts kept turning back to Louisa who was fast becoming symbolic of all that he required of her sex, and because he resented Louisa’s pcwer he raged furiously against Sannie; Sanr le whom he possessed, who was so acquiescent and unresponsive The more he took of her the less he had, and as her beauty and desirability increased, he had flung himself like a hungry man on to the feast of her young womanhood Gorging himself, he left her exhausted, unsatisfied, his thirst unslaked Though he had got her with child again he had no pleasure from it and forced himself to work as a relief from thought, ripping up the soil with his plough as though it were an enemy, burning bash to clear it more quickly and killing game wantonly ?nd without reason. More and more, as days went by, the vision of the coloured girl kept coming to him, visiting him in the night as he lay beside his wife, following him about his work. He saw her everywhere; he saw her flitting among the trees, reflected in the dark water of the dam he had made, in the kraals of his cattle, in the bed of his wife. It was as if she had put a spell upon him, an enchantment. Soon he began to see her in the flesh, for Tante Anna sent her often to Sannie with delicacies that she had concocted or with messages, and Louisa, knowing where Hendrik was. invariably managed to pass near him. A coloured bitch was no receptacle for the seed of a van der Berg, but seed must have soil, and the soil of Louisa’s body was rich. Having got this far, Hendrik ached for her, to hold her, to touch the softness of her skin. Coloured or not, she was a .woman, and she was not deeply coloured. Surely the prepotency of his race would be strong enough to efface the stain, surely he was white enough for two. “Kom Bosveld Rinkals, Witboi, Bles,” he shouted to his oxen as he turned them on the headland. “Korn.” And his long whip cracked, clap after clap. “I am too strong,” he said to himself. “The Lord God has made me too strong. And of what good is one woman to a man like me? I am the instrument of God, and it is He who has made me as I am” Once mote as the long greasy furrows turned away from his driving plough he thought of Louisa and her hidden softness. That day his oxen were much scarred by their master’s long whip. A whip he had made himself out of kameel skin with an achter slaag of koodoo and voorslaag of blesbok. A bitter biting thing that curled wickedly about the sleek red hides of his working oxen and bit deep into them when he thought of the coloured wench; but much land was ploughed that day— nearly a morgen which usually was the work of two days. Ach, ja, by work one could kill desire, but was it right to kill it? To kill a gift of God? Where before his cry had been onwards, it was now fertility. Fertility of soil, of cow and mare and ewe, of she-goat and of woman. Fertility, drawing life up from the depths of the past and pouring it out into the future, like the buckets arached to the endless chain of a deep cool well, one which, however much one drew upon it, never emptied; one in which the water level never fell. *** 4 To Louisa life was a simple thing; like a wheel her life revolved, turning continually, leaving a spoor of memory which grew ever fainter. Without much hope of the future, without regret for the past, she moved, enjoying the simple things. The pleasure of sunshine when it was cold, of shade wh ~i it was hot, of eating, of suckling her child, of lying with a man when her body demanded this of her. Pure in her utter lack of shame, Louisa was neither good nor bad. She was a woman. Her contempt for black people and other coloured ones grew daily as her child became paler with its increasing age Little Anna was almost white with light-brown hair. Her dream of the milk-white heifer and the young red bull and the big black bull had come true. Her dreams now were of the big black bull alone. A big bull very strong and fierce, whose face was the face of Hendrik van der Berg and which, in her dreams, she led about by the ring through its nose. This dream also would come true. It would come true when Sannie was grown big with the child that was in her, when the mealies were high. It would come true among the thick green stems of the mealies when, nearly ripe, their tassels hung like palegreen horses’ tai’s from the covered cobs. Till then she would wait, working and showing herself now and then to the man she wanted. For by allowing him to see her she would warm his desire into a stronger thing, a flame that would devastate him, running like a grass fire in the winter through his veins. Anna de Jong’s blows when she was idle did not disturb her, they were without a sting, for the skin she whipped would soon be caressed by the hands of Hendrik van der Berg, the leader, the greatest man among them; one who killed to obtain the gratification of his desires, the big black bull of her dreams. Her baby she now carried on her hip. Her body bent, springing like a bow upwards from the waist, remained as erect as ever, her stride as free but more supple and undulating in its movements, as balanced on the balls of her feet with her bare toes gripping the ground firmly, she walked proudly swinging her neat croup She was a lovely creature and knew it. Strong, beautiful and healthy, she took admiration as her tribute, imperious and scornful of coloured men, she was subtly flattering and seductive to the white. Louisa was what her mother had been, and her mother’s mother in their youth. She was the product of her own heredity and environment, perfectly adapted to the purpose to which she had been formed. Like an animal, she had been bred by man for his own pleasure one of a breed evolved, as various kinds of cattle or varieties of dogs were evolved, the result of a careful selection carried on for many years through many generations. *** 5 Anna de Jong was surprised when, at the end of a fortnight, she had received no news of her grandson. Had anything happened to him? Had he made a fool of himself? As the days passed it seemed to her that the little sow was the one thing necessary to add savour to her life, to give it solidity. Pigs were home-like animals. They were not like cows or sheep or horses which could be driven about indefinitely. A pig, more particularly a sow, was symbolic of settled occupation with its gruntings, wallowings, and swarms of squealing piglings. Surely Gert must return soon driving the young sow in front of him. She wondered what it would be like. Black and white, she hoped, with more black than white on it, for white pigs suffered badly from sun-scald. Ach, one had to be very careful with white pigs, their skin was as delicate as a maiden’s. She wondered how many tits she would have. The more tits a sow had the better, seven or eight a side was the best and six too few. For with a big litter some could never drink if their mother had only six tits, and suppose Gert had been foolish and unable to obtain the sow, if this had happened he could hardly bring back the cow and calf. After all, a present was a present. Still, it was no use worrying oneself, everything was in the hands of God and no doubt because of this, whatever happened, it would be for the best, even if it did not seem so at the time. Ach, ja, but without pigs one could not have pork, and she was very fond of pork, and because she was so fond of it there was a very warm place in her heart for pigs. Pigs, pork, roast pork, salt pork, sucking pig stuffed and cooked in a slow oven, blood pudding. What a tragedy it was that as one grew old food became so important. Once, food had meant nothing to her. Provided there had been enough of it and that it was well cooked, flavoured and of good quality she had not cared what it was she ate. But now it was different, her stomach was as delicate, as dainty as a sugar bird in its fancies, crying out for this and that as though it were a person. When one was young one had no control of one’s carnal desires, when one was old none over one’s appetite for food. The more one thought about life the more difficult it was to see reason in it, to differentiate between good and evil, between joy and sorrow. Everything was so mixed, it was like a curry, too sweet, and it was sickly, too bitter and it was unpleasant. She sighed. “I am a foolish old woman. These thoughts that I think are men’s thoughts, both unwomanly and unpractical” Shading her eyes, she looked towards the mountain road; at any time now Gert might come back driving the tame oxen and the little sow It was pleasant to think that the widow, Coetzee, was now at peace with a good milk cow. “I am a good woman,” she thought, “casting my bread upon the waters.” She began to laugh, her body quivering. “Ja, ja, bread,” she said aloud. “And I have done more than than I have cast a good milk cow with her calf at foot upon the waters.” She laughed at her thoughts till the tears came into her eyes, partly with amusement and partly with sorrow, as she thought of the pigs she had at home and the skilful way that Jappie had killed them, sticking them in the heart with bis long sharp knife. ** Chapter Fourteen ZWART PiETE and his party advanced slowly, moving eastwards again and camping with their backs to the setting sun At one kraal, the last in this part of the country, they arrived on the eve of a great lion hunt Rinkals’ suggestion to the chief that his attendant spirits should kill this lion—it had taken a number of cattle—was refused on the grounds that it would be a pity to trouble the spirits with so small a matter, one with which his young men were so well able to deal, but on the other hand, if he could persuade the spirits to make the stream which flowed through their land to run more strongly both be and his people would be much obliged. “Ai/’ Rinkals said, “Truly to make water r in more strongly is no light matter, but as you desire it I will see what I can do, but first, before I can achieve anything I must see this stream, so send me a maiden to show me the way. If she be beautiful and fat there is little doubt that I can do what you wish, but she most be a comely maid, for of all spirits those of the water are the hardest to please Ai,” he said, “the water spirits are adamant unless a maid be lovely. Let her also bring beer,” he said; “a great pot of it on her head, and come with a comb full of honey in her hand. With these three things I can charm the water gods no matter how sulky they be.” Will you not take your other spirits and your wives with you?” the chief asked. “No,” Rinkals said, “they are hunting spirits and deal only with thunder and lightning. They have no knowledge of the water gods or the making of rain. Let them go with your young men, oh, chief, and let me go my ways with the maid. Fear not for her, her eyes shall not be dimmed with tears nor her body fade to insignificance. I will give her medicine, and power over the waters, so that while she lives the stream will new strongly and your herds prosper.” To Zwart Piete he said: “Baas, go with these people and watch over them while they hunt the lion after their fashion, while I go to the stream with this maiden and make medicine.” “Do you ever make medicine without a maiden?” de Kok asked. “Sometimes I do,” Rinkals said. “Somet’mes, when there are no maidens, but it is dull to work alone. Listen, baas, he went on, turning to Zwart Piete, “I know that you think we waste time, but it is well to have friends among these people, for one day we may pass this way again.” “To sleep with their maidens is not the way to make friends, rather will it make enemies Sleep, baas. Sleep.” The old man raised his hands in horror.” Long ago,” he said, “I used to do these things, there was the one who called me Little Flower. I think I slept with her and then there were others—there must have been others, but I forget them. Women,” he said, “are like leaves, they wither, they fall and are forgotten. Ai, baas,” he said,” I am too old to think of these things and to speak of them makes my heart grow sore. So go, young man, and hunt lions in the company of the warriors, for me and such as me there js little comfort in such childish things, though once it was otherwise, and in my time many lions have fallen to my spears. Lions without number,” he added. “But go now, baas, and leave me to meditate and by the aid of the lost ones whom I shall invoke set a spell on the running waters, and thus obtain the gratitude of these rude uncultured people.” “Come,” Piete said,” let us leave him.” And mounting their horses, they joined the group of young men who were going out to hunt the lion which had killed their cattle. Spreading out in a long line, the warriors trotted over the veld. The buck which got up they let pass unharmed and at last, among some reeds near the river, they found the lion. Seeing them, he ran from them without looking back, slowly at first, but later in great bounds as they pressed him. At a thick bush he turned to face them, growling and lashing his tail One of the men threw a stone at him and he ran again, and again turned. This time they surrounded him and mocked him, calling him a dog and a cow, and always coming closer till they ringed him about, and then one man bolder than the other stood out and challenged him, dancing in front of him, calling him names and threatening him with his spears. “He will charge in a minute, baas,” de Kok said.” Shall we shoot or run away?” “We will do neither Let us see their way of doing this thing, it is new to me.” “It is new to me also, baas, and I do not like it,” the Griqua answered. The lion had lowered himself and lay with only his tail moving jerkily watching the man who postured in front of him. Suddenly his tail went up, standing like a ramrod out of bis body, and with a roar he charged. As he came, the man who had mocked him went down, covering himself with his big shield, and the others threw their spears, and so the lion who had stolen their cattle died, and the man at whom he had sprung rose up from under his ox-hide shield unharmed, not even scratched by the great claws. That night there was much rejoicing in the village, for the lion was dead and the river, so Rinkals assured them, their servant, bound to the maiden by his spells. There remained only one thing to do. This was to go up to the eye of the river, the fountain where it rose, and bid it to flow more freely; it might even be necessary to beat it with a small switch, though this was dangerous and would be more expensive. It was, however, for the chief to decide what he wanted done, perhaps what had already been done would be enough After all, he was old and was not sure if the reward they offered would be enough to make him do this thing. To whip a spring was a great risk, and soon he would go to join the spirits among whom he had many friends. “Ai,” he said, “can I take the cows and maidens you would give me for doing this thing with me when I join the great ones?” “We have offered you no cows and maidens,” they said. “No, but you will offer, and I have taken no offence that you have nor done so. It is only your ignorance of the way a great wizard should be treated which has prevented you doing so, and perhaps a certain diflidence that fifty head of cattle would be too few for the work I have done. Your stream runs strongly and I will give you rain. The spirits have promised it,” he added. “Fifty head,” they echoed, “and how do we know that it will rain?” ‘Yes, fifty head. It is very lirtle, I know, but I am old and no longer ambitious. Worldly wealth is without meaning for me, and a man rich in stock has many enemies for by his death others benefit. Go now into council and consider this matter, for I am weary with my labours. All day I have worked to master your river and I have it now, it is mine.” Opening his hand, he spat into his palm. “It is mine,” he repeated, “as the spittle in my hand is mine. I can add to it” —he spat again— “or I can wipe it out, or burn it up. Ai, ai, to destroy a river is nothing to a man like me, I have done it many times when I was angry or the people with whom I dealt were mean and avaricious. As to rain. Do not fear, you will soon have it, and now I am going to make medicine with the white spirits and give them my commands. Now I could not whip the head waters of your river for a hundred head of cattle for my spirit is troubled by your insults and your lack of faith. It will be best,” he added, “to have the cattle here by the dawn, they should be fat and each should have eight teeth in its mouth.” Wrapping his kaross round him, he hobbled away to the fire where Zwart Piete, Sara and de Kok sat waiting for him. “To-morrow, baas,” he said, “we shall have fifty head of stock.” “What shall we do with them?” Piete asked. “What shall we do with them? What does one do with cattle?” the old man grumbled. “Ai, what does one do? One counts them, one talks about them, one drinks the milk of the cows, one eats the oxen, one praises the bulls. There is no end to what one can do with cattle. And what is a man without cows?” he asked. “Who respects him? Even the maidens, knowing he has no beasts for lobola, look at him boldly, laughing. And how is it that you who have the wisdom of the white men in your hands can ask me of what use are cattle? Truly, baas, to be old as I am is a sad thing. Ai, for now even the master whom I serve makes fun of me, makes me a laughing stotk.” “No, no,” Piete said.” I think you are a great man. Rinkals.” “Ai, the baas has spoken true words. Among doctors I am great, towering above them like an elephant among a company of rabbits. Great, I ana more than great, a thousand years old I am, and the father of all magic, producing oxen, maidens, storms, and Zulus out of nothing.” He took a drink of beer from the calabash at his side and handed it to one of his women to be refilled. “The baas has only to say the word and there is nothing that old Rinkals the wizard will not give him. Gold, the teeth of elephants, women, cattle, and now he says what shall we do with these beasts which we have not got yet. Wait, lord, wait. I will make medicine and we shall soon see what to do with them.” Pulling the string of the bag round his neck, over his head, he emptied out its contents on the ground by the fire. Squatting on his heels with his rat-tails of hair falling over his wrinkled face, he scraped with bony fingers in the little heap, pulling out one thing after another. A knuckle bone from a vultures wing, a dried scorpion, the shell of a river crab, a human ear smoked and shrivelled, some pebbles, a nugget of gold, two buttons. All this he did with his eyes closed andthen, opening them, he began to arrange them in a pattern, moving them about while he gazed fixedly at the polished rock crystal that he had set in the centre. As he worked his eyes grew larger, and the sweat poured from his armpits, running down his shrivelled Banks. At last it was done and sweeping the objects he had been using away, he sat back on his haunches. For a moment be stared upwards at the star-pierced sky, and then leant forward, and said: “Listen, baas. Listen to what I say. Once not long ago I foretold much to the baas s sister, and then I was not strong—I was very sick, nor had I the mouti”— he pointed to the heap—” for strong medicine, but now,” his voice rose shrilly, “to-night I have pierced the veil, torn it down by the strength of my spells, and this is what I have seen. Over there”—he raised a skinny hand and pointed—” lies the great water and much good fortune. Also war and death through which we will pass unscathed gaining titles and riches later, a hundred moons away there will be a division among us and death of one which will be balanced by the coming of another and then I will see blood and hear cries. Soon we will meet many people—very many. These I did not see clearly, but they are not enemies. Yet before we reach this place we shall have to pass through a dead land, bare and inhospitable, without a living thing upon it, neither bird nor beast. Ai, for many days we shall see nothing alive, and here we shall live on the fiesh and the milk of the beasts I have obtained for making tain.” “But since there is no rain,” P-ete said. “There will be rain, baas.” Rinkals looked at the sky again. “Does the baas think that if there would not be rain I should promise it to these people? Before dawn there will be rain, lord, the little river will run and the fifty head of cows be in our hands together with the gratitude and the fear of these people? Therefore, as I say, we will advance through this dead barren land with our cows and later, before we pass out of it, they will bring us good fortune. These cows, I say, will be as a stepping stone that will lead us to the greatness on which the baas has set his heart. N6w that I am alone, I am the father and mother of the baas. I will clasp him to the breasts of my knowledge, weaning him slowly till at last he is indeed a king in his understanding of the strange ways of men and able to read their hearts, becoming second only to me .tn his wisdom and his cunning.” “It seems to me,” Piete said, “that before we met you I was the leader and that now it is you who lead.” “I lead, baas? Why do you mock me? Can the o’d and fragile lead the young and fearless? Does the steinbok lead the lion? No, lord, it is not so. Because I offer the baas a plan ready made, like a piece of cooked meat on a platter, does it mean that I lead? It happens that I know the road we must go, as I know all roads, and my knowledge is there for the baas to use. Ai,” he went on, “my knowledge is a great burden for me to bear, limitless, and heavy as a herd of elephants it lies like a great weight on my heart.” *** 2 The weather changed during the night as Rinkals had said it would, and the rain came down in torrents, flooding the village to such an extent that the chief came to the hut where the old man slept to implore him to make it stop. “You are like a small child, oh, chief,” Rinkals said; “or a woman. First you want and then you do not want. I offer to kill your lion, but no, you say, make us rain, and lo, I make rain —much rain, never has there been so fine a rain, and then you disturb me in my slumbers to tell me that I have made more than you desire. Did you ask me to make a small rain? I am a great wizard and when I make rain, I make rain. Go, chief, for I would sleep. But th s I say, that the rain will cease with the coming of the sun. But unless my cows are ready to-morrow I will send such a rain that your beasts, exhausted with swimming, will die and float with their swollen bellies upwards, their legs as stiff as trees pointing to the clouds. Such a rain will I send that you will speak of this rain, of which you now complain, as a small shower, for where you had the calf of the water spirits, I will send a span of bulls beneath which you and your people will be flattened.” In the morning the rain had stopped, and the cattle were there, a full fifty head, their horns shining, their hides, wet with the rain of the night, steaming as the power of the sun increased. A beautiful herd of red, black and yellow beasts. There were also some pale greyish ones with fine humps and a young cow that was red, spotted most beautifully with white upon her hinder parts. Driving the herd before them, they advanced into the country which was, as Rinkals had said, desolate and God forgotten. An area where stunted roi-bos, vaal-bos and seringa trees grew among the tussocks of coarse grass; where patches of iron red conglomerate sparkled metallically in the sunlight. Neither mountainous nor flat, the country undulated in waves whose frozen crests were topped with stones set jaggedly on end. An evil country which, the old witch-doctor said, was damned and inhabited only by the worst kinds of spirits and spooks, the ones who were inimical not only to man and beast, ut also to the water gods, the tree gods and the gods of the rich sweet grass. Tliere was no life here, no movement and even birds wore scarce. In several days all they saw was one blue jay, a pair of shiny starlings, metal-green with red-jewelled eyes, and a solitary hoopoe. Of greater beasts, once they saw a troop of baboons, travelling, and once a male rhinoceros which Zwart Piete set out to hunt. “Ach, God,” he said; “here is something alive at last, let us see if he will attack.” As was his custom, he approached the beast up wind. If he could get to within thirty paces of it he would put a bullet into its small eye or between the chinks of its heavy armour. Dismounted, these an’mals were simple enough to kill, for even if one missed they rushed forward with their heads low and their eyes closed seeking out their enemies, striving for them with their horns. All that was necessary when they did this was to step nimbly away and allow them to thunder past as they forced onwards mad with the rage that consumed them. Often Piete had done this, playing with one for hours, till with its strength exhausted, k stood like an ox waiting to be slaughtered. But this beast did not charge, it ran away, tramping down the bushes and small trees which springing up, barred the way of de Kok’s galloping horse. Pursued by the cries of the hunters, the rhinoceros ran, his back rising and falling above the scrub. “This is a verdamte land,” Piete said, as he remounted. “A place where even the animals are bewitched. How much more of it, Rinkals? How many more days do we march through this desert, a country of nothing, I am tired of it.” For variety they had only mirages to look at which conjured up sad thoughts of the fat lands they had left. Perpetual mirages, in which, shimmering through the haze of heat, they saw tall trees by the banks of great sheets of water and game on Jorg stilt-like legs. Apart from the heat they had also some anxiety about water, because there had been rain and there was water lying in the pans, but it was shallow and of an evil taste, and the horses, more fastidious than the cattle, only drank of it when their thirst became unendurable. So they went on led by Rinkals till they came to a road of hard, tramped earth. Here the old Kaffir dismounted and stood fondling the ears of his white ox, bis knees trembling as he clung to it for support. “What is it?” Sara asked. “Jkoosi. For some days now I have been afraid that we were Jost, that I had missed my way. It is many hundreds of years since I was here,” he said, “and the mind of an old man is like an old gourd; it no longer holds all that is put into it. Yes,” he went on, “I was a young man when I was here last” “Then this must be a very old road,” Zwart Piete said, laughing “And where does it lead?” “It is indeed an old road, baas. As old as the world. It is the path taken by those who hunt men. It leads from the country of the forests to the great water where the white men live. Ai,” he said; “once I travelled this ro^d shackled like a beast, driven on by the blows of whips. Many have died along this road, lord. “Look,” he said, “it will not take long to show the baas” Leaving his ox which, lowering its head, curled a long black tongue round a wiry spike of grass, he ran forward into some bushes. A moment later he was back with a skull in his hand. The head of a young woman, lord,” he said; “a woman with fine strong teeth.” He smelt it. “And one not long dead. I shall keep this, it will make good medicine.” Going up to one of the old women who carried his things he dropped it into the pot on her head. “Eeeh! Eeeh!” she cried in fright. “I will not carry this thing.’ she said, dropping the pot which broke while the skull, rolling out, went bowling along the road. Oh, mother of warriors long since dead,” Rinkals said, the time is past when in the pride of your youthful beauty you could choose your burdens. Ai, even the men for whom you bore them, and you will now carry what you are bidden.” ”And if I don’t?” she screamed. “If I won’t?” “Then, old woman, you will die. For who is there to succour a woman when there is no pleasure to be found in her body and nought but venom in her tongue. Ai, ai, hag, politeness is very necessary to the aged and the useless, very necessary unless they be wizards of great renown.” Going up to the skull he kicked it towards her. “Pick it up,” he said, “lest I curse you. Lest I send the spook of the young woman to whom it belongs to haunt you, a thing which it wifi do with much anger for the spooks of young women whose blood still runs are angry if they have to inhabit the body of an old crone who can do nothing but make beer and who, it seems to me, makes it worse and worse as time goes on.” Remounting his ox, Rinkals pointed up the path. “Lead on, white lord. This is the road to the great water. We. your servants, follow.” ** Chapter Fifteen IT was some days after the finding of the skull that de Kok who had been tiding on one of the flanks cantered up to his master. “Baas, baas,” he said, “there are men behind us, many men. I saw the light on their spears, and they are too numerous to Cght” “Then, if we can’t fight them we will meet them in friendship,” Piete said. “Let us ride on to that small kopje and wait.” It was from here, screened by the scrubby trees, that they watched the procession approach them. Out of the bush people defiled in an endless stream. First came a great negro carrying a standard fastened to a long pole. It was covered with black writing, characters which curled and twisted like notes of music, and drooped its ragged edges in the hot, windless air. Behind him came some armed men, fierce-looking warriors carrying small round shields, swords and spears. Some of them Piete noticed were wounded and had dirty bloodstained rags wrapped round their heads and arms. They were followed by a string of Kaffirs, hundreds of them, yoked together by means of forked branches pegged round their necks. They were all young—women, men, girls, boys, and children—and marched in a straggling column with their heads bent. Many were emaciated and almost all had sores on their necks where the yokes had galled them. Beside the slaves, at intervals, grave, bearded Arabs stalked majestically with their long, short-butted guns over their shoulders and heavy whips of rhinoceros hide in their hands. At the tail of the caravan was an old, white-bearded Arab wearing a green head cloth. A smal’ boy led his white she-ass by its scarlet leather reins while his master sat, w th his feet high in the short stirrups, reading. The old man was surrounded by a bodyguard of mixed race—Arabs, bastard Arabs and big negroes from the north carrying long spears and some with swords, a wild heterogeneous crowd of savage fighting men who moved easily and lightly about their master “Ai,” Rinkals said; “those are bitter fighting men, baas, cruel as tigers, men whose hearts are salt like brak water. Ai, they are men who kill for gain and not for sport, or women.” At the cries of his people the old chief, Hussien Zeid, looked up. His warriors had already surged forward with a swirl of rusty, red henna dyed tunics, their black cloaks flying out behind them, their weapons poxsed. This was their business, they were the fighters, they were not herders of human cattle. Putting a small horn to his mouth, the chief called them back and halted the caravan. The impassive Arabs unloosed their guns and the slaves, relieved from the burden of movement, lay down, or stood with slack knees waiting. Already they had acquired some of the fatalism of their masters—what would be. would be, the creed of Islam, of resignation. Raising eyes dulled by misery and exhaustion, they watched Zwart Piete, de Kok and Sara riding towards them. Now,” Piete said, and simultaneously the three raised the muzzles of their guns and fired into the air. “They come in peace,” the old Arab said to his grandson who stood beside him with his hand on the hilt of his jewelled dagger. “They come in peace, Abstan,” he repeated. “Their weapons are empty.” From his tall horse, Piete looked down at the old Arab. I am Zwart Piete,” he said, “How goes it, uncle?” he asked in Dutch. “There is no God but God.” “What does he say, de Kok?” Piete asked. “That I do not know, baas. Let us send for our wizard who knows all tongues.” And he swung his horse to fetch him. But Rinkals had followed them, he was at their side, sitting calmly wrapped in his kaross of wild cat skin upon the back of his white ox. “Did you ask if I knew the language of these people, Bastard?” he inquired. “D d I hear you ask that or is it, that being old, my ears deceive me?” “You heard rightly, wizard.” “Shall I speak, inkoos?” Rinkals asked “Yes, speak, old snake,” de Kok said. “Make it clear that we come in peace, but are ill folks to thwart.” “Shall I do as the Bastard says?” Rinkals asked. “Shall I speak to this man, baas?” “Speak,” Piete said. “Ask him whence he comes, and where he goes” “I will speak as the baas commands,” the old man said. “Oh, lord,” he said to the chief, “my master bids me tell you that we come in peace, and he asks whence you come, and where you go?” “I conie from near Delagoa Bay, he said, “and return thither with slaves. Bat who are these with you? This man whom you call master and the woman at his side, and whence come you and why are you here?” “We come from the south, lord, and I am leading my master to the sea which he has a great desire to gaze upon.” ”There is nothing to be gained by looking at the sea. Like the wisdom of Allah, it is limitless and beyond understanding.” “Nevertheless, oh, chief, it is his desire to see this wonder. He is yet young, and not like us who have seen all things and know them to be nothing.” “You speak like a true believer,” the Arab said. “And are those cattle yours? If so I will trade for them. I need food for my people for already I have lost many from hunger. My best hunters,” he went on, “were killed in a battle with another caravan, and here, even if I had hunters, there is no game.” Turning the pages of his Koran, he read, “‘Eat therefore of what you have acquired, that which is lawful and good; for God is good, gracious and merciful. Oh, prophet! Say unto the captives who are in your hands, if God shall know any good to be in your hearts, he will give you better than that which hath been taken from you; and he will forgive you, for God is gracious and merciful.’” The old Arab veiled his eyes and looked down. “Oh, great chief,” Rinkals said; “truly the words which fall from your mouth are like dewdrops glistening on a tall tree, very beautiful in the light of the morning, but dewdrops to thirsty men are not water, and if you will give better than that which hath been taken, then truly the end of all things is at hand and we be no longer men. Oh, chief, we ask not better, all that we ask is a full measure for our beasts. Without doubt, my master will trade the cattle,” Rinkals went on; “but they are, as you see for yourself, beautiful beasts, fat and well liking. Ai,” he continued, “such cattle are not given away. There are forty-five of them,” he added. “What would your master take for them?” “I think he might be persuaded to take two slaves for each,” Rinkals said, “for he is a very generous man, though quick at times to anger.” “Two each is too much” the old Arab said, “especially as I could if I wished, have them for nothing.” He looked at his guards who stood with their swords drawn or loosened in their scabbards, “That you will not do,” Rinkals said, “for you have the face of a just man” “The face of a man is a book on which his past is written, Kaffir; but man, being created of hastiness, his decisions if he be wise should be slow. Ponder well, dog, scratch many fleas, before you answer me lightly.” Oh, chief, you have observed me closely to see that I am guileless and without vermin, and that my heart is pure.” “God loveth the clean, and there is no God but God.” “There is no God but God,” Rinkals repeated, “and my master will take one and a half slaves for each beast, which wdl be sixty-seven and a half.” “Can I cut a slave in two, fool?” “That, as the chief says so wisely, cannot be done without much difficulty. Also, half a slave is of no use, for what are hands without legs to bear them from place to place? Or legs without hands to be put to a useful purpose. No, lord, by a slave and a half I mean, a woman with a walking child.” “A sucking child,” “Unweaned children die easily and then one is worse off than before, because their mothers lose flesh and pine.” “And how do monkeys learn of women?” “Monkeys, oh, lord, know nothing of women, but all old men were once young, and this is the more interesting as not all young ones live to become old.” “Listen now, old man, who once was young. I will give sixtyseven slaves for those beasts, neither more nor less, and they shall be neither the best nor the worst, and they shall be chosen in this manner. Your master will pick one hundred and thirty-four slaves out of the fust two hundred, they will be arranged in two parties of sixty-seven, and then I will take the first choice of the parties and he will take those that are left.” “A very just plan, oh, chief, and one which my master will accept.” “How do you know this since you have not spoken to him, dog?” “Tis not necessary that I should speak to my master to know his wishes. We have other ways. Thoughts flow like water between us so close are we and so great his confidence in my unfailing wisdom.” “The bargain is then sealed and we will camp now and slaughter twenty cows. Those beasts will take us some way through this desolate country, and later, no doubt, if Allah wills, we shall come upon other beasts.” “Beasts, which your hunters being dead, you will not obtain.” “If Allah wills it, we shall not obtain them, if he does, they will fall to the guns of my people.” “And yet, oh, chief, my master is a great hunter. Might it not be wise to ask him if he would not come with you, since our paths arc the same?” “Ask him, Kaffir. Say that I should be pleased if he would join me.” “Baas,” Rinkals said, “we are going with them. They have given us slaves for the cows and want you to hunt for them. Is it in your heart to go?” “I will go,” Piete said. “We will accompany these people and hunt their meat. But what shall we do with the slaves?” “Sell them, baas, and buy more guns and ammunition, also trade goods. I should like to have a gun for myself, baas, just a little one which would not bite me. Perhaps the baas would get one for me and tame it a little, so that I too, could throw thunder and smite with lightning.” “Rinkals, you are an old skelm. But certainly I will get you a gun, and I will tame it so that it is as a dove in your hand.” And it was in this manner that Zwart Piete and his people joined the slavers, and it was here that Zwart Piete got his name of “Hunter.” *** 2 The journey with the caravan was slow. Day after day it travelled through a wilderness of desiccated thorn scrub, toiling like a wounded snake along the narrow sun-baked roads. Every day the slaves, who had marched many hundreds of miles and were much exhausted by the privations they had undergone, moved less easily, and each day those who tried to give up preferring death by the wayside to this endless march into captivity, were flogged by the Arabs who used their heavy whips unmercifully, drawing blood, at every stroke. Even Zwart Piete and Sara, accustomed as they were to cruelties, were revolted by the inhuman behaviour of the slave drivers. But it was less the brutality than the impassivity with which the punishment was inflicted that affected tnem. Girls and men would be flogged by Arabs who remained unmoved, especially were those who could go no farther flogged, since these would in any case die, and their death under the whips was no loss and a salutary example ro the others. To beat a Kaffir in anger, one who had lost a cow, was one thing, to do this was another. At night the deaths were reported and entered into a book, while the old chief, talking to his leaders, would calculate the distance they had come, weighing it against that still to be covered. This piece of country was always expensive of slaves; lack of food, of water and the intolerable heat, all contributing to a loss of human life which the Arabs had come to consider as all but inevitable, and seeing in it the will of Allah, they pressed forward, relentlessly and uncomplaining. The last cow had long since been slaughtered, for the herd had been little more than a mouthful among so many, and had been employed only for the feeding of the picked slaves—girls of marriageable age and boys destined to become eunuchs—these fetching the highest prices in the market, there being an almost unlimited demand for the services of both in the harems of the north. Old Rinkals, who had himself been a slave, told them much of the ways of the Arabs. “To them these people are not men, women and children,” he said. “They are wild cattle. When they are tamed they treat them well, indeed, they have a way of treating their slaves in such a way that even when given the chance to escape, they rarely take it. Just now it is as it would be with a herd, if they make no haste all will perish, and they will be left without profit for their work. No,” he went on,” the Arabs treat their folk well and with great kindness. It is only those that I told you of—the man hunters—who are without the bowels of compassion. Their hearts being empty of all things bur cruelty and courage, and of these there is no measure. In war, inkoose, they are lions unleashed. Ai, to them even the Zulus are children, for the Zulus are without rancour, their spears are clean.” From Rinkals also, they got the tale of the fight. It appeared that it had arisen from a quarrel over a water hole, and had been savagely contested. Many, including the leader of the opposing caravan, had been killed. But he had sons and, accord ing to the old witch-doctor, it was not over “For war with these people,” he said, “is never over; no, not till the third and fourth generations is a vengeance abandoned. For many years these people had been rivals, in opposition to each other, bickering and fighting intermittently, but till now not seriously, only men of no account having been slain—slaves and mercenaries. It is in my heart, baas,” Rinkals said, “that this is not done, that there will be more blood, and that these men have pleasure in our company, for I have told them how we fight. Out of try tales much may arise,” he added proudly. “Certainly I bring good fortune wherever I go like the Little Flower I was once called, I bring much joy and my company .s a decoration. Old as I am by magic, my bloom remains, my fragrance is unimpaired.” “Did my ears deceive me, old one?” de Kok asked. “Was it fragrance that you said?” “It was fragrance, Bastard. That is the word I used.” “I see, wizard, but to dog dung is fragrant,” de Kok said. “A dog should know what to dog is fragrant,” Rinkals answered. “And not being a yellow Bastard, I have no knowledge of dogs.” It was only with db’ficulty that Zwart Piete and Sara silenced the two, for they hated and despised each other, and the savage country through which they were going affected them adversely, rasping them by the hardships they were forced to endure. And so they drove on along the o>d slave road, following it as it wound through dwarf mimosa forests, over low hills, along the dry beds of sandy rivers. Pressing on from water to water, for with water men and women could be kept alive, and with whips while they lived they could be driven. *** 3 At last, however, the hard country through which they were passing changed in character, from desert it merged gradually into plains of high grass, rich in game, through which ran slow-moving rivers that were heavy With water. A fat rich land of great timber trees and chocolate coloured earth. They had reached the edge of the wide coastal belt and here they halted while Zwart Piete, de Kok and Sara hunted. Day after day they shot meat for the famished slaves, their skill fully justifying their names as hunters, exceeding even Rinkals wildest blasts by the unfailing regularity and precision of their kill’ng. Their bellies filled with the lean meat of game and the fat of the hippopotami, the slaves fleshed up, and many who were on the point of death recovered. Hussien Zeid was more than pleased. Once again he had come in successful with a long string of slaves, once again his share from the sale of his wares would be no small one. His one regret was that some two hundred slaves of mixed sexes, the whole of a small tribe which he had captured, had died from what could be nothing other than a nostalgia for the forests whence he had taken them, for at that time there had been plenty of food for all. But even with these and the other deaths, he was returning with well over a thousand head, a notable achievement, and one which he had taken grave risks to accomplish, for leaving the old slave routes he had struck into the heart of the country, breaking open a new and richly populated land, finding races who unaccustomed to firearms had proved easy to subdue. All along, he had, where he could, bought slaves for beads, brass, w re and trade goods; as these, already tamed by their masters, died less freely than the wild ones, proved more docile and were less obstinate to handle. But when trading failed he had resorted to force of arms, raiding village after village, with the utmost savagery. Flinging his fighting men on to the kraals while others, trained to the purpose, seized the women, the young men and the children, tying them up like beasts till they could be shackled. They had nor much farther to go now, in a few days they would come to their destination—the fort of Don Jesus Miguel Jose D’Alvarez Ferrara—where the slaves would be loaded into the dhows that came up the river in search of such cargoes. There was, indeed, one God only, and did it not say in the word: that if twenty of you persevere with constancy, they shall overcome two hundred, and if there be one hundred of you, they shall overcome a thousand of those who believe not. God is mighty and wise God is gracious and merciful. Kneeling on his mat, the old man turned his face to Mecca, all round him the other Arabs prayed, so did many of the negroes and bastards who had been brought up in the faith or led to see its manifold advantages. Alone a group of naked fighters stood leaning on their long spears, showing their filed teeth in a grin of contempt for those who knelt and bowed themselves. These men were without faith in aught but the strength of their arms, the length of their spears and the speed of their legs. Men of the N’coussie tribe, men apart, who ate the flesh of men. Unclean, but tolerated by Hussien Zeid for their incomparable warlike qualities and the speed with which they could run down fleeing men, faster tnan cheetahs, they sprang with spear and thong on to the defeated foe, leaping high into the air so that they could see those who crouched hoping to lie hidden in grass. Alone, as the sun set, these men stood and when Zwart Fiete, de Kok and Sara du Plessis rode into the camp they smiled and raised their spears. These strange white men were hunters who killed meat and abased themselves to no one, they were people after their own hearts, and as they approached they clicked their tongues against the roofs of their mouths and slapped their bare thighs with pleasure. ** Chapter Sixteen The MEILIES were high when Hendrik van der Berg took Louisa among them; the cobs full, the tassels fertilised, their green ends shrivelling to brown, their lower leaves already yellow. The days, the weeks, the months that had passed bore their sudden fruit bitterly. The little foxes of desire so subtly nurtured by the coloured girl had grown, the tinder struck had flamed, bursting all bonds, for the vines of Hendrik’s lusts had tender grapes. He took her and his heart sang as he gained rebef. The Lord had prospered his cause; blessed them that blessed him, cursed them that cursed him. The Lord had bidden him to go forth into the land of Canaan; and into the land of Canaan he had come Standing with his hand on his horse’s neck, he watched Louisa go, she had been delivered by God into his hand, his seed would be multiplied as the stars of heaven, and as the sand which is upon the seashore, and his seed would possess the gates of his enemies. Slipping the reins over his horse’s head, he mounted and rode slowly towards his new house where the stone walls were already breast high. Hendrik’s mind was tilled only with an exaltation, a feeling of achievement. To him Louisa was merely a further instrument, that she gave willingly meant little to him, for what he wanted he took and who was there to gamsay his will or to thwart his righteous passion. Neither Sannie’s distasteful reluctance of his advances nor Louisa’s acquiescence meant anything to him, they, as much as he, were planned by a God whose one desire was increase, the methodical addition of one to another; of creation, of multiplying the weight and magnitude of that stream of life, of which he, Hendrik van der Berg, was a part. God had given him the strength to achieve his purpose as he had to Abraham, and the words spoken to Abraham applied equally to himself. Had not God said to Abraham, “And I will make thee exceedingly fruitful, and I will make nations of thee and kings shall come out of thee?” When half-way home he changed his direction, and turned his horse towards the house of Martinus the singer. He wished to talk to Martinus about some oxen which had strayed and to ask if they had been found. It was just possible that they had been stolen, tor recently the Kaffirs who had gone into hiding among the mountains had drifted back and had come to trade such things as ivory, native pots of red baked earth, karosses and gold dust for sheep and cattle. Since it was impossible to live perpetually at war, their demands, for they invariab’y wanted more than their goods were worth, were met. But if they began to steal stock they would have to be punished, and respect for the might of the white man imposed like a yoke upon them. If they stele he would crush them beneath his heel, but if they did not steal he would live at peace with them, his herds grazing beside their own. But if it was the naked Kaffirs, as they called them because they wore no loin cloth, it would be something else, for without cattle or women these men, the remnants of the Zulu hordes, would be less simple to deal with. Hoping that the presence of these people was no more than a rumour and remembering the way the men of their race had overwhelmed the village be and Paul Pieters had been about to attack, he feared for his settlement, but on reaching the home of Martinus he found his fears to be groundless, for the cattle were back A bushman servant had spoored them into a dry kloof where., having climbed a path too narrow to turn in, they had stood waiting for assistance. Martinus was overjoyed at their return, for among them were bis two achter oxen, great yellow beasts with soft, long-lashed eyes, that when called upon by their master would move a loaded wagon by themselves, breaking their hearts or their trek gear before they abandoned their effort. “Ach, ja, Hendrik,” Martinus said as he came towards him with a slight limp, the only result of his broken leg. “lam glad that they are back. It may be foolish the way I love them, but my oxen are like children to me and never since they were trained have they felt the whip.” “I too, am glad, Martinus,” Hendrik said. “I am very glad and well I understand your feelings, for to us Boers our cattle are like our hands, as much part of us as our fingers, and above all other oxen but my own, I think yours tbe best I have ever seen.” “Ah, my yellow oxen, like gold they are and above gold, for while I live my oxen remain, and above all my span are Groot-boi and Kaptien. Ach, ja, above them all I value my achter oxen, old, wise and faithful. Now, Oom Hendrik, come sit, and we will have coffee.” “What, you still have coffee?” Hendrik asked. “Nie, me. who has coffee now? It is roasted wheat, but we rail it coffee. What else is one to call it? Can I say ‘Come, Oom Hendrik, and sit on my stoep while Marietje prepares tbe roasted wheat?’” Martinus sat back laughing. “But tobacco I have. Ja, and food in plenty, for this would be a good place to which you have brought us if it were not for the fever, and is in ray heart that, like the sickness of the horses, it comes out of the night airs and the dew. But what of Sannie’s lion now, that it is big’” he asked. “Ja, what of it, jong? It is big as you say, and one day I shall shoot it. Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the next day, but my home will not be comfortable when I do this thing, for Sannie loves it and is not even afraid of its hurting the child, and, Magtig, Martinus, sometimes I think it is better to have a tame lion about the house than an angry wife.” “At least you cannot be jealous of the lion, Oom Hendrik.” “Me jealous of my wife? Those words are Ji spoken, Martinus.” “A jest, Hendrik. Sannie is beautiful, and where there is honey there are bees” “Ja, Martinus, and where wild beasts come into a kraal they become carrion; where they sprang in they are dragged out, dead.” Hendrik undid the reins of his horse from the stoep pole to which he had tied it and mounted. “And the coffee?” Martinus asked “Another day, my friend, already I have been away too long.” “Too long. A ch, ja, everything tock too long.” Raising the hind in which he held the reins he galloped aiong the track that led from Martinus’ house to his own. He would be old before his children entered into their possession. Suddenly, for the tirst time in his life he saw his end approaching, felt a foreboding that perhaps things were not quite as he had thought them, that the slow stepping of the ox to which his existence was attuned was not fast enough. What had he done? What had he accomplished? Much, certainly, but not enough. His barns must be filled to overflowing, riches must be wrested from the soil over which he rode and his livestock increased to the limit of their latent fertility. He must have children, grandchildren and great grandchildren before he died, and the time was short. Lord God, how short the time for so great a task The scenery round him was rich with the fullness of autumn. Stained yellow and scarlet, blotched with dark crimson, it meant nothing to him. He saw it unseeing, rode past it unfeeling. The stark shadowed mountains with their green kloofs were a protection from the cold winds of the south-east, the coloured trees were shade for his stock, the smooth-running rivers were water—primary water for the use of human beings and cattle, secondary water for the furrows that wet the lands below them. On with his horse he cantered, his mind filled, his purpose —a purpose as old as the world. As primitive as the animals among which he lived, Hendrik allowed his thoughts to wander, Things must be hurried on, his powers pushed to their uttermost in his relations with Sannie, his wife, and Louisa, his concubine. Out of these two would spring great things—the sons who should inherit the earth. *** 2 Sannie in the time they had been in the low country had grown a little, and had changed a great deal in character. Her eyes had lost something of their questioning mockery, they were now veiled or smouldered with a dull, sullen anger that nothing could dispel. An anger against Hendrik and his way with her. Was she a mare or a heifer, she asked herself. Merely something to be bred from? He loved Frikkie and no doubt would love the child that was to come, when it came. And then, afterwards, it would all begin again, on and on, pregnancy after pregnancy until at last she died. She thought now of her contempt for the woman who had been Herman’s mother, she who had died so early on in the trek. Hendrik was not a man, he was purpose disguised as a man, something entirely relentless, that saw but one road where there were many, and to whom she was a possession and not a woman. High up on the berg she sat screened by the grey foliage of a sugar bush, staring down at the veld below her, the endless miles of low scrubby trees among which a few big ones stood towered like giants. A sea of savage country which ran on till it merged into the soft blue of the mountains sixty miles away. How calm it looked, how strangely intractable it w as, the home of Kaffirs and wild beasts, a country that could be seen and traversed, but never mastered. A butterfly fluttered past her and the young lion with a catlike flick of its great paw brought it down and jumped upon it. A pale-yellow wing with a stripe of blue and a red eye fluttered on to the hot rock beside her. Below her was the wooded cleft of the kloof. No breeze stirred the tree tops. The silence was oppressive; it lay like a blanket between the cliffs; a blanket of shimmering hot silence that bung heavily over the wild figs and tree-ferns which grew in its shadowed depths. Even the water that came spilling out of the rocks ran softly, thickly, without a splash as if it was mercury. Only the cries of the cicadas broke the silence, but their cry, because it was intermittent, rising to crescendo and stopping abruptly on a high note when it was reached, made the silence more apparent, emphasising it, underlining it. It was an intolerable silence, broken only by the intolerable singing of the insects, the shrill cry that some said they made with their mandibles and others by rubbing their legs against their wings. With her eyes half-closed, she fondled the lion which lay extended beside her. As she touched his ribs and armpits where tufts of darkish hair were beginning to grow he rolled over, purring with pleasure, and raised his enormous paws towards her shoulder, touching her softly on the arm with his horncoloured claws retracted in their sheaths. With her lion Sanrue was safe, even Hendrik would not come near her. Dogs, what, after all, were dogs? Curs that could be kicked into submission, that were being perpetually chased from one place to another, the slavish servants of men. Here, under her hand, was a beast as fast in movement as a cat who, loving her beyond all else, held death in its velvet pads. People said it was dangerous to have a tame lion. They said that in the end lions alv/ays turned on their masters. When he is full grown, they said, you will see. Ja, Magtig, when he is full grown we shall see, she thought. That would not be for two years yet, a great space of time during which much might happen. The lion was big now, as tall as he would ever be, and his feet seemed too big for him, but he would grow into them, and the loose, tawny hide that covered his body would fill up. Wherever she went she took him with her, for if she let him alone at the house she knew that Hendrik would shoot him. Sannie laughed softly. Hendrik was jealous of her lion, of the caresses she gave him, of the way she played with him, letting him stand up and take cooked meat from between her lips. Twice already she had seen her lion kill swiftly, once it had been a baboon and once a dassie. On both occasions when he had jumped from her side the arc of his spring had been almost invisible, so fast that she had been unable to follow it, and both times she had driven him off with the twig she carried in her hand. But his prey had been dead, its back broken by the weight of his falling body, its neck bitten through at the base of the skulk It was then that she had seen his claws open to their fullest extent, as sharp as razors, with the strength of his powerful forearms behind them, she had seen the damage they could inflict. Getting up, Sannie went slowly down the mountain path. If only something would happen. If only things were not always so much the same, life here was very much what it had been at the Cape only more uncomfortable, more dangerous, but the danger was without spice. Boring day following boring day, with its routine of preparing meals, of listening to Hendrik reading out of the Bible, of sending his children off to the reed hut school with their armed attendants to be taught their letters by Von Rhule, a man who had been a soldier; a profligate who recited whole chapters of the Bible cynically indifferent as to their spirit, pedantically accurate as to their letter. A man res pected for his wide knowledge which was only wide when compared to the ignorance of those he taught. Kaptien von Rhule, a Prussian cavalryman who had fled to Africa, the land of opportunity, and had welded a place for himself among simple Boers by the power of his memory and the swiftness of his hand to strike. Sannie m strusted this man with his cold grey eyes—a man who instead of slouching, walked erect, his legs moving as if he wore spurs on his heels, who rode his horse as if he were frozen into the saddle. Sannie’s knowledge of people, of wajs and means, and of the final intricacies and vacuity of life was growing. The interminable talks she had listened to between Von Rhule and her husband while she served them food, the endless discussions she had with her aunt, who now that she was married, threw reticence to the four winds and recounted her experiences without shame or prejudice, had all helped to mould her, while her contacts with Hendrik had hardened her till she sometimes wondered if she was a true Boer woman, for among the others she found nothing but a tacit admission of the superiority of man and a willing acquiescence to their demands which left her both nauseated and enraged. Surely there was more in life than this, surely there was some greater thing, and even if one could not grasp the stars, one should strive upwards towards them where they twinkled in the night blue sky. If birds sang in the trees, if even cows no longer young frisked in the pastures, and bell wethers fought mock battles, there must be something also for living people, some pleasure, some relaxation from this continual round of duty. She got no joy from the new stone house that was going up, nor from the furniture that was being made for it, nor the lands that were proving so fruitful all round it. She pursued her way down the rocky path uneasily, thinking of Herman, casting her mind back to what had gone before she had loved Herman, of the feelings she had bad. That of Ending her skin too tight, of feeling unsung songs rising in her throat, of an unknown urgency pressing like a living thing upon her. She thought also of her first pregnancy and of the peace she had known then. This time she was gettmg nothing out of the child she bore under her heart, nothing except the excuse it afforded her to avoid the attentions her husband still tried to force upon her. As she thought of Hendrik she knew suddenly that she hated him, not hotly as one might hate for an instant the man one loved, but coldly and bitterly, so that she could think of inflicting pain upon him without a quickening of her pulse, without enjoyment, without alarm or excitement. Her beauty was a gift that she had given to Herman, she felt that she might one day give it again; but not give, it must be taken, and for every time it was taken her husband should pay a hundredfold. Not eye for eye, or tooth for tooth, but more than this, infinitely more for the uses to which he had put her, and if Hendrik were as strong as Samson, was she not as cunning as Delilah? If Samson had long hair, and this Achilles, of whom Von Rhule had spoken, a heel, there must be somewhere in her busband a point where he was vulnerable to the attack which she would one day launch upon him. Her mouth a hard red line in the magnolia whiteness of her face, her eyes expressionless as brown stones, she went into her house and picked up her child. In an hour on the mountainside a hatred had been born, a loathing that would weigh heavily upon her till it was fulfilled. That it would be fulfilled she never doubted, for her faith in God, her confidence in the strength of her beauty, the knowledge of the hardness of her passionate heart and the strength of her supple hands was unimpaired. She, too, like Hendrik, would take what she wanted and thrust back that which she did not want. Till then she would wait, Magtig, how she would wait till her moment came. Was it not said that the greatest virtue of womanhood was patience, and d.d not even a small stream of water, in time, wear away a rock of granite by its imperceptible falling, by the strength and number of its drops which individually were as nothing, but which together, taken ever a period, were as a mighty rushing stream. Slowly, slowly, even as drops of falling water, as softly as drops of water, as surely, she would sap him, and when he was weakened, break him. At the thought of Hendrik broken, she laughed, and the lion sensing a new note in her voice, growled angrily, baring his long white fangs and looking round for something at which to strike. *** 3 The desertion of Gert Kleinhouse had left Anna de Jong less perturbed than the loss of the sow, and the fact that the milk cow, Bloometjie, returned with many thanks, had owing to her long trek ceased to give milk and had, in addition, lost the use of a quarter. Gert had, she told Sannie, behaved just like a man, falling down before the first woman who extended so much as a finger towards him. “Ach, ja, mie Sannie, one day when my heart is less sore I shall make a journey to see this Martha, to see this Mevrou Coetzee, for surely she must be an ugly and bad-tempered woman or she would have done better than the cross-eyed Gert for a husband. Before I sent him, I should have thought of his Uncle Jan, for he also was a slim man, a dealer in deceit and cross-eyed like Gert, But I, too, am slim and I shall make a plan, and when I make a plan, mie Sannie, then things take place. Ja, it is almost unbelievable the things which happen when I begin to arrange matters. Indeed, sometimes I think my brain is as big as my body, but unlike my body it is nimble as a flea and capable of skipping about with great dexterity. Ach. she sighed “to think that Gert Kleinhouse, whose nose I used to wipe with a lappie, has verneuked me out of a lovely little pig and has married a widow who is not as poor as they said, but rich. And then some blasphemers contend that the age of miracles is past—toch, that a rich widow should take Gert into her bed is a miracle equal to the turning of water into wine. And I have heard,” she went on, “that she gave him her husband’s watch—imagine it, Sannie—the watch of her dead husband no less, and that almost on the first day of their meeting. It was a good watch, too. A watch of gold with a golden key that they say keeps most excellent time, as indeed it should, being well made and as large as an egg. Also I hear that she gave him her husband’s best waistcoat he made out of the spotted skin of a young calf, red and white most beautifully distributed, with large silver buttons. This widow is evidently a woman of no sensibility and without sentiment, for before one gives away the goods of one husband, a respectable woman waits till she has married the next. That is the custom among those who have been well brought up, and to give gifts co men before marriage is both unwomanly and immodest, while after it there is no necessity to give for they take what they want. I have no doubt that she sent also for her flocks and herds, down to the last hamel, that he might see how rich she was. Ach, ja, if it was not for my little sow I should be sorry for that Gert in the hands of a woman so unscrupulous and hard. And if the man, who passed and told me she was poor, returns he shall hear what I have to say about this matter. The verdomte kerl who lied for no reason and could not take his eyes off Louisa. A liar and a whoremonger, ach, ja, and I would tell him so to his face if he returns, which no doubt he will have too much sense to do, such men being as remarkable for their intelligence as they are for looseness of their lives, flourishing like green bay trees to the detriment of such people as ourselves.” Anna de Jong folded her hands on her lap and surveyed them dispassionately, assuming an attitude of pious inactivity, while plans for the discomfiture of the woman Coetzee, her grandson Gert, and the stranger whose lies had led her astray passed through her mind. Those who verneuked Tante Anna in the end regretted it. Implacable, she bent circumstance to her ends, a fat old woman as dangerous as a puff adder lying swollen and still in the path of her enemies. *** 4 The coining of the smouse with his train of pack donkeys was an excitement to Hendrik’s people and the relief of an anxiety to him The Jew came, as such traders always came, arriving with his ragged bushmen servants out of the emptiness of the veld. To trade, he had without firearms penetrated the wilderness, suffering losses from wild beasts, propitiating natives with gifts, following his hocked nose into the depths of the country where men would need powder from the little barrels he had loaded on to the backs of his donkeys and the women materials for clothes, sewing-cotton, and needles. Above all, powder and needles they would need; for these things there were no substitutes. Riding ahead on a glided ass rather larger than the others he came in smiling, and within a few hours of his coming the bare ground in front of Hendrik’s house was filled with the cape carts and the saddle horses of those who, having heard of his arrival, had come with all speed to obtain the pick of his produce, offering the money that they had brought with them, gold nuggets and dust and ivory in exchange for his wares And having bought they stayed to talk, for th s man brought news. There was no one he did not know, no one whom he had not seen. He had heard that Zwart Piete du Plessis was hunting and trading in Mozambique, and also that he had become part owner of a slaving station up there, having become friends with the Portuguese who owned it; but this he did not credit as such good fortune was unlikely; and as he talked he sold. ”Ach, ja, mevrou,” he said, “there is nowhere a material to equal this one. Just look at the soft sheen of the silk,” he said, unrolling the bolt, “and where is the man who could resist the mevrou in such a frock; think also of how it will wear,” he added Then, raising his hands, he asked them if they did not think it wonderful to be able to buy such things as this here in the wilderness as cheaply, or almost as cheaply as they could do in the towns of the south. Pack after pack was undone as he chattered interspersing his comments about the virtues and qualities of his products with anecdotes and family stories from the settlements he had passed through, selling as he talked, battering, expostulating, and complaining that if he took such prices as they offered he would be ruined. Demanding why they did not ask him to give instead of to sell, and indeed at such prices his goods were gifts. Quick and vivid as a bird among the phlegmatic Boers he overpowered them by his animation, for mentally he was like a man on a fast horse against men dismounted and puzzled by the speed of his manoeuvres. In all the crowd of those pressing round him the only one with whom he feared to jest was the Prussian who, looking at him contemptuously and speaking to him in his own tongue, had called him a Jewish swine. On him the smouse fawned, offering him gifts which he took without even saying thank you, and mounting his horse rode away. Like vermin, these people penetrated everywhere; too insignificant to be killed they swelled gradually on the blood they sucked till at last they became dangerous, holding the very lives of many men in their hands, squeezing them between their fingers till the juice of their property ran out. By God, if he, Otto von Rhule, did not know the Jews then no one knew them. Hk them and they cringed; succour them, and before long they bit the hand that fed them. A people without a land, a people without the capacity for gratitude, to whom money was a god. Not something to be spent in enjoyment, but something which in their hands bred, increasing as if it was a living thing. Rix dollars in their hands multiplying as cattle did in the hands of a good husbandman, mounting up, filling bag after bag. Fearful of taking they bought, obtaining without danger the things others had gained by the sweat of the brows and at the risk of their lives. He laughed. These simple farmers had no understanding of the race Trade? Why trade? when a shot or a blow would have given them all for nothing. Among other things in the front of his saddle hanging down on either side of his horse’s shoulders was a piece of tawny silk shot with green One day he would give it to Sannie. To Mevrou van der Berg, with apologies mynheer; he swept off his hat and smiled ironically a: an ox that raised its head to look at him. Hendrik van der Berg was like an ox; all these Boers were like oxen, strong, sleepy, slow and easy to manage if one knew the way of it. Farmers, who could not understand that he despised the land on which they toiled so patiently and clung only to the first thing he had learnt on joining his regiment, the necessity of being able to move freely and quickly, of mobility; at all costs he must have mobility and the freedom of swift manoeuvre. *** 5 Hendrik overwhelmed Sannie with gifts, thinking this the way to her heart, paying in money, in choice tiger skins, in ivory and gold, for all that she asked. Materials, crockery, tin ware, medicines such as camphor, turpentine, senna beans, buchu, harlemer oilie and jalap. Also he bought her such luxuries as cayenne pepper, vinegar, tea, coffee and brandy wine. For himself he bought nothing bur powder and p’gs of lead for casting into bullets. After two days the smouse was still shrugging his high shoulders and smiling, still talking. Everything was finished; he was sold out. No, he was sorry he had nothing left—nothing, and he was ruined. Never in the course of all his travels had he met such hard, close traders, a people who were so slim. Before God he believed that they had ali conspired to verneuk him. He pulled his long hair in his distress at the bad bargains he had made. Yes, certainly they had given him ivory, gold and skins, but he was far from home; much tribute would have to be paid on his return journey, but if any of them had letters that they wished delivered he would be willing to take them for a small sum, part paid down and part to be paid on delivery. If he could nave done it for nothing he would naturally have done so but he, like another, had to Eve; not that he could live opulently as they did, but io just a small way, as a wandering Jew who managed somehow to extract a living from a hard, inhospitable world. In the meantime, perhaps, some one would be kind enough to allow him to graze his donkeys and if they could spare him a little meat for himself and his boys he would be more than grateful. ** Chapter Seventeen The SMOUSE stayed for some days on Hendrik’s farm, camping by the spring and feeding up his donkeys on the buffle-grass that grew in such profusion below the thorn trees in the vicinity. His time he spent calling from house to house, telling tales, collecting letters, even writing them for the more illiterate. With the skill of his race in these matters he assessed every one and everything with which he came in contact as he made his visits. This place was rich, these people would be worth visiting again provided he could convince them of the fact that cattle meant nothing to him and that for his goods he must have gold in dust or nuggets, and ivory. To them gold was merely something which could be turned into livestock, for by a man’s driven herds was his importance gauged and not by the amount of money he had hidden away in raw-hide bags. This idiosyncrasy of bis about gold the smouse explained was due to a different racial outlook, and one of which in time, after a longer residence among them, he would no doubt become cured. Ja, jong, time will cure you, they said, for cattle are true riches. See how they increase and multiply and can gold do that’ they asked laughing. “Ach, how right you are,” he said. “If only gold would increase as do your herds, how wonderful that would be.” And thus they talked, each laughing in his sleeve at the stupidity of the other. And then one day, early in the morning, the smouse turned the grey muzzles of bis donkeys south. In four months, or five months, if nothing befell him, he would reach the Cape, having paid heavy tribute all the way and still arriving rich. Africa to him was a fat cow. and if one had the skill and courage, ready to be milked. A country peopled by a simple race who valued, above everything, their cattle, sheep and horses, all delicate animals, and scorned his small donkeys that could thrive anywhere, and lived so long that few had seen one dead. When the country was at peace, which it would be as more men trekked, he would certainly buy wagons and come up here to trade, settling among the fools who hunted elephants instead of buying tusks. They had come to lead a “lekker lews” and considered themselves happy because they were free to live a comfortless life, to hunt and to fight without let or hindrance, who were content to rest on their stoeps smoking their carved stone pipes while they waited for their cows to calve, of their heifers to be old enough to put to the bull, or for their tollies to be big enough to train. People who sat heavily awaiting the increase promised them of Go । accepting both good and evil as God sent. Immovable in their faith and because of their simplicity, their lack of elasticity, very terrible, for nothing would sway or move them. Unexcitable in pleasure, implacable in anger, these folk were very interesting to Isaak Rosenstein, a problem which he lived by exploiting. *** 2 For a long time after his going the Jew provided a topic of conversation among the people he had left. To speak of him was a change from the eternal talk of crops, cattle and hunting among the men, and of cooking, children, and the laziness of their native servants among the women. Besides the numerous things he had bought for Sannie, Hendrik had also bought a necklace of amber for Louisa, and more and more did he dwell upon her beauty, taking it as savagely as she gave it when they came together, thinking of it when he was away from her and turning the pages of his Bible till he found in the Song of Solomon, the song of songs, the words that fitted her. Black, but comely, oh daughter of Jerusalem,” he read, and yet not black, for her soft skin was a deep rich cream. It was the colour and had the texture of a magnolia fower. Her eyes were as doves, her hair a flock of goats, her teeth as white as ewes newly shorn and washed, her lips a thread of scarlet.” By the strength of her womanhood louisa possessed him and was content. Knowing her man she gave him no child and mocked at him, laughing, for thus he was not able to accept the challenge she flung at him so freely. Not till she was ready, not till the time was ripe, would she be brought to bed by this man. Were there not herbs that she knew of? Was there not ergot on the heads of the corn and on the fine grasses? So, laughing, she took him, and laughing she left him puzzled and perplexed, attacking him where he was weakest in the pride of his virility and binding him ever nearer by his unavailing efforts to attain his ends. With the coming of the winter the heavy crops were garnered, and when the cattle walked their quarters wobbled and their humps were high, trembling with stored fat. Hunting for biltong began again, and the stock were turned into the reaped meilie lands to eat the leaves and stalks which fattened them still further till on many farms they could hardly walk, and when they did, moved slowly, swaying from side to side. It was in this season that Sann e gave birth to her second chiid, a daughter whom she named Jacoba, a small, puny baby, very blonde, with large grey eyes. Sons, the arrows to his bow, were being denied to Hendrik van der Berg, and the paternity of Frikkie, which he had been prepared to forget had his child been a boy, became a charge upon him, a reproach. It was at this time that the Prussian meester began to ride Sannie’s way. Von Rhule rarely encountered Hendrik, for his visits were timed by the movements of Louisa, who, in order to take her devious path to meet van der Berg, had to go near his house. Von Rhule neither loved nor respected Sannie, nor did he want her particularly. His actions were due to boredom and the fact that in courting the wife of Hendrik van der Berg h® courted danger. Among these peaceful farmers he alone was a man brought up co war, and the excitements of the trade learnt in his youth left him contemptuous of the occupations of peace That he, a Prussian horse soldier, should find himself schoolmaster to a lot of peasant children was either a tragedy, or a joke on the part of providence, according to his mood. Drunk, he wept at his fall, sober he laughed at it, but his laughter was sour, charged with bitter irony; and because he cared not a rix dollar for Sannie she began to love him; in a life where there was so little to think of he gave her a focus for her wandering thoughts. Big, bluff and reckless, riding heavily over her objections, he possessed her. One day, when he grew tired of her, he would ride away. He had done it before, he would do it again. In the meanr-me her tremulous beauty and the overcoming of her hesitations passed his time if not profitably, at least pleasantly. If she could have seen him as he had been once, in his cuirass, booted and spurred, riding his bay charger with his men behind him, his courtship would have been less protracted. This thought often amused him for he had reason to know that the attraction of a uniform was no idle rumour, it was a proven fact. He had proved it many times, and it was his weakness for the wives of other men which had led him into this wilderness so far from the gay life that he loved, so far from his regiment, from the good food, from the wine, and the women to whom he was accustomed. *** 3 On the stoep of Johannes van Reenen’s house Anna de Jong sat impassively waiting for the inevitable, content in the knowledge that mills of God were at work. Grinding everything into the flour out of which the bread of life was made. God might work slowly but how small the grindings, how fine the flour. Nodding her chin into the rolls of her neck she smiled at the efficiency of providence, at the justice of God. Only to-day had the news come in that the widow Coetzee who had married her grandson had suffered some losses of stock and that a great flight of locusts had passed over her farm, resting there in such numbers that they weighted down the branches of the trees. That they had passed on meant nothing, for while they were there they would have laid their eggs, driving the long horns of their ovipositors deep into the ground, and with the spring rains the voetgangers would hatch out and climb, wingless, to the tops of the high grasses; clinging there insignificant little clumps of black on the grass heads. Ach, ja, so small and yet so strong, for soon they would grow, and changing colour, become striped with red and yellow and then they would trek, armies of them, marching like Zulus. Insatiable they would eat all that was in their path, missing nothing, sparing nothing, not even the bark of the trees, and none would stay them for not only were they as numerous, as numberless, as the grains of sand in a dry river bed, but, being sent by God were accepted as a manifestation of his displeasure which would be blasphemous to thwart. All her plans for avenging the loss of her pig and the damage done to her milk cow, Bloometjie, were forgotten, for what was any plan of hers compared to this one of God’s. A jealous God who, if he counted the hairs of a man’s bead and watched for the falling of every sparrow, certainly was not one to miss the spoiling of a cow’s udder or the verneuking of a lonely widow our of a sow, even if as she had heard, time had proved her to be barren, a thing almost unknown among these beasts. And even in this, the barrenness of the sow, Tante Anna saw the finger of God, for if nothing was too small for him to overlook, nothing could be too great for him to perform. She had watched with interest Hendrik’s growing passion for her coloured maid and did nothing to thwart it. Long ago had she foreseen the end of Hendrik, seen whither his madness, for it was no less, would drive him. The meester’s affair with Sannie amused her, for here again was another stone to her sling. By such things as these would the man who had murdered his son fall as Goliath had faUen, and in all these matters she rook a hand, playing it skilfully, as she sat still with her small eyes staring out at the veld and her brain as active as a spider spinning web after web, strengthening their delicate structure by a word here and a silence there, for none knew better than Anna de Jong the great power of the things that were unspoken, the words that were not said. Like a blow, a word could not be recalled; it was irrevocable, which was why she used parables so often, for most of them could mean many things. and with meanings, as with so much else, there was safety in numbers. And yet with alt this no house was better conducted rhan Tante Anna’s, no man better fed, or had his clothes in finer state of repair than Johannes van Reenen, and under her hand less calves died, and more motherless lambs were reared, for to all the world she was a mother, brooding heavily on the mysteries of maternity; not only did the birth of children interest her but the birth of everything, for no matter what men might say here was a great wonder. To give things names was not to explain them, and never did she watch the birth of a calf and see the small thing lie like something dead in the bag of its afterbirth without surprise that such things should be; then, as one watched, the cow, stepping carefully, would lick it, opening it as if it were a letter and eat it as she washed her calf into life. Almost at once the small thing’s white hoefs would turn dark and it would try to rise, staggering on to its knees and crawling towards its dam, endeavouring to drink from between her forelegs since they were the nearest, and later finding the tits it would butt into the swollen udder and would drink When they did this one could leave them, for all was well. Ach, ja, it was a fine sight and a great marvel to see a small calf drink, to see it stand swaying on its unaccustomed legs, its bloody navel cord hanging wetly, its small muzzle smeared with the thick sweet milk it sucked so eagerly. And why should that first milk for a week be different, she wondered. So that men folk could nor drink it, so that if you boiled it it curdled? Was this not another marvel? Truly there was no end to the things with which one could occupy one’s mind as one sat alone upon the stoep Ja, ja, in life there were many things and all were the same, all different aspects of one mighty project. It was one that a coloured hussy should wear a string of amber beads that had cost much good money, and one that a cow should bite the tail of her young calf, nipping it at the root, to encourage it to drink. It was all part of the life stream which ran its appointed course in spue of man and to despite him. each lining thing going its diverse way. accomplishing its divine purpose, renewing ,’tself by its reproductive function and finally, exhausted, dying, and being eaten that other creatures might live and multiply. The longer she lived the more clear it all became and the things which were so obscure in one’s youth when one’s mind was clouded by the hot coursing of one’s blood, were now easily decipherable. Nor did the path matter, for were it straight, or krom as the hind leg of a dog, the end remained the same. In this place, sitting as she sat now, placid and mountainous, Anna de Jong had meditated much, for since she had come here many had died., wasting slowly away, even the plentiful food being insufficient to keep their souls within the shrunken frame of their bodies. But where many d^ed, many were also being born, and her services were continually in demand, for she was no less expert in laying out the dead, than in bringing forth the children of men from the wombs of their mothers. Ta, there was not a farm which she had not visited in the one capacity or in the other. Not a drift that her horses did not know, and if she was old and fat her horses were young and strong and her hand on the reins were as sure as those of a man. Two, four or six she drove with equal skill and facility, galloping them across the rough veld roads, calling to them by name, her whip clapping, springing them up the hills till the raw-hide harness was curded with the cream of their sweat. Ja, like Jehu, the son of Nimshi, she drove fast and furiously for none called on Anna de Jong in vain. Loved, feared, a force to be reckoned with, she was a power in the land of Canaan. *** 4 Contrary to all his expectations the lion added to old Jaka* Jaas’ stature for now men feared to cross him. A Kaffir with a tame lion at his side was no object of contempt to men who were reasonable, and wrapped in his dirty kaross he spent much time parading about with the bon slinking soundlessly at his heels. It slept in his hut beside him and was more than a woman to him, for where many, nay, all men, had women who but he had a lion? And if it could not cook it caught him many buck. And if it could not talk, was that not a good thing? For only with new wives was satisfaction to be found in their conversation. Later one looked at them regretting the beautiful cows that had paid for them. But Sannie, his mistress, was the one that the lion really loved purring deep in his maned throat when he picked up the scent of her spoor and bounding forward like a great dog when he saw her. Ai, to the lion Sannie was a goddess. It seemed to know every cadence of her voice, every gesture of her hands, and to interpret her every mood. When she was gay, which was seldom, it would play, gambolling like a kitten, when she was sad it would lie still, watching her, when angry stand beside her pushing his head under her arm so that it rested on her hip, growling thunderously. No longer did Jakalaas have to worry about his mistress being out alone, for with the Lon to defend her she was safe even from the wild Kaffirs who spoke her name with awe. And daily the lion grew, his mane was now very fine, sweeping over his shoulders, his elbow tufts were as big as the crest on the head of a crane, and his ever-moving tail-tip furnished with a fine harsh brush. Obedient as a dog, the lion was tame and eager to please, but one day, the old Kaffir thought, some one will anger him and then his anger would be a teruble thing to see, for in his pride and strength he will kill very surely. Every muscle that rippled under his yellow hide being a master of death, he held it in his four armed feet, between his great dripping jaws. He held it and knew he held it, no servant of man, the lion stayed because he wished to stay, and refrained from killing because he was without the desire to kill. Stalking past the men who moved out of his way, looking at him askance and muttering that he should be shot before he turned sat age, before the urge that would make him one day seek a mate and send him mad, he followed his mistress or her servant. A living question among the Boers, one whose only answer was a bullet that they dared not fire. *** 5 And so within the shadow of the great berg life went on Uninfluenced by the grandeur of their surroundings the Boers worked to build up the life to which they were accustomed, one place to them being much like another, the health of their beasts, their own freedom of movement their one criterion of happiness. Hardship provided they suffered no master, being infinitely preferable to controlled safety. Rootless, the whole of Africa was theirs while their wheels would roll, their horses carry them and their powder horns remained full; the wide horizon the limit only of their unhurried movement. Loosely bound by the ties of kinship; religion and war their bond, they lived as their ancestors had lived, content with little, and eminently capable of wresting that little from the land which was their home, from any part of it where the water was plentiful and the grazing good. Tough and strong as their own riems, they battled with the forces of nature that pitted themselves against them, taking flood and drought, the encroachments of wild beasts and the attacks of insects as the normal lot of man, but always ready to inspan their oxen and to ride on, always watchful of their guns, always attentive to the condition of their wagons, which having carried them a thousand miles, would if necessary, carry them farther. And, above ail were they unresting in the vigilance with which they regarded their long-horned draft oxen, counting them as men might their chddren. missing never a mark on their skins, a nick on their horns or a tick between their big cloven hoofs. Lions and leopards took their stock, baboons stole their meilies, buck ate their corn, porcupines dug up their sweet potatoes, elephants trooped over their lands flattening what they did not eat, and still owing to the richness of the soil there was enough and more than enough. The land of Canaan was a fat land, a land flowing with milk and honey; and the Kaffirs, the children of Ham, in its vicinity timid and propitiatory. The first smouse had been followed by others who satisfied their immediate wants and for the rest they were in the hands of God. And yet the God who had led them so far was chastening them, giving with one hand and taking away with the other, piling favours and disasters upon them impartially. The scales which had at first been in their favour were tipping slowly, and to all but a few, imperceptibly, against them. For with the ease came sloth, her handmaiden, and with a surfeit the despondency of valueless achievement. Behind them was a vast space strewn with the bones of their people and their livestock while in front of them was what? That they knew not, but unknowing feared, for many children were dying of fever and many had sore eyes which the simples at their disposal failed to cure, while complaints of the sk«n were more than common, and yet the crops grew and the herds prospered. But there was dissension among the folk. Quarrels about water and cattle, arguments about tools borrowed and not returned, were being daily brought Hendrik for his judgment where he sat on his Stoep smoking while Sannie, stone-eyed, watched and waited, hating him actively, the recesses of her mind bitter against this man who had taken her, who had fathered the sickly Jacoba upon her. Torn by his anxieties, his passion for Louisa and his useless and continued possession of Sannie, who refused h m nothing and from whom he obtained less than nothing, Hendrik was ageing fast Consumed by his .aternal fires his flesh was wasting and his skin hung in dry yellow folds, loose upon him, and his eyes sunk deep in their sockets were unnaturally large and bright. So beneath its fair exterior the fruit was rotten and the men’s blood black with desires they did not understand and fears which they refused to express For here was a rich fat land, a land where nothing that had been asked for, or prayed fcr, was refused them. Yet the shadows of the mountains brought them no peace, the swift running of the waters no joy, the increase of their herds no pleasure. This was not Canaan it was Eden and the snake of disease was among them, while the temptress stood naked offering them the apple prosperity, which if things went on as they were they would leave no children to enjoy. Yet loth to leave the place they had suffered so much to obtain they remained, driw’ng their roots deeper into the rich alluvial soil, but still, on occasion, looking with longing eyes at the wagons whose canvas tents were stored in the rafters of their houses, high up, out of reach of the ants. *** 6 So passed that year, for farmers, a good year, in which the rains had been early, plentiful and continuous, and the crops born by the fruitful soil heavy beyond all expectation. The next year was also good, though less so, for it was toe wet. Still, it was better to have too much rain than too little; of too little rain and the disaster of drought those border Boers had nothing to learn, and thinking of their old homes looked with pleasure at the dripping leaves of the tropical vegetation which surrounded them, marvelling at its luxuriance. It sometimes seemed to them that they could actually watch things grow, see the curling tendrils of the wild creepers mounting, hear the young shoots of grass rustle as they burst their way through the black carpet of the burnt-off mountains. It was only in 1840 that the menace of a too fecund nature began to impress itself upon their simple minds, chat they began to look askance at the weeds in their lands, at their young fruit trees which grew and grew but did not bear, and at their sheep which were starving tn the rank grass which was too wet to burn. Weakened, hundreds of sheep d>ed of fluke and worms Great numbers of jackals having been destroyed, the vultures and those which remained being insufficient to deal with the corpses which skinned lay everywhere, and the blow-flies increased to such an extent that all the woolled sheep were struck, and men went about stinking of dung and rotten flesh from the dressing of their injuries The ticks, too, were more plentiful than ever, for the burning of the veld which, if it did not eliminate them at least tended to reduce their numbers, was impossible, and much of the stock was in danger of dying of loss of blood alone, and all the good grass they ate went into nourishing the parasites they carried. Quater evil, lamsiekte in which cows went about eating bones and animal refuse, struck at them, while red water apart from killing most of the dogs caused also the death of many of the horned stock and horses and left those that recovered anaemic, with the blood vessels round their eyes a yellowish white and their gums as pale as the flesh of a bled calf. Nature was not to be denied in the shadow of the berg and in the sheltered warmth of the low country. Her favours were distributed so evenly between the men who, with their domestic stock, inhabited it, and the parasitic life that preyed on them, that the Boers who could wrest a living from the niggardly country were hard put to it to exist in one which was over generous; and the flocks and herds which had increased so rapidly at first were decreasing as fast or faster than they multiplied, and the trees round the kraals were festooned with hides spread out to dry, and the counting of beasts, instead of being a pleasure, became an ever-increasing anxiety, for each day when they came in from the grazing, filing over the veld, there was always the fear that one or more would not be there, something had died. And on top of this came the locusts, the wet season being favourable to them, and these the Boers refused to destroy since they were God sent, a plague to chasten them. Some they killed, the winged insects which preceded the main swarms of marching young; for the Boers were fond of dried locusts to eat and they made also excellent food for poultry, but even the poultry was sadly depleted by the attacks of the tampans which, living in the crevices of the trees on which they perched, and in the cracks of the fowl houses, sucked their blood as they slept. Fleas, too, were incredibly prevalent, the ordinary ones were so numerous that sometimes they could be brushed off the moleskin trousers of the men in black handfuls, while the sand fleas clung in their tight flat clusters round the combs and wattles of the chickens and on the ears of the dogs till they were maddened by irritation. It even seemed to some of the people that the predikants, who had warned them against trekking, had been right. We were warned, they said. We were warned not to “go a whoring after the high places of the north.” We were warned and still we came. Some talked of leaving but none left; instead they turned their minds to hunting and reducing their acreage, allowed their heavy ploughs to rust and their lands to go back to grass. Why fight nature with ploughs while they had guns? Why bother to grow more than was necessary for their immediate use when it could not be sold? Swiftly turning their minds round they saw a meaning in all this, the Lord God meant that they should hunt. long ago they should have seen this; it was written in the amount of game that swarmed in the vicinity, and so instead of growing crops they hunted. God had pointed and they, His children, blind to the Lord God’s gesture, had for three years ignored His finger and tried to do things which were contrary to reason and God’s W’U. Also they were fond of hunting, it came natural to them, and among the hunters none killed more wild beasts than Hendrik van der Berg, elephant after elephant falling to his gun, rhinoceros after rhinoceros. The first for their tusks; the second for their horns which were much in demand, being bought by the traders who sent them to China and India where, owing to the fact that if poison was poured into cups carved from them they changed colour, they were easily and profitably sold. These products they exchanged for powder and other necessities and it was in this manner, through the traders, that the rumours of Zwart Piete’s activities and the favour he enjoyed among the Portuguese, coast Arabs, and natives of the interior, was confirmed. *** 7 With Hendrik away so much Von Rhule did not neglect his opportunities; riding over nominally to give extra instruction to the younger children, the German did not confine his attentions to them but always found time to talk to their stepmother. Sometimes even accompanying her on her walks up the mountainside. The only educated man among them, he watched the slow disintegration of the Boers with interest, saw the inevitability of the end and awaited ir with curiosity. Of all the various treks which bad penetrated the north only a fraction would survive. These people were the tentacles of a greater movement, and their function was to seek out places suitable for colonisation, and although they did not realise it, to die in those places which were unsuitable. So by process of slow elimination would a change take place and the law which pushed men ever farther into the unoccupied places of the earth be fulfilled. Many had died, many more would die or be killed, while others, like Hendrik, would take coloured or even native women and by them breed bastards more suited to the conditions under which they lived; some would drift back, more would come, and in the end a levelling up would be effected These men, women and children, and even the domestic beasts they had with them, were pawns in a game of whose existence the Boers knew nothing and whose ends were even to him who had given the matter some consideration, both meaningless and wanton. Cynical and irreligious, he charmed and frightened Sannie by a cold sanity which at first she took for madness, later as blasphemy, and finally accepted as an unacknowledged bond between them. His view was Tante Anna’s and was fast becoming her own, but he said things which she hardly dared think, questioning the omnipotence of God, the sanctity of marriage and the acquisitiveness which made all men merchants, forcing them to amass property, cattle, gold and wives. Forced them, out of their fear of extinction, to breed families, and out of their vanity to build houses of stone which would remain behind them when they died, visible proofs that they had lived. “No, no, Sannie,” he would say, taking her hand and playing with strong fingers on the tendons of her wrist; “while we live let us live. In my life I have done many things both good and evil, and of them all I regret nothing, neither the good nor the bad. All that I regret are those things which I have not done, those times when I have sat idle, with my hands folded. And they,” he went on, referring contemptuously to the Boers, “think that there is virtue in just sitting. They who talk of nothing but God and cattle, cannot see that God, if he made us, made also our hands. He gave us hands to work with, to kill with, to use in making love.” First Herman, then Hendrik, now Otto von Rhule. Ach, ja, Sannie thought, a woman had but to raise her little finger and she had a man. Nor need she even do that; she need do no more than she was doing now—by merely existing, one could obtain everything. Life was not to be avoided, it came at one like a charging buffalo when one least expected it. She raised her eyes and looked at Von Rhule, she was tired of fencing, of warding off circumstance, of retreating only to be followed. Here was a thorn which could be inserted ino her husband’s flank, one which if he did not discover it would not matter, remaining a source of purely personal amusement, and one which if it were discovered would precipitate the crisis for which she longed. Before God something must happen soon, she must get relief. If life Was like this then let it be so, and who was she, Sannie van det Berg, to argue with life? And so the wiil of God worked itself out in those parts Sannie gave herself to Otto von Rhule, who wanted her because he was bored, and Louisa was eating into the spirit of Hendrik because he was the greatest among the people, the richest, one who could give her the things she wanted, and the others strove valiantly with the forces that the God they worshipped flung so cruelly against them in order to try them in the fire of disease and disaster, till Oiily the strongest would be strong enough and they, the strong, broken; old before their time. *** 8 News from the other settlements came in with some regularity; there was a coming and going between them. People moved, visited each other, or passing by on their way to more distant places, thought nothing of deflecting their journey, by sixty miles or so, in order to pass the time of day with one who was no more than an acquaintance, so great was their desire to talk or even to sit silent with those who were not of their own immediate party, who did not know the names of their house servants, who could not recognise their saddle-horses by their action before their colour was apparent, who in fact did not know everything there was to be known about them. Men came riding in to buy cattle, to look for wives; hunters came, and prospectors moving from range to range, talked of gold in the mountains. These last, the prospectors, were to the older men a menace, for if they found gold, the English that they had suffered so much to avoid, would follow them. Magtig, ja, if there was gold the red-coats would come, setting them, good free burghers, on an equality with the Kaffirs, making them buy the farms they had taken by the sweat of their brows and the strength of their hands on gun and bridle. Before God this was their country, they had paid for it wirh their earnings and bought it for their blood. To all this the women listened, for among the women were the bitterest to be found. It was their children who had died, it was their men who had been killed It was they who had, in many cases, urged the men to trek from the colony. It was the women who now called to their men, when with tight-lipped mouths they had listened to such talk for long enough, saying,’ And if the English come are you not still men? Have you not good horses under you and guns in your hands? Will our wagons not still roll? Are our oxen not strong in the yoke? Wherever we are there is always room beyond; we have come far but we can go farther; or is it that all those who were men are dead, and that we who rode out defiant and entire are to be gelded and inspanned to draw the English ploughs? That the freedom we demand for our children is a joke, an idle word, a sham? Is it for nothing we have borne your children on ox hides behind our wagons, like animals, alone on the veld?” Massive and implacable in their hatred of those who had pressed them, to whom all their ills and their ruin was due, they were contemptuous of the men who talked of coming to terms with the Roineks if they came, when so far they had not even crossed the Vaal. It was from those that the English had driven out of Natal that these tales came, those who had seen the might of England and who fearing it, spoke of compromise. It was Tante Anna who turned many of these arguments into new channels. These people were hot and without philosophy, the men were angry, wasted with fever and drawn by anxiety, while the women were rancorous with hatred at the injuries they had suffered, and hysterical from the tea they drank continuously and without ceasing. Among them were many whose babies had died, whose swollen breasts hurt them, women who had, like Lucia Bothma, taken a bitch’s pup to her breast for relief. Such women, and the men they swayed, were dangerous, or would have been had they had leaders. They were using the English as something on which to vent their hatred of the things they did not understand. Just as a woman who had spilt the cream she was about to churn would slap the face of one of her children, or a man whose bull had died beat a Kaffir. The English were many hundred miles away and were busy negotiating with the Zulus, trying to prevent the Boer commandos from pursuing their stolen cattle and to enforce their strange laws on a people who had not left their homes to suffer such restraint. Meanwhile the plagues of Egypt were smiting Canaan. Disease of man and beast inducing apathy, encouraging the feeling that to-morrow was also a day, that work done ill was still done well enough since it was done. Adventure and hardship these folk could stand, it was something which they were capable of facing, gun in hand, but could one face the bos-lice, the mosquitoes, the fleas and other vermin with weapons? Could one send commandos against them? And these men, already known as Voortrekkers, were not of ordinary farming stuff; their desire was not for a static peace—they were the skimm.ngs of a race that was at once lethargic and passionate, boastful and obstinate in the carrying out of their boasts. The more she saw, the more she sat turning things over in her mind, Tante Anna de Jong realised that her people, that she herself, were no more than the shear of a plough which would in time be worn down by the stress of the life they led and that in their wearing down they would achieve great things which few of them would live to see, and with th’s certainty in her mind Anna de Jong turned her thoughts to the best method of saving what could be saved, of protecting herself and hers. Where before she had woven plans for her own amusement and the disconcertment of her enemies, she now worked for a greater thing, the saving of a situation which she alone foresaw. Of what use was it to talk to Hendrik? To tell him to count the herds as they were now and to calculate their recent losses, to point to the faces of the people, to say that too many Kaffirs now came in to trade and that it was no longer only women who came, but men also who stared about with curious eyes, who must see in the scattered farms rich booty to be had for the taking, and in the remnants of their herds good meat for their empty pots, men who asked for work, saying they would like to serve the white people and who in many cases were given it, being employed to work on the lands, herd cattle, and sometimes even about the houses. Like the grey lourie that cried out, warn’ng game of the coming of the hunter, events were throwing their shadows before them, calling to Tame Anna de Jong, warning her, and making her afraid. ** Chapter Eighteen ZWART Piete had prospered in Mozambique. The slaves obtained by Rinkals in exchange for the cattle had founded his now considerable fortune and his taste for travel combined with a hitherto unsuspected gift for trading had taken him far into the interior where his ventures had without exception proved successful. Then there had been a war, the outcome of the battle between the two slaving caravans, in which the Boers had distinguished themselves and earned the gratitude of Don Jesus whose fort was now their headquarters and whose partner Zwart Piete had become. Slave raids, fighting, hunting and trading for ivory and gold had occupied him but these were beginning to pall and he often thought of his own people and suffered the nostalgia of an exile. He wished to hear his own tongiif spoken agaia He wished to see his uncle Paul Pieters and to know how his friends fared He wished to talk of what he had done and to boast of the things he had seen as he sat quiedy on the stoeps of Boer houses. For a month Zwart Piete turned things over in his mind and then, bidding farewell to Don Jesus and his Arabs, rode west accompanied by his sister and de Kok. Rinkals was sent to go to the country of the Masai and told to await his master there, for it was Zwart Piete’s intention to return that way. Superbly mounted and with the confidence that comes with success Zwart Piete, his sister and servant rode out of the wide white gates of the fort, turning in their saddles to wave as they cantered across the open glacis that lay between die building and the slave barracks, traversed the cultivated lands and orchards and, following the liver, soon came to the roiling country that divided the coast ftom the mountains. This time, Instead of taking the roundabout route by trhich they had come, Zwart Piete went back directly, trusting to his uncanny sense of direction and turning neither to the right nor the left, save once to avoid a belt of country where the flies attacked and killed any horse which entered it, he led huts party homewards. Where his going had been slow and devious, his return was swift and straight. He had never believed de Kok’s story of the Zulus and was amused to watch his servant growing more and more depressed as he approached the plain where the disaster was supposed tG have occurred. lu the time that he had been away he bad changed; his bearing was freer and his powerful body was leaner and stronger. His complexion, always dark, was new darker, burnt almost black by prolonged exposure. He wore his hair long and his beard spread harshly over his chest His name now fitted him, Zwart Piete, the hunter—for he was all these things —a hard, dangerous young man, who looked out at life with a lowered forehead and half-closed eyes as if he was perpetually sighting his gun, as if life was something that challenged him, that must be mastered before it mastered him; and this was ha view of life, for as he saw it, there were two kinds of men, those who tock and those from whom things were taken; and so, without fear, without rancour and with a cold determined courage he grasped that which he needed between his sinewy hands. Always singk-purposed, his mind was at once able to see the main issues and having seen them to concentrate on the lesser ones into which they were divided and taking these singly to demolish them ruthlessly. As he rode he thought of what might have been. But for a chance, but for a big rain which had at the time seemed 50 inopportune and the lies of his Griqua and his sister, he might have beef* a farmer, a counter of cattle, a follower of the plough. Instead he was a hunter and a rich one at that, acknowledging no master, free to move and to live, one who had seen and done much, killed many beasts, and men, one who had friends among the Portuguese, the Arabs, and the wild Kaffirs. That he was different to others was due to his blood, to the admixtUi* of Huguenot in his blood which would not give him rest but sent him on, involving him till he was beyond drawing back Ja, he thought, and one day I shall go too far, one day I shall take one chance too many, and come to hunter’s eno. By buffalo or elephant, by tiger or lion, by renoster of a wounded buck it will happen; one day his snaphaan would misfire, or his galloping horse fall and Zwart Piete the hunter would hunt no more; but till that day he was alive and called strongly to his folk by a voice whose urgency he did not understand. So insistently had it called upon him to fold his tents and to return that he had been unable to resist. And as he got nearer his heart sang and his blood ran faster. Even the horses seemed to know where they were going and, arching their necks, played with their bits and lashed out at each other. *** 2 To Sara their return was something else. It was a going back to a people who did not understand her or her ways. She had nothing to say to the women whose customs were so diverse from her own and she was tongue-tied among the men, who were completely at a loss when confronted by her. After years of freedom she would again be driven back into herself, into the silence from which she had escaped. Why had she not been born a man’ And why, if she had nor been made a man, had she not been made a woman. Less than ever now, was she that. As sunburnt as her brother, dressed as he was, wearing only a hunting-shirt and raw-hide veld-schoene, she rode her chestnut horse, the one which had belonged to Herman van der Berg, sullenly. Was Piete a fool that he did not know why he was returning? Had he lived so long among the beasts that, in following their example, he still did nor realise what he did or what the end of his ride would be? She looked at him, at his heavily-haired forearm that supported the gun lying across his saddle bow, and watched his strong hands on the reins. Young Piete was now a grown man, one to be desired of women, to be sought in friendship by men, or to be feared by them in anger. Like a young bull that has been away from the herd too long he was going back to try his strength Big in every way, her brother was a man who stopped at nothing and resnected nothing. To him there was no law but his will, and all Africa a place where he had been accustomed to enforce it; he was suited only to live in the wilder places where no one dared to question him or to doubt his swift decisions. Knowing him as she did Sara feared for her brother and for herself. Ach, God, how she loved this man, her twin who was part of her, sprung in the same hour from the same womb. Life was extending its soft arms to him who had only known its hardness. Soon a woman would tame him, put a riem on his wildness, the halter of her affection over his head, the buckle of her breasts under his throat, and his ache for her, a strap about his loins. Her brother was of the kind that, wild with all others, is tame to one woman, if she be his woman. A man who would kill to take and die to protect. An incalculable factor of whom one could only be certain of one thing only, that whatever he began he would finish, one to whom his heart’s desire was life itself, something about which he would accept no compromise. He would always scorn a palliative and reject bitterly the idea that one thing could be put in the place of another and be equally good. Whether he gained or lost meant little to Zwart Piete for he had never lost and failure to him was a word only. He had never known it as a fact. All this for Piete, ana what was there for her? With her woman’s mind in her man’s body she foresaw what would soon occur, foresaw his efforts to be kind to her, to think of her when his mind was full of another. It had not happened yet, they had so far marched through life as comrades, but it would happen and like a calf with a nail-spiked plank tied across its nostrils she would be slowly weaned from him, becoming something apart, something unheard of, a lone woman hunter. Laughing bitterly she raised her gun and shot a steinbok that stood on an antheap to watch them pass. It was a long shot, well over a hundred paces, and her shooting had been casual. Pulling up her horse she had raised her gun and fired. They had meat, they were travelling, and still she shot. The death of the twitching buck had freed something in her, for in this business on which her brother rode so iightheartedly she must help him. This was inevitable; no matter what he did she was with him, as inevitable as the death of the buck who had shown himself, while still in range, to Sara du Plessis in her present mood. And so they rode silently, the white man, bis sister and their servant, each lost in their dreams. Neither together nor apart, they rode as hunters ride, alertly, with an interval and a distance between them, through the thornless mopani scrub, its large, scented, doubled leaves brushing their knees as they skirted the bushes. Here and there the sameness of the vegetation was broken by an old baobab that reared its buttressed trunk out of the scrub, or a tall jakaals-bessie whose dark green foliage flung a heavy patch of shadow over the veld. So they rode day after day till they came to the range which bounded the far side of the plain where the Kaffir village had been, and here seeing signs of white occupation they pushed their horses on. It was thus that Zwart Piete who had ridden out a boy returned a man to find Paul Pieters and his people assembled round three Kaffirs whom they had captured and were questioning. So occupied were the Boers that it was only when they were near and cantering rapidly towards them that they had looked up and seen them. “So you are back,” Paul Pieters said. “Ach, Cod, I knew that one day you would return, and while you have been away I have watched over your stock which has done well” “Ja, Ocm Paul, I am back,” Zwart Piete said, laughing, “and who are these?” He pointed to the natives who stood their faces grey with fright, their eyes starting out of their heads. “They are Kaffirs that we have taken and with whom we are discussing the question of some lost cattle. But they appear to know nothing of them, which is the more extraordinary as we found them near the spoor that we were following. We found also the bones of a beast they had eaten, but of the others, the big clompie, we can find no trace, but soon they will speak, Piete. Ja, jong, soon they will speak loudly. Bring out that sjambok, Jan, he shouted,” and lay it on. Come, make them fast and let us begin.” Profiting by the diversion of Zwart Piete’s arrival the Kaffirs suddenly broke from the tame natives who were holding them and ran. From all round guns cracked, the Boers shooting from where they stood, so certain of their marksmanship were they that they did not hesitate to shoot between their friends, one man firing past the arm of the man in front of him. Like wounded hares the Kaffirs fell, rolling over and over as the bullets struck them. All went down but one, who unwounded. because no one had fired at him, still ran with his elbows close to his sides and his head thrown back. Zwart Piete, Sara and de Kok who were still mounted swung their horses round and, with Paul Pieter’s shout of “Get him alive, kerls, for dead he cannot talk,” in their ears, galloped after him. Swinging away to the flanks of the running man and leaving de Kok to press him from the rear so as to keep him straight, they rode to cut him off. Ahead of them galloped two Boer hounds, great rough-haired beasts that had been put at the fleeing Kaffirs by their masters. In full cry they ran yelping, as they would have after a wounded buck, and reaching their quarry threw h’m down as Piete and Sara closed in on them and de Kok came up. Left alone the dogs would have torn the Kaffir to pieces, but obedient co the white men they allowed themselves to be called off, and with a riem round his neck and his bands tied behind him the Kaffir was led back to be thrashed and questioned. It seemed that he was the brother of the chief, and that one of those killed was his son. They had gone back to watch for their pursuers and had been surprised. He promised the return of the beasts and to give compensation if he was allowed to go, to which the Boers, wanting back their stock, agreed, and following his instructions they sent off a native woman to arrange matters, holding him as hostage till the exchange could be effected. That night after he had counted the beasts bearing his brand in his uncle’s kraals Piete talked of what he had done, where he had been. “And what are you going to do now?” Paul Pieters asked. “Now,” he said. “Now I am going to pass the time of day with my people. I am going to visit my friends and then, when I have had enough of this soft living, I shall return.” “What, are you not going to stay and farm here like the rest of us?” his uncle said. “I do not chink chat I am a farmer, Oom Paul It is in my heart that I must always move. That I cannot wake to see the same mountains each morning, that I cannot watch the sun set over the same tree day after day. The time may come, perhaps, when I am old, that I shall want to farm, but now I have hunted too long to settle. I want my horse’s neck in front of me I want to see the world from between his ears with my snaphaan tn my hand.” ”Ja, jong, I can see, I can understand. It is your father’s blood that is in you which causes this desire for the movement. This curiosity was the one thing that I had against the man who was your father. It was the one thing of which I warned your mother. ‘He is a fine man, Augusta,’ I said, ‘a man to make a woman happy, but his blood is wild and he will never grow fat. He is not as we are,’ I said, and that I believe is why she took him, Piete, because he was not like the others, and that is why some maid will take you Because you are different, because you are like a wild steer that has never known a riem round its horns. You make me think of a young ox that I inspanned once. First he broke all the trek gear and then when I made him fast with stronger riems he gave a great leap upwards and burst his heart, so that the blood ran out of his nose and his eyes. That was a fine young ox, but he was not made for the wagon or the plough. Ja,” he said, “you are like that ox, and though I am afraid you are no good, Piete, I love you for you are my sister’s son and, by God, you are a man.” He held out his hand. “Here,” he said, “or wherever I am, you shall always have a home. Ja, and while I have horses you shall be mounted, and while I have food you shall eat. So stay with me till it is time for you to go and then if you are the man I think you, a man like your father, not all Dingaan’s impis would stop you. “Ja, one day you will be gone,” his uncle said. “One day you will hold out your hand, get up on to your horse and ride away, and when the folk ask for you, I shall say, “My nephew has gone.’ And when they say, ‘Where has he gone?’ I shall say,’ Ek wiet nie, I do not know. How can I, since he does not know himself?”’ *** 3 De Kok was almost hurt by the fact that his master had done nothing about the lies he had told. It almost seemed as .f Zwarr P^ete had always know them for lies, as if what he had considered a dramatic and well-told tale had been wasted. Twice he tried to make Sara discuss the matter with him, for he wished to know how they had failed, but Sara was unapproachable and spenr most of het time among the horses, breaking the colts or going for long solitary rides over the veld. As she rode, she thought of many things, but her thoughts kept return ng to the future, and to her brother who, caught in the tide of time and circumstance, was drifting on, dragging her reluctantly in Us wake. It was curious that she, who had nothing to look forward to, should see things so clearly, or perhaps it was because she had nothing that she saw it. Slowly, as the days passed she watched the restlessness she had anticipated in her brother growing, saw him ride off to visit. Sometimes she went with him and saw him look at the young girls, give them a quick appraising glance as if he sought something, something which he knew he would recognise when he saw ir. Watched him look at them and look away. So far, there was nothing. It was not that there were no pretty girls, young and buxom, all more than willing to take this man who came to them with such a romantic history out of the east. Many were related to him, distantly or nearly, all remembered him on the trek, and none of them could move him, to him none of them were anything. Wider and wider became the circle of his unknowing search, farther farms were visited and farther settlements. Pushed on by an unease that he did not understand, for had any one spoken to him of marriage he would have laughed and said his life was too hard to be shared by a woman, he continued to seek. And one day he decided to go and see how Hendrik van der Berg’s people were getting on and how Hendrik, the father of his friend Herman, was living; also, he decided to go alone. Following the track through the kloof, past the big marulas where he and de Kok had halted on their reconnaissance, past the cave with the bushman drawings, back to the site of the old laager camp, past the graves of Jappie de Jong, Herman and the others by the big hartekoal and over the drift where Hendrik’s oxen had dragged his wagons, and following the spoor that was still visible after three years, he crossed the rivers and rode over the mountains till he came to the edge of the berg where it fell so steeply into the blue-green country of the low veld. It was the ledge on the edge of the kranz from which Hendrik, three years before, had looked down on Canaan—the promised land. Here he halted, while he stared into the sea of bush below him. He had seen country like this before in his travels and bad got out of it. Was Hendrik van der Berg mad to have settled here? Why, the very luxuriance of everything, the amount of water, the type of bush was all a menace to one who knew the country as he did. Long before he started down he knew what he would find. There would be much sickness here. Also, it was not a safe place, the mountains on one side would shelter Kaffirs, while the bush on the other would harbour them. Boers were only safe in open country where they could operate mounted, this place was a death-trap in more ways than one. Pushing his horse on to the very edge of the krantz, he shaded his eyes with his hand. Ja, there was good grass down there, fine grass; but surely a man was mad who would endanger his life and that of his children for grass. And strategically, the place was a deathtrap; such open ground as there was being so intersected by slow-moving rivers, these Zwart Piete saw only as obstacles dividing one man from another, that if they were attacked they would be unable to go to each other’s aid, except along the foot of the berg where they could be ambushed Hendrik van der Berg had made a mistake, he did not know this kind of country or its dangers as he, who had spent the last three years hunting in it, did. Zwart Piete had suffered privation and almost died of fever in other valleys as beautiful, as fruitful, and as evil. Thinking deeply, he turned his horse and went slowly down the steep road chat had been made along the face of the mountain, and it was thus that Zwart Piete the hunter, riding the dappled grey arab which he had bought from the Portuguese, rode into the settlement under the shadow of the horseshoe berg. And it was thus that Sannie who had seen him silhouetted against the sky came to meet him. Impelled by a curiosity which she attributed to the difference of his horse from those to which she was accustomed, she went towards the road. This man up on the berg was not from these parts. The Boer horses Were not like this one, they neither carried their crests nor their tails in such a fashion; what she did no: know she wished to see, so leaving her children, Sannie went to sit on a rock at the foot of the track. She had long since learnt to wait and sat relaxed and pensive, with her kappie held by its ribbons in her hand leaning against the tree behind her. Slowly the man on the horse grew bigger, appearing and disappearing behind rock outcrops and trees, swinging away from her as the path turned and back towards her as it turned again. Unconsciously she absorbed what she saw, took in the man sitting firmly in his saddle with his gun across his knees, took in the horse that stepped as if the ground was too hot for its small hoofs, that breathed as if the air was not sufficiently delicate for its wide nostrils. But it was not till he came up to her that Zwart Piete saw her. She was a small woman and sat curled up with one foot beneath her. Nor, when her eyes met his, did she rise. For a minute they remained thus, holding each other, neither moving nor speaking, the man as still as the woman, the stallion as static as a rock. “What a small head your horse has got, mynheer,” Sannie said. ‘“Where does he come from?” “From over there,” Zwart Piece pointed to the east. “My name is Piete du Plessis,” he said, “and I seek Hendrik van der Berg.” He locked at her again. “And aren’t you Sannie van Reenen?” be asked. “Weren’t you with us on the trek, and the friend of my friend Herman?” “I was the friend of H man, but Herman is dead, she said; “and I was Sannie van Reenen, but am now the wife of the man whom you seek. I am Mevrou van der Berg,” she said, getting up “You do not look 1’ke a wife,” Zwart Piete said. “And what dees a wife look like, mynheer?” she asked. “I do not know, but not like you, mevrou. Before Goa, a wife docs not look like you.” Zwart Piet* dismounted and came up to her as with her weight on one foot, Sanr e tapped the other on the ground. This man was different, he was disturbing. What had he meant when he said she did not look like a wife? What had he seen? She wished she had not come to meet him, but was he not seeking her husband? And would she not have met him invitably whether she had come or not come? It would only have delayed their meeting. “Hendrik will be glad to see you,” she said. “And if you will come with me, mynheer, I will show you the way.” “I will come,” Zwart Piete said. “Ja, I will come.” And leaving his horse, he walked down the stony path after her “Your horse follows without being led,” Sannie said. “Ja, my horse follows.” “You trained him to follow?” “Ja, I trained him to follow; all my horses follow, it is necessary that they should.” Why necessary ?” she asked. “Because they must follow and come when I call; I am a hunter,” he said. “You are a hunter,” she said. “A hunter of what, mynheer?” “Of elephants, mevrou, and of other things.” *** 4 There was an air of fictitious prosperty about the settlement, an air of almost desperate success, of triumph and disaster running side by side. Here man had str ven with his puny forces against the evil powers of nature in a land so fruitful that nature could afford to suffer man, able as it was at any time to overwhelm him. While man fought, nature waited, playing slowly against him, guarding her integrity with the weapons of disease and plague; with ticks that sucked the rich blood from the stock, with tampans, with fleas, with bugs in the houses, with wild beasts that killed his domestic animals and ate his crops, with locusts and borers and cut worms, with white ants which allowed men to build and then destroyed what they had built, eating out the heart of their woodwork so that only a crust remained. All this and more Zwart Piete saw, and fully appreciating the efforts made by the Boers to stave off ruin, seeing the plans they had made to hold their enemies at bay, he smiled bitterly. With the tenacity of their race they were fighting a losing battle, pitting themselves individually against forces that would, in the end, have swamped them if they had been combined. Capable of phenomenal efforts, these people were also capable of phenomenal acquiescence in adversity, taking the manifold blows that were rained upon them as acts of God, sent by him to chasten them; as rods which the Almighty was loth to spare from the backs of His children, as trials sent to test their faith, for this God of theirs was no benevolent deity, but a terrible and a jealous God. The tide of their fortunes, when Zwart Piete arrived among them, was past the turn. It was ebbing. Here, lands had been abandoned, much less was under the plough and the thorn bush was regaining that which had been stolen from it. There, water furrows were leaking and unmended while many of the kraals were in a bad state of repair and the demeanour of the people was anxious with suppressed fears, their eyes questioning and their faces grim. They were tired, weakened by their long journey to this place, and their subsequent effort; while the country in which they had settled was fresh, and holding its hand had not troubled overmuch, certain by the weight of its deceptive fertility to achieve a final and irrevocable victory by elimination, by a delayed and continuous onslaught that nothing, no effort of man, could stay and one which could easily be accelerated by the piling of one small thing on to another, till its cumulative effect would blot out all that man had done in those parts, till nothing was left to show of man’s passing but the crumpled heaps of stones where his houses had been. The dark-green rings of kweek grass marking the site of bis kraals and the small mounds of the graves of those who died there. But more than all this did Zwart Piete fear the Kaffirs, of whom he saw several. They came unarmed it is true, leaving their assegais, but they came. By a slow process of infiltration they came and went, accustoming the white people to their presence; and where when the Boe rs had first come, a strange Kaffir was a rare sight, a number of them together was now a common one. Secure in their imagined superiority the Boers not only allowed, but encouraged them by drawing on the local natives for an additional supply of labour, so that among the Kaffirs there were many who were half-tame, and who, having lived and worked among the Boers, had lost their fear of the white men and knew their ways. These things Zwart Piete saw as he accompanied Sannie to her husband’s stone house, for he was a hunter unable to mistake the signs however much his mind was occupied by the sight of the girl moving so gracefully in front of him. Already he knew that he wanted this woman, and refused to believe that she belonged to any one. A woman who looked into a man’s eyes as she had done was free and seeking. Zwart Piete had found what he sought. He had seen the woman he wanted and he was going to have her. He would have her if it meant blood, his own or that of the others. He would have her at all cost. She was his woman and tacitly he knew that she acknowledged it, and that she would come when he called. *** 5 Otto von Rhule was angry, Hendrik was away and he had arranged to meet Sannie, yet she had gone out. There was a great deal that he. did not understand about this woman, more than ail he failed to see by what arts she held him off sometimes, or her purpose in so doing. Was he not a man, he asked himself? Was he not all that a man could possibly be? Tall, strong; and brave? And was he less a man one day than another? Why, then, this coquetry, this drawing back, this running away from an issue which was so plain to him that it must also be apparent to her? In this mood von Rhule watched the mountain road for it was this way, he was told, that she had gone. Having tied bis horse to the branches of a tree he sat down on one of the ox skulls that were used as seats on the stoep and waited for her return. It was infuriating the way she kept him like this, it was even more infuriating that he tolerated it. Here he was behaving like a boy, allowing himself to be dealt with as if he knew nothing, and feeling things that he had thought it impossible to feel again; feeling that time spent away from her was wasted, feeling quite tongue-tied, and only conscious of an ache in his loins when he was with her. His previous experiences were for the first time proving no help to him, his knowledge of women of no assistance, for here was one so feminine that his rules no longer applied. A girl who worked by methods so intuitive that they were unknown to him, being based on something which came from deep down in her spirit and could not be dealt with by his devices, which, precise and invariable as the manoeuvres of a squadron, were without either imagination or elasticity. Also there was that infernal lion. Attractive women, he felt, should not keep lions, and when he came it was often at liberty. By the presence of the lion he knew ber mood. Getting up, he kicked at one of the stoep poles impatiently, bringing down a shower of fine dry mud flakes, the cover mg of the tunnels made by the ants that were working in the thatch, some of them very small and a dirty white in colour fell on to the ground. Extending his foot he rubbed them out. What a country it was; and as he thought of the country he felt a sudden nostalgia for the pine woods and mountains of his home, and cursed Africa and the stupidities which had brought him here. He had been a fool, and had paid for his folly. He was being a fool now and would pay for this, too; one always paid. And if he wanted a thing, he was ready to pay. No one had ever said of him, whatever else they might say, that Otto von Rhule did not meet his liabilities, that he was afraid to face his commitments. Looking up he saw her; she was coming now, and a man was with her—a tall young man, followed by a grey arab that nuzzled at his back First came the woman, then the man, and then the horse; there seemed an understanding between the three of them, and a significance about the coming of a stranger at this juncture. Here was no Jewish trader to be browbeaten, no lone and penurious hunter; this was a man, a rival. And in all the world there was no man more capable of estimating men, as men, than von Rhule who had been bred to the trade of leading and nt judging them. As they approached he did nor look at Sannie but at the man behind her, weighing and assessing him Questioning his qualities, his appearance and his strength, fot to von Rhuie all men were one of several things, his inferiors to be ridden over roughshod, his equals to be left alone or faced if necessary, and his superiors in breeding strength or intelligence, of whom he had met but few, and whom he had, so far, been wise enough to acknowledge and to leave alone. Here was one who was certainly his equal and perhaps more than that, and as they came nearer he recognised him. It was Zwart Piete, who had come to be called the hunter, and who, from what they had heard, had in the time he had been away amassed a fortune, and established himself as a slaver, hunter and trader among the Portuguese. And the more he saw of Zwart Piete the less von Rhuie liked the look of him. He seemed over-bold, over-careless, overstrong and over-young. Here was a man who acknowledged no law, whom nothing, neither fear of death, nor scruple, would arrest from going those ways which seemed good to him. With a smile on his lips and ignoring Sannie he went towards Zwart Piete. “Do you remember me?” he asked. “I remember you,” Piete said, “you are Otto von Rhuie, the Meester. And how go the children, mynheer?” he asked “Can they all read and write? It is odd, is it not, mynheer, where the paths of men lead them’ That while you taught the young ones their catechisms I have become a trader, a hunter of men and ivory Ja, it is odd,” he went on, “that I who was a boy am now a man, and that you who were a man, the only soldier among us, have become a woman, teaching children and visiting women while their husbands are away.” ”I have killed men for less than that, mynheer,” von Rhuie said. “Then what is there to prevent you killing me?” Zwart Piete asked. “Nothing,” he went on, “save that you dare not do it I do not like you, von Rhuie,” he said. “I have never liked you, and in the time that I have been away I have learnt to speak my mind.” Raising his hand von Rhuie struck out, but Piete was before him, his blow taking von Rhuie in the pit of the stomach A moment later he had h’m by the arms and had flong him over his shoulder on to his back Turning like a leopard, he knelt on the German with his hands at his throat, his thumbs on his windpipe and his knuckles driven into the arteries under his ears. Tense as a wild beast on its kill Piete bent over von Rhule. For ail his bulk the German was a child in the hands of a man who had lived by his strength and courage for the whole of his life, one who existed by the speed and strength of his attack, and whose mind, bent on self-preservation in the face of perpetual danger, was so keyed that his body was always ready, his nerves and muscle blades that were never sheathe*! Stop, Piete,” Sannie said. “Stop! You are mad. Why did you do that?” “He looked at you,” Piete said. “And who are you to say who will look at me?” she asked. “Who am I?” Piete said, slackening his hold. “That certainly is a question. I do not know, Sannie, it is just that I do not like this man, and when he looked at you like that my anger flamed. I am sorry,” he sa d. “I see that I Lave grown unused to living among civilised people and will go.” Getting up, he whistled to his horse and vaulted into the saddle. “And what about my husband?” Sannie asked. “When will you see him if you go now’” “Then you mean I am to stay mevrou?” “I mean that you stay,” she said,” but first you will apologise to Mynheer von Rhule.” “Apologies come hard ro my mouth, mevrou Whar I have said I have said, and what I have done I have done.” Von Rhule sprang up and made for him as he spoke, only to be faced by the stallion’s hoofs, for Piete had pulled him up into a rear, and the horse, a trained arab charger, was accustomed to war and well prepared to face attack. Unmoved, his eyes cold, Zwart Piete drove his horse forward on to the man, forcing back and only bringing down bis mount as Sannie stepped between them. ”Dismount,” she said, “and apologise, and you,” she turned to von Rhule, “will accept his apology. This thing shall be as if it had never been, and then you will go” ”Ja, you will go,” Piete said, “and when you look at a woman learn to look differently and keep the lust from your eyes.” “I will go now,” von Rhule said,” for I accept neither apologies nor blows, and this thing can never be as if it had not been. Ln Germany,” he said to Zwart Piete, “you would have died for this.” “But as it is not Germany I shall not die, for you will not shoot me from behind, and dare not face me from the front So tot liens, mynheer, tot siens.” Still sitting on his horse Zwart Piete watched the German mount and ride away. “That man is not good,” he said to Sannie. “He is like a wild dog that jumps and jumps at a running buck till he can pull it down, tearing out its entrails as it runs. A wild dog that will not face a lion,” he added. Sannie laughed. That had been apt, a bow drawn at a venture, for so far Piete knew nothing of her lion which was out with Jakalaas. “And are you a lion, mynheer?” she asked. “No, Sannie,” Piete said, speak ng softly. “I am no lion but perhaps I might become one.” There was no answer to this, and telling Piete to dismount and let his horse roll, she looked at the sun. “My husband will soon be back,” she said, “and till then perhaps mynheer can put up with me? I will do my best to entertain you.” *** 6 When Hendrik van der Berg returned he found Zwart Piete in his house waiting for him with Frikkie on his knee. He was telling the child tales of elephants and lions, telling him of how the Masai hunted them, telling him of the great waters that ran up against the sandy strand of Africa and of the forests that came down to their very edges, of the monkeys that swung in the trees, and of the small parrots that walked upside down along their branches. But Zwart Piete as he talked to the child was watching the door out of which Sannie had gone. He got up as Hendrik came in, putting the child down carefully. “So, Oom Hendrik,” he said, “I have come back and am visiting. My Uncle Paul Pieters sends greetings, and bids me tell you that things go well with him and his folk.” It is good to see you, Piete,” Hendrik said, holding out his band. “Is it true what we have heard of you?” “That depends on -what you have heard. Of me many things are said.” “That you are successful and have joined with the Portuguese at the coast, that you are engaged in the traffic of slaves and have hunted right up to the deserts of the north, that you have friends among the wild Kaffirs?” “There things are true,” Piete said. “And you nave left all this to come visiting?” “Ja, I have left it. It was in my heart to see my folk again.” “It was not in your heart to seek a woman among them by any chance?” Hendrik asked, laughing. “You are now a man, and men do not live by bread alone.” “Pernaps you are tight, Oom Hendrik, but f it was so I did not know it till recently. I was called, and I came. I have travelled far since I saw you last,” he added. “Ja, I have travelled far, and seen many things.” “You mast tell me of them,” Hendrik said, “but I do not think it is good to see too much, and since one cannot see all, it may be better to see little.” “It may be better, but some men have never done with seeing, and I am one of chose men. My Uncle Paul Pieters says it is the gift of my father, coming to me as my heritage from his blood; and my father was a fine man, he saved my life, more than that no man can do. You know the tale, Hendrik, of how he drove his knife into my horse and saved me from the Kaffirs’” “I know it,” Hendrik said. “And since then I have hunted Kaffirs, I and my sister, and we have killed many, very many. My father will be glad of what I have done, for he was a great hunter and fighter, one of the greatest on the border, and a friend in his boyhood of Coenraad Buys.” “You will stay with us, I hope,” Hendrik said. “We have some pretty maids here that you should see. Maids who would be glad to take a man like you.” “Ja. Baie Dankie, Hendrik, I will stay. My horse is already in your kraal.” “He must go to the mountain,” Hendrik said, “for there is much sickness here.” “He can stay,” Zwart P were protected, and even there it was peeling. Poor Jappie had painted the wagon so happily, whistling as he worked. They had set out so gaily. And now he was dead and the paintwork scorched and blistered. Still the wagons of the others would be in the same condition, and certainly her oxen were more beautifully matched, not only in colour, but even to the shape of their horns, all curving upwards in a wide sweep from their foreheads. A full span of sixteen she would take, and if the wagon was paintless the tent at least would be clean; it was already prepared, washed and rewashed till it was as white as a linen sheet. From where she sat she could see it glistening as her servants stretched it over the wooden hoops of its frame In ten days now they would be off, and she hoped that they would arrive on the Thursday before’t was dark, so that she would be able to choose a good place to outspan, one well in the centre where she would be able to see and to hear all that went on. Nor would she hurry her beasts; they must arrive fat and sleek, for not in all that vast concourse would there be any oxen better than her own and few to equal them. As Johannes van Reenen came in she called to h m and asked who he was leaving behind to look after the place in their absence. “No one, Anna,” he said. “Al! are going.” ”Then who will see to the cattle and the horses?” she asked. ”The servants and Kafirs who remain. We shall not be long away.” “And Is this wise when we know that we are threatened?” “We threatened?” Johannes echoed. “Surely you do not think that we are still in danger? Surely you do not still believe that Zwart Piete, who stole my daughter from Hendrik van der Berg, is to be trusted? What confidence can be placed in a man who runs off with another’s wife?” “And if you took this running oil so hard, Johannes, why did you not join in the pursuit?” Tante Anna asked. “Though she did wrong, she is still my daughter, and I stand by my blood. But if she hated Hendrik as you say, why did she not come to me, instead of running away with a landless man?” “This is a profitless discussion, one that we have dealt with not once but many times,” Tante Anna said. “But apart from Zwart Piete’s warning, the fact remains that Hendrik and Martinus saw armed Kaffirs” ”Ja, they saw them, but it was long ago, and they put them to flight. That finished it. Before that there might have been some danger, but now there is none. Besides,” he went on, “if I told some to remain I should not be obeyed. I should be laughed at, and they would say, ‘Oom Johannes, you are getting old, or is it that you think we are children to be frightened by spooks?” “And yet I am not sure. It is in my heart that all should not £o” “Well, Anna, who do you think would remain? Can you think of any who would miss this gathering? And if they will not remain, they will not. This talk of yours is woman s talk and foolishness.” “Ja, it is woman’s talk, and it seems to me that sometimes women talk to some purpose, and that where men see only the distant mountains it is the women who see the small night-adder curled up in the path at their feet.” *** 5 That night Louisa returned to Canaan with the tale of Hendrik’s death and the manner of his passing. Her shoulders sore from the beating her mistress had given her, she related everything down to the smallest detail. “Can I stay, m.vrou?” she pleaded. “From now on I am changed.” “Ja, you can stay. You have been beaten, but I think it is time that you married, Louisa, and when I have some leisure I will find some one that will marry you.” She paused and went on: “Do you know why I say you can stay, Louisa?” The coloured girl did not answer. “You can stay because we are soon going to the nachtmaal, and there is no one who can iron out my kappies as you do. No, not even I can do it so well. Now leave me, for I must think.” So Hendrik was dead; everything which had been his now belonged to his children and to Sannie. For a while she sat perfectly still. Sannie could now return and Zwart Piete could go in peace. They would all be reunited again, and happiness, which a few hours ago had seemed so distant, was now in view. One thing she must do at once, and that was, taking Jakalaa? with her, go to Hendrik’s house and collect his papers, his Bible and his devotional books. These his children should take with them so that their baptism could be entered on the fly leaf of the Holy Word with all formality. This they would be proud of one day, for it would be something to have been baptised at the first nachtmaal in the north. *** 6 Driving round to the back of the house because Jakalaas said that this door was the easiest to force, Anna de Jong got dcwn from her cart and waited for him to open it. It was strange to be here alone, with Hendrik dead and Sannie gone, strange to see the house so much the same, with even the dirty crockery left lying as it had been put down, and the clothes still hanging from wooden pegs driven into the interstices of the mud-plastered walls. There were the beds they had slept in, there were the meilie cobs hanging from the rafters among riems, broken saddlery and strips of biltong. Tobacco in leaf and some in roll hung there also, and the half carcass of a sheep which had long since gone rotten and been eaten away by maggots. Going to the window, she opened the shutters, lifting the heavy bars that held them and dropping them on the floor. The books she sought were stuck in a corner where the angles of the rafters joined the heavy tiebeams which ran across the house from wall to wall. With a last look at the room she went out, glad to be free of a house that was so filled w th painful memories. She thought of the meals she had eaten there with Sannie silent, while Hendrik boasted loudly and a Kaffir maid wielded a fly whisk, made from the tad of a wildebeeste, to prevent the swarming flies from settling on the food they ate. With the hymn books and papers under her arm, she went our into the bright sunlight and bent down to brush away the fleas which, having bred in the empty house, swarmed hungrily up her dress and legs. The Bible she knew would be in the wagon that lay outspanned a few yards away. It looked very desolate with its tent torn and the trek gear lying stretched out awry. Suddenly she wished that she was home. There was a menace about this house below the berg; it was as if the stone alone knew what had happened here and were trying to speak. Hurrying away, she caught her foot in a chain that was sunk in the grass and fell, her ankle twisting under her. ”What a foci I am,” she thought, as she rose to her knees, “not to have remembered the lion’s chain.” “You are hurt, mevrou,” Jakalaas said, running towards her. Ja, I am hurt. I cannot walk,” she said as she felt her leg. What shall I do?” the old Kaffir asked. “First you will get the big Bible from Baas Hendrik’s wagon-box. Then you will fetch water from the fontein, and while I attend to my hurt you will seek help. Go to Baas Martinus and bring back enough Kaffirs to raise me into my cart. And listen, you skelm, all this is due to your verdamnat lion. Had there been no lion there would have been no chain, and I should not have fallen. I wish now that I had let Baas Hendrik beat you. Thus it always happens that by doing good one harvests evil. Go, fool, get the book and the water, and then the help. It will take four strong men to raise me, and I would be back before it is dark.” ** Chapter Twenty-Seven Tante Anna’s accident did not prevent her going to Lemansdorp, for, as she said, she could rest on the bed in her wagon as comfortably as in her bed at home; and apart from being safe from the Kaffirs, who, in her opinion, would come marauding as soon as they knew that the Boers were gone, she would have the changing scenery to look at as they travelled. Besides which, was she, one of the foremost of the voortrekkers, to be defeated by so small a th.ng as a wrenched ankle? So with Louisa to attend her personally and accompanied by her servants, she left with the others, her wagon following that of her brother-in-law as it climbed the mountain road and swung west towards Lemansdorp, a unit in one of the many long lines of wagons that were approaching that place from all sides; wagons whose occupants went their way rejoicing at the change, at the prospect of seeing old friends, of making new ones, and at being able at last to have their children baptised. With much singing, laughing and clapping of whips the men drove their spans or rode beside the high turning wheels which carried all that they held dear. Gaily the young men made their horses dance about the white-tented wagons that had borne them so far and staunchly, firing their guns in pleasure at any encounter, while the girls bandied jokes with them and debated among themselves on what finery they would wear, arguing with each other about die respective merits of the frocks at their disposal, getting out their small parasols, and borrowing combs of tortoiseshell and ribbons with which to dress their hair. So they advanced over the rough mountainous roads, the wagons riding lightly, for they were unloaded, the people happy and the oxen fat and fresh. At night, they sat or stood singing by their fires to the accompaniment of such instruments as they had, many clustering round the one who played. It was a holiday and a festival. Its spirit was abroad, communicating itself even to the beasts and to the Kaffirs that tended them. *** 2 Tante Anna had been right about the numbers of the people who were gathered at Lemansdorp Already when they of Canaan arrived there were two hundred wagons outspanned, and each hour more arrived. Whips and guns cracked, oxen bellowed and fought, children strayed, got lost and were found again, and the smoke from a hundred cooking fires sweetened the air with the scent of burning wood and dung. Many there were whom Tante Anna knew, and many that she did not know. Also there were many whom she had known and after whom she inquired who had, since she had last seen them, died of one thing or another. There were even doppers at Lemansdorp, who, though they did not hold with the new and reformed church, had still come, drawn by the desire to be among so great a concourse of people and to hear such news as there was. These men were easily recognisable, for they clung to the old ways, not only in theology, but also in their dress; and, scorning belts or braces, held up their trousers, which were of the klapbrook kind with a flap in front, by means of draw-strings, and as they wore their jackets shorter than other men and their trousers always sagged, they invariably showed an expanse of white shirt between the bottom of the one and the top of the other, so that from behind they looked like the white-rumped springbok of the plains. One in particular, Andries Beyers by name, pleased Tante Anna very much, so much that she kept watching for his passing, for he was a very big young man who wore a very short coat and blue-and-red striped nankeen and breyed leather trousers that only reached half-way down his calf. He was the Samson of the doppers, and was said to be able to lift a big Kaffir in each hand and to deal with sacks of grain, loading them on to a wagon as if they were parcels. Never anywhere had such a variety of clothes beer seen, for many had been made of anything that was available, irrespective of its suitability to the purpose, and these made a curious contrast with the garments of others which were as neat as if their wearers were still in the colony. White, black and coloured folk seethed about the tents and wagons, greeting each other, and asking tidings of their friends. Inevitably there was much talk of hunting, cattle and crops, but always, no matter how the conversation went, it turned in the end to the Kaffirs and the English. Men told of how the English had come to Natal, annexing it; of how Mapela and Makapaan had raided and murdered. Not once, but many times, were Potgieter, who had been flayed alive in the presence of his groom, and Piet Retief, whom the Zulus had killed as he and his men stood unarmed in the king’s great kraal, spoken of and mourned. But of all that was said the story of those women and children, murdered and eaten in the Zoutpansberg, came nearest to them, for they had known many of them, and the Zoutpansberg was not far off—less than two hundred miles away. The commando which had ridden out to avenge them had found some of their blood-stained clothes and portions of their bodies, shoulders and arms which had been roasted on the spit. When this tale was told tne men looked longingly at their loaded guns that leant against their wagons. It was into this vast company that Zwart Piere and Sannie rode one day. Accompanied by de Kok, in charge of their pack-horses and loose ones, he rode confident that his reputation for daring would be enough to stay any insult that might be put upon his woman. With the butt of his long gun resting on his thigh he rode his grey horse among them, moving aside for no one, but pulling up his beast and waiting till they drew away from his angry eyes. “I wait Piete du Plessis the hunter is here,” they said, and the men who did not know him stared, surprised that he should be so young, while the women pulled aside the curtains of their tents and envied Sannie. To every one he asked only one thing: “Where is Mevrou de Jong’s wagon? She is here from Canaan.” And when they told him he rode on till he found her. “Hearing of Hendrik’s death, we have come for Sannie’s children, Tante Anna,” he said. “It seems that they are with you.” “They are with me, Zwart Piete.” “And you will take Sannie?” “I will take her. But where are you going? Have you not come far enough? Paul Pieters, your uncle and all your friends are here.” “Have I friends, Anna de Jong?” Zwart Piete asked bitterly. “That we shall see when I ride among them I came not to pass the time of day with doubtful friends, but to seek the children for whom Sannie pines, and to tide with them into the east, which is now my country, and where an adulterer, if he can ride and shoot, is still a man.” “You are hard, Piete.” “I have been hunted like a dog. Tante Anna. I am angry, and now I have returned to find the whole world mad. Take Sannie,” he said, “for I must have words with Johannes van Reenen.” With Johannes?” Tante Anna said. “But why? For new that Hendrik is dead he will be at peace with you.” “I did not come to discuss my affairs with van Reenen. Those can wait,” he said. “And for what I have done I alone am answerable. No, Tante Anna, I wish to see him that I may assure myself of his sanity, to be certain that he is not mad.” “Mad, Piete’” “Ja, mad to have left Canaan as he has with al) your houses, your beasts and flocks open to the Kaffirs. Mad to have left some of his folk without protection. Marietje was there with her husband when I came. Where is Johannes?” he repeated. “Now chat I have left Sannie with you I must find him. He must return, or give me men to take back” “You think there is danger, Piece?” “I do not think, I know: I can smell it in the air. Where are the Kaffirs that were walking when I was last there? The place is empty of life, Tante Anna; there is no movement, save that of the herders, who will run at the first spear. Marietje, I think, is safe, for I have sent her w’th Martinus and my Kaffir, Rinkals, who is very wise, into the hills, where they w.ll hide till our return. But what of the homes and the beasts? Did you work in order to throw away what you have done’ Would you leave your breeding herds to be meat for Kaffirs?” he asked. As I rode through Canaan,” he wenr on, “a calm like a pall was spread widely over it. Before all things I am a hunter, and I know the menace that is hidden Where is Johannes van Reenen, I say? Almost do I wish Hendrik van der Berg were alive, for he, obstinate as he was, would not have been such a fool as this.” “Oom Johannes is over there,” Tante Anna said. “He is with the other leaders talking to the predikanr.” Wheeling his grey, his gun still on h>s hip, Zwart Piete rode towards the group she had pointed out. “Johannes van Reenen,” he said, “I would speak with you.” “You would speak with me?” van Reenen said. “And how can you ride in like this and demand audience, you who should come humbly”’ “This is the adulterer of whom we have heard,” the leader of the doppers said. “This is Zwart Piete, the son of Satan. Are we to be polluted by listening to such as he?” “Ja, I am Zwart Piece du Plessis, whom men call the hunter, and I have come to warn the folk of Canaan, and if I am the son of Satan, you are the sons of fools. Listen van Reenen”—he turned to Sannie’s father. “If you value your homes and your cattle, send some men back; let them draw lots if they do not wish to go.” “There is no danger. Had there been danger, would we have left Martinus and his wife, who is sick? And did they believe in danger when you told them of it? It is in my mind that they only laughed at you, told you that you were mad and dreaming. The Kaffirs round Canaan are tame; they are not like those of the Zoutpansberg or Natal” “So mad did Martinus and Marietje think me, Mynheer, that they followed me into the mountains, where I have hidden them.” “They have gone?” van Reenen said. “Then there are no white people there to watch over our farms?” ‘ There are none, but there remain your riches in livestock and furniture. If you value these go back, or give me men and I will lead them.” “Do you think men will follow you?” the dopper asked. “If there is danger they will follow me,” Zwart Piete said, “for I am well known as a Kaffir fighter.” “I will do nothing,” van Reenen said. “Nor will I discuss the matter with you. We are gathered here together that we may worship, and God will protect those things which are ours in our absence.” “Then your ruin is upon your own head,” Piete said, “for it is in my heart that the Philistines will be upon you, and like sheep without a shepherd your flocks will be uken and your possessions scattered.” Raising his voice, he went on: “Once again, I tell you, once again I caution you publicly, more than this I cannot do.” “More you can do,” the dopper said. “You can leave our company and go back to the wilds, where you belong. I also can warn,” he continued, “and if you remain you will be hunted out.” “Hunt, then,” Zwart Piete said. “When you are ready you will find me off-saddled over there.” He pointed with the muzzle of his gun to a small tree which stood apart from the outspan. “Those who seek Zwart Piete will find him easily,” he said. “Tot seins, mynheeren, when you want me I shall be there, and I think before long you will come begging with your bats in your hands for my assistance.” For a moment he sat locking at them, staring into the eyes of those around him till they lowered them, and then without a word he left them, and they saw him off-saddle bis horse and watched his servant take the gear from the backs of his pack-horses and stack it. His words and bearing had made them uneasy. This young man was no liar; he had nothing to gain by lying- *** 3 As Tante Anna had anticipated, it was not long before her grandson came her way. Gert Kleinhouse was more than ready to make peace with his grandmother, whom he feared greatly. In addition to this she was old—and was he not her nearest relation? If it was only a matter of pigs he would give her some, for he now had many, having obtained them from a neighbouring settlement; and if she insisted he would also give her a cow, not perhaps quite as good a one as that which he had driven over the mountains as a present to Martha Coetzee, not as beautiful or as tame as Bloometje, but nevertheless a good cow. Surely this would satisfy her; and then when she died, which might be soon, he would get back the pigs and the cow with their progeny. It was in a sense no more than a loan—and people as stout as Anna de Jong could not go on forever. When he found her confined to her bed his heart was very sad. Poor woman, no doubt this was the beginning of the end. “I am sorry, Ouma,” he said, “to find you Eke this.” “Like what?” she said. “So sick, Ouma.” “I am not sick; it is merely that I fell and twisted my foot.” “Ach ja,” he said, “no doubt it was due to a rush of blood to the head. You have too much blood, Ouma. I have always said that you had too much blood,” he went on “It seems to me, Gert, that it is for me to say whether I have too much blood or not.” “Ja, natuurlik, it is for you to say, but any one can see that it is true.” “And since when have you become a doctor of medicine, Gert?” “I am no doctor, but what I see I see, and now before we go further I wish to say that I am sorry for what has passed. I am very alone in the world, and I am of your blood” He paused. “I wish therefore to make amends. If it is a matter of pigs, you shall have them, two small sows and a young boar.” “And what about my cow Bloometje. Are my cows to lose quarters for nothing? Are they to be driven at a speed over the hills without recompense?” “How many quarters did she lose?” Gert asked. ”Two quarters” “Then tor those two quarters I will give you a cow. It is too much, I know, there is no justice in it, but you are my grandmother, and I would be on terms with you again.” “How old is this cow that you would give me?” Tante Anna asked. “She is six.” “Then what is the matter with her?” “Nothing is the matter. She is a beautiful cow, one that gives much milk.” “Marriage has certainly changed you, Gert, for where you were mean you are now generous, and where you were small you are now big. Truly your offer melts my heart—three young pigs and a cow. And yet it is said that the leopard cannot change his spots, nor the Ethiopian the colour of his skin. It says this in the twenty-third verse of the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Lamentations. Remember also, Gert, that I knew your father and your uncle They were slim men and full of guile” “My heart is clean,” Gert said, “and to prove it I would ask you to come and rest with us when the nachtmaal is over. Stay with us till you are well,” he said, “and let Martha my wife nurse you.” “I thank you, Gert. It is in my heart that I have misjudged you, and I will accept your offer in the spirit in which it is made. On Monday, therefore, I will come to you bringing my maid, my servants and the children of Sannie van Reenen, who will stay with me till her affairs are settled.” Gert stood still staring at his feet “I said we would come Monday, Gert,” Tante Anna repeated. “It was you I asked and not Sannie the adulteress. Think of my wile ja,” Gert said, “Martha is pure.” If it gives you pleasure, Gert, I will think of your wife, an ugly woman and since she married you a foolish one. It is in my heart that she has not been greatly tempted to sin. For in adultery the man must be willing, he cannot be dragged to the bed on a riem. Shall I go on thinking, Gert?” she asked, “or may I now consider my cattle and my properties in the colony? And, Gert,” she added, “did you think that Sannie would leave Zwart Piete to stay with you?” “Nie, me, Jong, she will stay with her man; that is her place. Only Frikkie and Jacoba come with me.” *** 4 When the nachtmaal was over the people dispersed and van Reenen led his folk back to Canaan. They were less gay now than when they had set out for Zwart Piete’s words had gone far, and many thought, now that it might be too late, that they should not have come, that some, at any rate, should have remained to watch over the property of the others. Behind them, riding apart, came the outcasts, the adulterers, with their servant and the two coloured men that Piete had borrowed from his uncle Paul Pieters who, partially convinced by Piete’s statements, saw in this, if he were right, a way of reinstating his nephew. “Call on me if you need me,” he had said, “for though openly I am against you, my heart is yours whatever you have done or may yet do.” But long before they reached Canaan, Johannes van Reenen saw a small figure coming towards him. It was that of an old Kaffir, one who was a stranger to him. As the wagons approached he stood in the middle of the road and halted them with upraised hands “Greetings, wnite man,” he said. “Is my master with you? For I have tidings for him.” Who is your master?” van Reenen asked. “And who are you?” “My master is called Zwart Piete the hunter, and I am known by many names, Little Cloud That Comes Before the Storm being one of them, Little Flower another.” “And what do you want?” “I want nothing, I am too old and too wise for worldly wants. Words do I deal in, and spells and magic, but this I would say. white man: call upon your men and let them go in front. Call also on my master and let him lead them, for much evil has befallen under the berg. The houses are burnt, the servants are dead, and the cattle driven off. All this I saw from ray hiding-place, where I remained with the sick white woman and her husband. Also while I was there I cured her by my magic, and she is now whole, though still weak.” “We have been raided, you say? So he was right after alt” “Who was right, lord?” “Your master, Zwart Piete.” “ja, he was right if he warned you. That young man has much wisdom. In a short space of time he has learnt much from me.” As Rinkals spoke Zwart Piete, Sannie, de Kok and the coloured men rode up; they had recognised him. “So, Rinkals, it has come?” Zwart Piete said. “Ir has come, master.” “If you want me, I am ready,” Zwart Piete cried “I will swallow the words which have been said, for I know that I did wrong, and what I have bought I will pay for.” “Thar is well spoken, Piete,” van Reenen said, holding out his hand, “for in war there is no man I would sooner have beside me” “I will not be beside you, van Reenen If I am with you in this it must be I who am in command.” “You are over young to command.” “Do you count the days of a commander? In war, Oom J Cannes, I am old,” he said bitterly, “for all my life I have known little else. Come, call your people and ask them if they will follow me. Sound your horn and let them come Bid them span out while we make a plan. Let them all come,” he added, “not only the men, but the women also, for this is a matter for every one, since not a single head of stock remains in Canaan.” Drawing a cow’s horn from b’s belt, van Reenen sent his call wailing over the mountains, and the people assembled quickly while the servants, their dark faces grey with fear, spanned out and stood herding their respective spans. *** 5 For a moment Zwart Piete sat his horse, looking at the bearded faces of those who stood about him, the older men grimly ill at ease fingering their guns, the young men and boys staring at him in wonder. This was Zwart Piete the hunter, the man whose name was a power in the north. They saw to what he owed his achievements and, forgetful of his crime, were grateful for his company in this crisis. The shrill neigh of Zwart Piete’s grey confronted by so many strange stallions broke the silence and, quieting him, his master began to speak. “People of Canaan, you know me,” he said.” You knew what I have done. I took this woman”—he pointed to Sannie —” from Hendrik van der Berg. I have her and will hold her; also, lest you think I am ashamed, I will tell you now that what I did I would do again. But this is war, and it is for you to choose if you would be led by me or if, because you are in doubt as to the ways of my life, you would prefer another. It is your choice. I have led too long to serve, and if you do not want me to lead you I will turn aside and leave you. Think well before you speak and ask your women, for this is no light matter; all your beasts are dead or gone, and your houses are burnt. My p’an,” he went on, “is this: that I take the young men with me and recover the stock while van Reenen and the Others go into laager, for it may well be that the whole country is up and that right through the north men nd women he murdered on the veld and the smoke of their homes rises high into the skies. “If you do not want me,” he said, “there are others who will. There are many who in such times will welcome Zwart Piete the hunter, and those that he has with him.” As he finished speaking the Boers burst into argument, some being for and some against him. Dismounting, Zwart Piete stood leaning against his saddle with his rein looped over his arm talking to van Reenen and Rinkals, while Sannie and de Kok prepared food and Paul Fieters’ men looked to their weapons, firing their guns and reloading them With slugs. As Zwart Piete nad known, it was the women who were for him and who convinced the men that he was right. Whatever be had done, he was a man, a leader, decisive and energetic, and surely one bold enough to carry off a woman from Hendrik van der Berg would be able to get back their stolen beasts. Their houses could be rebuilt, but their herds were their very lives and irreplaceable. At the end of an hour the men came forward. “We will ride with you,” they said. “Pick those that you want.” Slowly, weighing each according to what he knew of him— his age, his appearance, and the quality of his mount—Zwart Piete chose twenty men. They were young men, who, unless he were wrong, would fight and follow without argument. “Are you ready?” he asked. “We ate ready,” they said. “Then we will ride. Sannie,” he said, “you will remain with your father. And Rinkals”—he turned to the old Kaffir—“guard her with your wisdom, for she is my life, and if I do not return, you will collect that which is owing to me and pay it to her.” “Lord,” Rinkals said, “your words are my law. What you say is already done” Wheeling his horse, Zwart Piete rode down the steep hillside with his men strung out behind him. They moved off silently, and only the noise of their horses’ hoofs on the loose stones was heard. The women watched them go anxiously, for each of these men was loved by a wife or a mother, and on their success depended the livelihood of all. ** Chapter Twenty-Eight The settlement presented a spectacle that made the Boers look at each other in angry dismay. It seemed incredible that in the few days they had been away such a change could have taken place. Only Zwart Ptete, riding at their head, smiled grimly, for this was what he had foreseen. Not a homestead was left standing; all had been fired, and the thatch, falling inwards, had consumed everything that was in the houses, so that only the blackened walls, cracked by the heat of the flames, remained. Buildings were destroyed, trees felled and uprooted, while their servants, such as they had left in charge of their homes and who had remained faithful to them, lay ridiculously dead, fallen without dignity, grasping with already putrid hands at the spears which pierced them. The cattle, horses, sheep, goats and donkeys were gone. Dogs, cats and poultry were dead, farming implements broken, and the work of the years they had spent in Canaan was made as nothing and less than nothing, for they were left without even the wherewithal to begin again. There was no living thing in Canaan, and save for the vultures perched on the trees which rose heavily as they came, and the pigeons that wheeled about above their broken cotes, there was no life, no movement. Some buildings still smouldered, and the scent of the acrid smoke mixed with that of the rotting dead was sickly sweet in their nostrils. Homestead after homestead they passed, and each was the same, a ruin that still smouldered or was burnt out; in this lay the only difference between one house and another. The lands, too, were devastated. Here was wanton anger let loose. Here was the result of taking land from the natives and thinking that those who came down from their mountain fastness to stare and to trade, or even to work, were tame. It was not hard to see what had happened. The Kaffirs had come in three parties, one from each side of the mountain, following its horseshoe bend, while the third and strongest had come out of the bush. Working inwards towards the centre of the settlement, driving the stolen beasts in front of them, the Kaffirs had met and, merging the cattle into a single herd, had driven them off. Their spoor was like a road; the grass that had been under their feet was crushed and pulverised, and the thorn scrub hung with hairs torn from their tails. Ja, to follow them was easy enough, and it should not be difficult to get them back. But what then? What would happen next? This problem occupied Zwart Piete, for, encouraged by this facile victory, the Kaffirs would undoubtedly return; and the question of ammunition was uppermost in his mind as he rode towards the hills, for save that which the Boers had with them on their persons or in their wagons there was none. The reserves which had been left barrelled in their homes were gone, exploded by the fires, while their pigs of lead were melted down and lost in the wastage of the houses *** 2 Piding ahead of his men w‘th three scouts extended on either side of him, Zwart Piete followed along the spoor. To the main body of young Boers his progress seemed incredibly slow, for he never advanced till his scouts were in possession of every strategical point, and one scout never went forward till he was covered by the guns of the others. Ach, God, to think that Zwart Piete is as young as we, they said, and yet his movements are as slow and cautious as those of an old man They were hot. angry and inexperienced, while Piete du Plessis was none of these things. He had come to destroy those who had destroyed, and like an angel of vengeance his spirit soared on slow, strong wings. As he rode he did not look young, but old, his face was unmoved, like stone, his dark eyes expressionless and preoccupied, his hands did not tremble, and his movements were deliberate and controlled. Without joy or hope or fear he went forward, and, thinking of nothing but the business that he had on hand, he led his men cautiously through the hills, controlling them with a word or by a gesture when they wished to press on. Beside him rode his servant de Kok and the two that his uncle Paul Pieters had lent him. On the success of this venture rested Sannie’s safety, for within a given space of time blows must be struck, and either the Boers or the Kafirs must conquer. He thought of what old Jakalaas had said of the naked Kaffirs, for it was these that he feared. They were real men, warriors bred to war, men with nothing to lose and all to gain. How many of them were there? Who was their leader and how were they organised? Still thinking of the renegade Zulus he went on. Alert for signs of danger, he continued to think of the powder and the lead, of Sannie and the numbers and the qualities of his enemies. Kaffirs he did not fear, Zulus he knew enough of to dread. Their fighting was well organised, they were full of stratagems, and their courage and physique were unsurpassed. Well disciplined and utterly careless of their Eves, conscious only of the thirst of their spears, these men were irresistible, unintimidated by the deaths of their comrades, encouraged even by their deaths, the survivors would leap their writing bodies and plunge into the encounter with their terrible war cry. Bulala! Bulala! was their cry—kill, kill. To kill was their pride—it was the one thing they knew, and with a shortage of ammunition the success of the Boers depended on the ratio between the numbers of the Zulus and the amount of lead and powder at their disposal All this, however, was a matter to be considered later, and though he toyed with it in his mind as a problem that would have to be faced, Zwart Piete concentrated on the matter in hand: the recapture of the stolen herds. *** 3 It was late evening when Hans Schoeman galloped in from the extreme right flank with the news that high up on the berg he had discovered the native stronghold. “Were you seen?” Zwart Piete asked. “I was not seen,” he said. “I left my horse hidden and crawled like a snake on my belly till I was near them. They are ours, Piete,” he said, “for they feast and suspect nothing.” “Ja, they are ours if what you say be true.” ‘Do you think I lie?” the young man asked. “No, I do not think that you lie, but it is possible that you deceive yourself.” Piete hesitated for a moment with his eyes fixed on the flat-topped hill that Schoeman had pointed out, and then he said: “How far is it, Hans?” “Four or five miles.” “Then we can do it in an hour.” “Easily we can do it,” the boy answered. “Come, we will go,” Piete said, turning his horse. “We will go and reconnoitre.” “What, are we going alone?” “Yes,” Zwart Piete said. “If they are not prepared we are in.no danger.” It was midnight when Zwart Piete and Hans returned to the waiting Boers. What is the news?” they asked. “Is it good?” “Ja, it is good. Were it not, you had not seen us, and the credit belongs to Jan.” “You saw the cattle?” “We saw some of them, not all, but a big clompie of a thousand head or more; but it was very dark, and at night it is hard to see how many beasts there are in a herd. “Ja, it is hard,” they agreed. “Now, my friends,” Zwart Piete said, “this is my plan: that we leave our horses at the foot of the berg with four men to watch over them, while we climb the mountain, going slowly, with our veldschoen slung about our necks by their laces, arranging to get there before the dawn breaks. We will then attack and wipe these Kaffirs out. I have been tight round the mountain top, and on the far side there is a krantz. That is the only place we will leave open, for,” he went on, “it is only a fool who surrounds an enemy. They will run towards this place, not realising their danger, and will stand to fight there, not with their backs towards a wall, which is good, but with their backs to a void which every now and then they will turn to look at as we press them. Their fear from the rear will become as great or greater than their fear from the front, and thus caught between the two, the fire of our guns and the emptiness of the precipice, their resistance will crumble. Some will run towards us valiantly, trying to fight their way out, while others will endeavour to escape down the steep mountainside. Are you agreed that this plan is good?” he asked. We are agreed,” they said; and, mounting, they followed him into the darkness of the hills to the place he had selected for the horses to wait. At first the going was easy, but later, as the slopes steepened, they had to fight for their breath to keep up with their leader. Black kloofs were penetrated, moonlit krantzes passed, and still they climbed. The stronghold had been well chosen and, had the Kaffirs been ready for them, was well-nigh impregnable. But they were not ready, and Zwart Piete was a fine and resourceful leader Nevertheless, it was jumpy work for those unaccustomed to war, for they could easily have been ambushed by Kaffirs hidden behind the rocks that were scattered so profusely about the mountainside or in one of the deep sluits that ran down almost vertically from the narrow terraces that were interspaced among the ridges. Not daring even to whisper, the men climbed with the sweat running from their foreheads into their eyes. All went well till they reached the top, and then a dog barked, waking the warriors, who should have been on watch, but who, lulled into security by the beer they had drunk and the meat they had eaten, slept by the dying fires. Brandishing their spears, they rushed forward, only to turn back as they saw the Boers, silhouetted against the paling sky, emerge from the blackness of the mountainside. Not even waiting to throw their weapons, they ran shouting the alarm. Put on your shoes,” Zwart Piete cried, “and charge before they can form up.” Cutsing and snouting as they ran, the Boers closed in, and to the surprised Kaffirs seemed much more numerous than they really were As the newly awakened warriors ran from their huts the Boers shot them down and, surrounding the village, fired the huts and forced them back towards the krantz. The Kaffirs fought as Zwart Piete had said they would, spasmodically, rushing forward, then losing courage and turning back, and each time after each stand they made, they were nearer to the cliff As they were driven they kept looking over their shoulders and fighting more desperately, trying to break through; but the Boers, who at first had been bent over a wide arc, many pace? apart, were now standing almost shoulder to shoulder, and fired consistently into the crowd of Kaffirs in front of them, pouring volley after volley into them. There were not only men: women and children had also run out, and these hampered the men, and it was they who in the end led the panic by leaping from the top of the precipice. “Drive them now,” Zwart Piete shouted. “Close in and drive them.” Firing a last volley, the Boers clubbed their guns and charged, forcing the few Kaffirs who remained firm by the sheer force of attack and the weight of their anger to leap. So ended the fight on the fiat mountaintop, a victory in which more Kaffirs died by leaping down the krantz than from the Boer bullets. And in the morning, when they looked down, the trees below the mountain were festooned with bodies many of which still moved, while others lay broken on the rocks of the valley. Setting light to the rest of the huts, the Boers collected their cattle, some nine hundred and fifty head, only a third of what they had lost, but a third was a great deal ro people who had lost all, and turned homewards. *** 4 Driving the cattle in front of them, the Boers rode towards Canaan. Led by the bulls, the herd surged over the veld in an ever-changing formation, sometimes as solid as a carpet, at others straggling mro a woof of isolated threads that broke away to snatch hungrily at the grass they passed. So they advanced, fanning out in the open country or closing in as they defiled through the narrow kloofs of the echoing hills, strung out in an endless necklace of long black-tipped horns and particoloured hides. A necklace that writhed back on itself, twisting like a hurt thing as the maddened beasts strove to readjust themselves under the herding of their masters who pressed them on. Calves and older beasts lagged and were abandoned, for there was no time to waste, and the speed of the herd was no longer the normal one, it was no longer regulated to the speed of the weakest and the slowest beasts. This was no drifting of cattle; it was a wild and bitter herding Why so fast, Piete?” Hans Schoeman asked. “We are foundering them.” The questioner looked back at a young cow that was calving on the road behind them: she was in some difficulty, and his farmer’s instinct was to help her. She is mine,” he said, “and it is her first calf.” Pulling up his sweating horse and facing him, Zwart Piete answered angrily: Before God, with you it is always why? Are you a woman, that you must question? For years now I have Jed men who followed me without asking. When I fail you it will be time enough to ask; such of you who live can then ask what you will,” he concluded bitterly. “But I will tell you why I am hurrying. Our guns are needed at the laager And where do you think we are going to put the beasts when we get them back? Can a thousand odd head go into the laager? Can they be ringed about by the wagons. Will you tell me that?” he asked. “Tell me,” he insisted, “or are you so foolish that you have never thought of this?” “I do not know where we will put them, Piete,” Hans said. ”You do not know, because there is nowhere, and all we can do is to make them run, and by the time I get them back they will be so tired and footsore that they cannot be driven off again. So ride, fool, and drive them hard. If we lose the half, we will still have some, and those that are left will be the best and the strongest. This is war,” he said. “It is not a children’s game, and had you listened instead of laughing at me, when I warned you of this danger, it would never have come about.” Leaving the astonished man, Zwart Piete drove his horse into the rail of the herd, using his sjambok on the flanks and quarters of those that were moving roo slowly, forcing them up among their companions, so that they plunged, rearing up into the backs of those in front of them in their effort to escape his blows. Zwart Piete was only aware of the urgency of speed. At all costs the herd must be hurried; and with the thunder of hoofs in his ears he rode on, at times only able to see his horse’s ears above the dust of the moving cattle. This work with cattle was new to the grey arab, and he did not take to it kindly; he was restive and angry under Zwart Piete’s hand. It was at this moment that a group of young men who should have been on the flanks of the herd rode up. “We have seen more beasts,” they said, “another clompie over there, and we are going after them.” ”You ate mad,” Zwart Piete said. “First we must get these back, and when we have broken the Kaffirs we will collect our herds and theirs as well.” “We are going,” they said. “Ja, we are going, I saw the beasts” It was Beyers who spoke. “Do you think we will leave our cattle when we have seen them?” he asked. “Hundreds of them in a kloof, and all moving slowly towards the hills.” “I am in command,” Zwart Piete said, “and it is my we’d that you remain.” “You were in command for the attack,” they said. “Ja, and very well you conducted it. But these are our beasts.” ‘ Then go, fools. But how many will stay with me?” he asked, looking round. “How many are there who are not mad?” “Ten of us are going, and the rest say they will remain to take on the herd we have.” “I have done what I can,” Piete said,” and I can do no more. You asked me to lead, and now you are divided against me. By God, you are fools and the sons of fools to think that you can teach me my business; you are like children who play at being men.” And, wheeling his horse, he left them, galloping after the herd, which had gone on. *** 5 In Canaan, Johannes van Reenen was organising his defence Roused at last out of his lethargy by the necessity of the moment, he drove his people into laager, and once again, for the first time since the trek had ended, the wagons were lashed together in a great circle, once again the patient oxen spent the night tied to their trek tows, a wall of living flesh about the wagons. The ring of wagons was set against one of the arms of the river, so that there would be no difficulty in getting water, and as an added protection from attack on that side. Every gun was loaded and the powder and ball distributed so that all had ammunition The old iron cannon was cleaned up and lashed down with rawhide strips to the bed of a wagon. Von Rhule the soldier had made this his special charge. Then came a period of waiting and speculation. When would they be attacked? Where was Zwart Piete with the young men* And where were their beasts? The time was passed in the reading of the Bible and in the cleans.ng of their weapons by the men, while the women, assuming a false courage, knitted with trembling fingers to pass the dragging time At van Re even’s instructions such lead as there was they melted down into slugs, which they set in cylinders of hard fat or wrapped in little bags of oiled raw hide which would slip easily down the barrels of their smooth-bored guns. At close quarters these cartridges did great execution, and half the pockets of the wide leather bandoliers the Boers wore were filled with them. The shining tin plates of the women that were among their most treasured possessions were sacrificed and melted to mix with the lead to give it hardness, one part tin to two parts lead being the best proportion. Hunting knives were sharpened till their blades were like razors, and such Kaffirs as were faithful stropped their spears, rubbing them continuously against soft greased stones, or fitting new shafts to old discarded heads, tried their balance in their hands, for in the winning of this battle was their safety dependent, and, lacking the Boer faith in God, they trusted to the guns of their master and to the sharpness of their own spears. All was prepared and the laager good when Zwart Piete and his depleted force rode in with the exhausted beasts. Two hundred had fallen by the way, and those that he drove before him were scarcely recognisable by their masters when they rode our among them. “What have you done to our beasts, Zwart Piete?’ they asked. “Certainly you may be a good captain in war, but you are no farmer to over-drive our cattle thus,” they said. And again Zwart Piete had to explain. Leaving the Boers staring disappointedly at their stock, he rode round the laager, seeking a way into it as though he were an enemy. He tested the lashings of the wagons, dragged at the bush that had been pulled fast beneath their beds and found h’mseif satisfied in all but one particular. “The wheels are not safe, Johannes,” he said. “We have here forty wagons, that is eighty wheels on the outside of the r.ng, and I want eighty oxen killed so that their hides may be spread over the wheels and harden there before we are at racked.” ‘You want eighty head of cattle killed?” Johannes said. “Before God, Zwart Piete, they will never do this thing.” “You are right, Johannes, they will never do it, so I must. Sannie is here, and their wives and children are here, yet they still will hesitate; always they talk and wait, hoping for miracles and looking to the sky as if the angels of God, the cohorts of the Almighty, would come springing to their assistance. “Call them,” he said. “I am the leader, and I will take the responsibility. Before God, if they insist on it, I will repay them with my own beasts, those that my uncle has in bis keeping, if they live to demand repayment.” And so to die astonishment of the Boers, to their anger, which they dared only express in mutterings when faced by Zwart Fiete’s scorn, they watched their beasts being slaughtered by his men. De Kok and the two he had with him killed them while he sat on his grey horse supervising the butchery, and the Kaffir servants flayed them The dripping skins were spread over the wheels, and were soon as hard as drums and all but impenetrable to spears, so tighdy did they contract as they dried in the hot evening sun. *** 6 Beyers, when he left Zwart Piece, led his party through the foothills to where he had seen the beasts. “Ja,” he said, “they are still there, and are drifting upwards towards the mountains” From where they sat on their horses, the Boers looked and, shading their eyes with their hands, stared at the cattle moving above them. “There are not very many,” they said, as with practised eyes they estimated their numbers. “There are more than that,” Beyers said. “Look further among the trees.” And following his gesture, they saw a large herd. They could not tell how many there were, but they could see them clearly enough—red, black and parti-coloured—as they grazed their way along. Two hundred, anyway, perhaps three hundred or more; and, following their leader’s signal, they rode on. The cattle they were following behaved curiously, for instead of choosing the best grazing, they seemed to go consistently towards the worst, making for a dry plateau, where the stunted bush was thick and the grass looked scarce, thin and harsh. Still, no matter where they went they would follow; they would show Zwart Piete that he was not the only one who could recapture stolen cattle, and that they, the farmers on whom he had poured his contemptuous anger, were as capable as he. They beard them now, heard the bellow of a bull and the low call of cows to their calves. Following Beyer’s plan, they spread out to cast a net about them, to surround them and turn them back; but they went warily, for no doubt there would be some Kaffirs with these beasts; but, elated by their previous victory, the Boers were not afraid. Even when they found themselves in bush so broken that they could scarcely see each other as they rode and their direction was hard to keep, they did not lose confidence. In this kind of country they were no longer a firm body of mounted men: instead, they were a collection of isolated units which picked their way among the thorn scrub as they followed the spotted hides of the beasts that moved in front of them. The animals seemed to be slowing up — certainly they were gaining on them. At the sound of a shot they charged forward, intending to ride through the beasts and turn them, driving them in front of them as they fought their way back. But as they galloped up to the herd its shape changed, the long spotted forms that they had seen through the bush became vertical, and the naked Kaffirs who had led them into this ambush by hiding behind their oxhide shields, pretending to be cattle, sprang up and turned upon them. There were a few cattle in the herd, some thirty head at most, and the rest that they had seen were men, savages who had led them on into a country where they were helpless, and where the dismounted men, armed with spears and kerries, had the advantage over them. From all sides the Zulus ran in upon the Boers, not giving them time to reload. Beating their shields, they came from all sides, shouting wildly for blood. Dragging the white men from their horses as they ran beside them, leaping up behind their saddles, the naked Kaffirs butchered the Boers, who were as helpless as calves in their hands, and of whom not one remained alive. ** Chapter Twenty-Nine IN the laager day followed day, and still the young Boers did not return, for which Zwart Piete, since he had been in charge of the expedition, was blamed by their parents and their friends, as if his authority had been enough to stay them. Very well he knew what had happened. Simple farmers greedy for the recapture of their stock, they had thought that native warriors under organised chiefs could be dealt with in the same off-hand manner as a party of thieving Kaffirs, who, hungry for meat, stole a straying cow. The more he thought of it the more Zwart Piete saw the seriousness of the situation. For though as yet no natives had been seen, there were many signs of them. The smoke of their cooking fires rose in thin straggling columns on the hillsides, and flecks of birds that should have rested in the heat of the day flew screaming up from the surrounding bush. It was war, war such as even he had never seen, and this defensive fighting was contrary to his nature, fighting in which no chances must be taken because of the women and children with him, and in which because he had only old men, or men who if they were not actually old were past their prime, and boys to help him, he could not use to take the offensive, but must wait, allowing to the enemy the initiative which he had hitherto considered his prerogative. He thought longingly of his men in Mozambique, of his Arabs, his Bastards and his N’Coussie. Before God, with these he would not haze tied down to a wagon circle. With these he would have taught the Zulus a lesson. The loss of ten guns, ten mounted Boers whom he could have used to sally out and counter-attack was a great blow to bis plans, all but wrecking them, and the period of waiting for action affected him more than it did the others, for his was not a nature that was accustomed to delay, and day by day the weight of his responsibility bore more heavily upon him. What fools these men about him were. Why had they not taken his advice earlier? Why had they not hunted the naked Kaffirs cut of their land and broken them. But they had not, and now he must pay for their folly, and Sannie mast pay. The thought of Sannie’s danger made him, who had known many fears, afraid in a way that he had never been before, twisting his mind till it became a blank of horror. Like a dog Sannie followed him about, and was herself followed by Jakalaas. Her fears for Piete were as great as his fears for her, or greater, for she knew that, whatever happened, he would be to the fore, the first to face the dying spears, and the last to turn from them. It was arranged between the three of them that if the end came they would kill her, either he or her servant, with one swift stab; and they were not the only ones in the laager who had come to this arrangement, and many men looked at the breasts of their wives wonderingly, their fear being that there might not be time, or that the women who promised so freely now, would blench. But at last their anxiety ended, and it was almost with relief that they heard the natives calling to one another in the mountains, throwing their voices from peak to peak through the still morning air. “They are coming,” they said as they tightened their belts. The period of waiting was over, the issue was at hand. As the sun rose in the sky, band after band appeared, the natives from nearby looking like pigmies beside the plumed and naked Zulus, who, holding themselves in groups, stood proudly apart. Keeping out of range, the Kaffirs circled about the laager, shouting defiance as they drove off the cattle for a second time. Calling on six of the best mounted Boers ro follow him, Zwart Piete rode out to try to tempt the Kaffirs nearer, but he failed in this, for the natives would not approach, and answered his taunts by their own, telling him of how they had eaten up his young men in the mountains. Bcasting of how they had once again recaptured the cattle and threatening the white women and children, they exulted over their future possession of them. “Ai,” they shouted, “your women shall be the mothers of our bastards; they shall be slaves and you will be food for vultures and jackals, and your bones will be widely spread, for we are like lions, fearless and hungry for flesh. Our spears are thirsty, their points eager to bite, their blades anxious to shear.” “We must wait,” Zwart Piete said. “The initiative is in their hands, and they are well led.” Soon there would be a battle, and his blood sang as he thought of its magnitude; win who might, the dead would be piled high about the wagons When it was over. “They will not attack to-day,” he said, “for they still raise men. They have sent out messengers, dragging the bleeding tails of tigers and lions, calling all their people to war, for this time it is in my mind that they mean to make an end of the white man’s dominion in their land.” And as they watched they saw more and more men come in. Some in great companies of shouting, vainglorious warriors, others »n small detachments, while some, who had been delayed by their affairs, came in alone, trotting over the veld, their spears rattling against their shields as they ran. The number of the Kaffirs seemed endless, and the stout hearts of the Boers sank as they thought of the scarcity of their powder. So far in all their wars no laager had been taken while the ammunition held But if it did not hold—what then? A swift estimate of the forces opposed to them, as their strength increased, soon convinced Zwart Piete that the fight would be bitterly contested, and the chances of victory no more than even. There remained the possibility of obtaining assistance from Lemansdorp if that place was not also being besieged and if they could hold out till it came. But how to get it? Who to send? And would help come in time? At least if they died they would be well avenged, Zwart Piete thought, seeking comfort in this. His uncle would sec to it; he would not rest until payment in full was made. Before God, there would be much death in the land vzhen Paul Pieters came and the warm air would be sweet with the scent of Kaffir bodies. But revenge was for others, for their friends and relations, for those who would see to it, that once and for all, there was no recurrence of such an event as this. While he sat on a wagon-box thinking, Rinkals came up to him. The old man’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Lord,” he said, “I have seen visions.” “ja, Rinkals, I also have seen visions,” Zwart Piete said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the Kaffirs. “More than I want to see,” he added. “The baas remembers that before we started I counselled him not to come and that, as I looked into the future, I saw death,” Rinkals said “You old aasvogel, you always see death,” de Kok sa>d. “but it is others who die, while you live—you, who should long since have died still drink beer and go with women.” “Ai, I have seen visions,” Rinkals repeated, ignoring de Kok, be screamed, “The dead were piled like pumpkins on a rich soil about the laager.” “Must one be skilled in witchcraft to know all this?” de Kok asked scornfully. “Even I, who am a Griqua Bastard, know of it.” “You know nothing,’ Rinkals said, “your mother’s milk being scarcely dry upon youi lips Ai,’ he continued, “what can you know compared to me, who have made nations, and unmade them, who can cause water to flow and barren women to give birth’ Wide is my fame, and so strong my medicine that did I wish it I could make myself invisible and walk out through the hosts that oppose us.” “Coaid you go to Lemansdorp?” Zwart Piete asked suddenly. “I could go anywhere, lord, and because you are in haste I will go there in the guise of a bird, flying straightly over the high mountains about your business. Give me lettets,” he said. “Prepare them while I make the mouti which turns me into a bird of the air, and as soon as darkness falls I will go, and none shall know that I have passed. For who counts the nightjars or the owls that wing their way by night?” “Then get ready and prepare while I wr’te?” Zwart Piete said. *** 2 And still the natives did not attack. Secure in the knowledge that the Boers were birds in their hands, the counsel of the chiefs was to wait, letting the white men tire themselves with watching and exhaust their ammunition with long and futile shots. Time, since they had meat in plenty, being to the Kaffirs less than nothing, and each hour more men arrived to assist in the eating up of the Boers, and greedy for the loot of the wagons. More and more men came till their numbers rose to a thousand, and their shouting was a never-ceasing noise. Under the guns of the Boers and covered by the old iron cannon, the horses and oxen were watered, but they got no grazing, and stout horses trembled under the weight of riders, whose eyes were red with sleepless watching and whose faces were drawn with fear. Husbands avoided looking at their wives, and women were sharp With their children or too tender. As darkness fell the Boers tied lanterns to the tops of their long wagon whips and rested, waiting for the attack that did not come. The letter ready, Zwart sent de Kok for Rinkals After some delay the coloured man returned. “He comes, baas,” he said. “He comes, but the night bird very drunk; his mouti has been dop which he has stolen,” As he spoke Rinkals appeared, naked, except for a loincloth of breyed hide, every bone of his skinny body was outlined with phosphorescent paint. Even his face was painted as a skull, and on to his shoulder tied to the left side of his neck was the woman’s skull from which he was never parted. This also was painted, so that he appeared to be the moving and luminous skeleton of a two-headed man. A woman screamed as she saw him, and Rinkals, reeling towards her, laughed. “Ai, ai, lord,’ he said to Zwart Piete. “If I frighten the white people, will not the Kaffirs flee from me? Is this not better than being a bird? For thus I shall strike terror into the hearts of our enemies, and then later, when I have done this, I will set on my wings and fly with quick beats to Lemansdorp. A.,” he went on, as he leant against a wagon wheel for support, “nowhere in these regions is there one to compare with me either for intelligence or perspicacity. I can make the waters to flow or to stop flowing, give birth to Zula impis and attend to the making and unmaking of great kings” “And did you make these Zulus, you skelm?” de Kok asked. “By Goth the scent of smoke and of the meat they grilled on their spears Them nerves strained by the waiting which they had to endure, the Boers stared and listened with their guns in their hands or held over the crook of their arms. They had given praise to God for their double victory, and had prayed that Leman and his men would come soon. It must be soon or it would be too late. It must be soon or this place would know them no more and the land of Canaan be as the valley of the shadow of death and the furnace of affliction It was as they stood thus talking in groups that Martinus came up to Zwarr Piete, Sannie and her father. “Marietje is sick,” he said. “I think sne is going to die.” He paused and went on, speaking so softly that they could hardly hear his words. “Marietje has asked me to sing the old songs,” he said, “that my great voice may drown the sounds of the Kaffirs and give her peace. It is fitting,” he said, “that I should sing to my wife as she goes, for it was by singing that she came to me.” Resting his gun against the wagon, he turned to tune his little harp, turning the pegs till the strings were taut, plucking at them one after the other, playing notes and chords till, satisfied, he drew breath and raised his voice. Deep and strong, it soared over the camp, rising and falling, tragic in its pathetic and simulated gaiety. First he sang the song he had sung at the dance three years ago, the one of his own composition that dealt with the trek they had made, and then he sang others. His voice now low, now loud and clear as the call of a trumpet. Song after song he sang for an hour or more, till even the wild Kaffirs were stilled and many Boers wept; and all the time amid the gathering of the people who had closed round him, Martinus was alone and singing with his eyes half-closed, saw only his wife who lay dying on the riempie bed of his wagon, and the children who were dead, his, hers, and the one that they had shared. *** 6 It came at dawn. Masted in serried ranks, the natives ringed them below the mountain. The Kaffirs were on the flanks, and the Zulus in the centre. Their minds misted by the blood in their brains, their wide nostrils dilated by the smell of battle, they were eager and impatient as horses, stamping their feet. Soon their spear tips would bite into flesh, soon they would feel their edges grind against bone. In front of them was their captain and the lesser captains under him, and as they watched the Boers saw this man throw down all his spears but one, and this one, bending the shaft O”er his knee, he snapped. With a wild shout his men did likewise. This was death, this time they would throw no assegais; they would leave that to the mountain Kaffirs: for they were Zulus, and would charge with their shortened spears, stabbing and ripping. Still they did not attack, but stood out of range of the guns gloating, savouring the pleasure of the battle in anticipation, dancing and swaying their plumes, beating their shields with their kerries and shouting boasts, challenges and insults as they stamped, their feet moving faster and faster as the pulse of their blood rose. A hundred and fifty yards of open ground separated them from the Boers, and on it lay the many dead who were already grotesquely swollen, the residue of the tide of war, the outcome of the actions on the previous day. Bold as they were, the even distribution of these bodies was a deterrent to the impetuosity of the warriors: before they could get in with their spears they must cross this ground, cross it and face the withering fire that destroyed, men as fire on a high wind destroyed grass. As they waited, wondering at the delay, the Boers saw a parry of Kaffirs break away and trot off into the veld. When they had left, the warriors sat down squatting on their heels, or lay down to rest They were laughing. “What devilry is this?” the Boers asked of each other, and it was not long before they knew, for soon they saw a great cloud of dust as the cattle which had been stolen from them were driven back. As they arrived the natives opened up to make a way for them and then, closing behind them, goading them forward with their spears, charged down upon the laager, running amid the maddened beasts. Shooting was all but impossible, for the Zulus were clouded by dust and hidden by the bodies of the cattle. Horns, headdresses and spear tips were all that could be seen, the shields of oxhide blending with the live beasts as the crouching warriors ran beside them and, abandoning them as they reached the wagons, leapt out as the herd, breaking into two, ran sideways round the laager. Like a black wave crested with white plumes the Zulus leapt upwards and were met by bullets fired so close that the explosion of the guns burnt their chests. Falling back, the attackers were replaced by a second wave and a third. The weight of the attack was such that it rocked the wagons, and the dead were piled higher than the hubs of the wheels. As he fought Zwart Piete saw Sannie fall with an assegai through her breast and, unable to reach another, turned, his gun in his hand, and brought the butt crashing dow n on the head of the Zulu nearest to him. All round the shouts of battle were deafening, and the cries of the wounded a refrain that sounded above it. More and more Zulus poured into the laager. Here and there, standing back to back, men and women still fought, with their dead children at their feet, fought and were overwhelmed. For an hour or more the Kaffirs ravaged the wagons, looting and killing the wounded, pursuing the horses and spearing the dogs. Then there was silence. It was over in Canaan, and the Kaffirs, bending to wipe their spears on the tussocky grass, drew off to rest. They carried guns and knives and axes n their hands. They had eaten up these white people, defeated those whom by repute were invincible. They had captured great herds of cattle, horses, sheep and goats, and the song they sang was that of victory. They were elephants that trampled those who opposed them. They were lions who ripped up and destroyed. They were Zulus: their glory was undenied. ** Chapter Thirty It was early morning when Rinkals reached Lemansdorp. He had come fast for so old a man, and was well nigh exhausted when he found Gert Kleinhouse in his cattle kraal, supervising the milking of his cows. “Who are you? And what do you want?” Gert asked. “I am Rinkals, the snake who spits venom, and w’here is the white woman Mevrou de Jong, baas, for I bring a letter to her from my master who says that she is here with you. Baas,” he said, leaning against the milking post to which a cow was tied, “send for your horse. It is war. The country they call Canaan js besieged, and the naked Kafirs and those of the mountains are like locusts and ants about it. I have come over the hills with wings on my feet. Ja, over the mountains and the krantzes I have come more swiftly than is possible for mortal man. For two more days they may hold out, for they are short of food for their guns in Canaan, but for no longer— perhaps not even for so long. Therefore you must ride, master, and call up the others before all is lost.” “Give me the letter,” Gert said. He read it slowly. “So what you say is true. Th^ >s from Zwart Piete, and he cues for help.” “Zwart Piete the hunter is my lord,” the old Kafir said. “Lucas, Kleinboi,” Gert shouted, “leave the cows. Leave them, I say, and get my horse. Tell Frantz that I want him to ride with me. Come to my house now,” he said to Rinkals, “for you must have food and rest.” A few moments later, having bidden his wife and grandmother good-bye, Gert left Rinkals to them, and rode off to raise the people. Christian Leman, to whom he went Erst, heard his tale, read Zwart Piete’s letter and sent out his call. In two hours the commando was assembled and ready to move off, and hardly had they gone when the first of the wagons lumbered up into the outspan, for here, according to Lemans orders, they were to laager. Mounted and armed coloured guards were flung out beyond the cattle and horses which had, as soon as danger threatened, been drafted into one great herd. Lemansdorp was ready if the Kaffirs came, and messengers were speeding over the veld to warn the other settlements that the black people were up, and that Canaan was besieged. Soon every village would be in laager, and commandos from each would be steering their way towards Canaan, to rescue or revenge. *** 2 In the laager on the outspan Tante Anna questioned Rinkals. Till now there had been no time, what with the hurried preparation of food for the men who were going, and the packing of the wagons for those who remained. Nor had Rinkals been in a condition to speak: faint with weariness, he had gorged himself and slept But now there was time. Ach God, how much time there was, which must be spent waiting and wondering. “Now, tell me, Rinkals,” said Tante Anna, whose foot had recovered miraculously at the first sign of danger. “What do you know of all this? Tell me who you are and of your life.” “Shall I tell you all?” Rinkals asked. Ja, tell me all.” He looked at the tree beside them and pointed up into its branches. “Were I to tell you all, mevrou,” he said, “we should have to wait for that tree to bloom again, and for new beans to be hanging where those are now, and still we should be here and still I would be talking. Nie, mevrou, beautiful as you are,” he looked at her vast bulk in admiration, “I could not tell you all, nor would it be seemly. Besides, I am a silent man, strong and taciturn and not one given to boasting; yet, were I to tell you the truth ft would sound as though I boasted, for I have done things that are unbelievable, and were I not to tell yon the truth it would be lies and that I should speak lies is distasteful to me. A lie, mevrou, scorches my tongue and burns up the water in my mouth. Therefore, I prefer to hold my -peace for there is wisdom in silence. Silence being held against no man nor can what he has not said be quoted against him.” “God give me patience,” Anna de Jong said. “Were you an ordinary Kaffir I should have you beaten.” Ja, mevrou, that is so, but I am not an ordinary Kaffir. I am Rinkals the wizard, whom some call Little Cloud Which Comes Before The Storm, and others Mamba. Also, have I been called Little Flower, for though I am small of stature, in my youth I was a beautiful young man and much beloved by women.” That was a long time ago,” Tante Anna said. “Ja, mevrou, that was many hundreds of years ago when the world was young. But this I will tell you, mevrou, that the doom of Canaan is upon your head, this I have seen clearly when I have looked into the other world, for in everything that has happened I have seen your hand. Aye, many stones have you thrown at the hornets’ nest, and now it is fallen and they buzz about our ears. Ja,” he went on, “you have stirred the pot, but you knew not what you cooked, and as I cast my spirit into the beyond I saw that which makes my heart sore. For those who ride to Canaan ride too late to save, mevrou; all they can do now is to avenge the dead. Canaan is no more, mevrou. I saw Canaan as wheels whose spokes have fallen from the nave and lie scattered in an emptiness of grass.” For days they talked, these two, the old Kaffir and the old white woman, for in both there was much wisdom, and each could see into the mind of the other and admire its dexterity. Louisa was lost in admiration for the witch-doctor, who to pass the time, taught her some of his magic. Such small things as might be useful to a woman; the casting of the evil eye, the making of simple love potions and one or two subtle poisons which would defy detection, tricks suitable to one who already bad some gifts in this direction, but whose knowledge was intuitive and hereditary rather than the result of continuous study under a professional adept at wizardry. To Rinkals, Anna de Jong soon talked openly of Sannle and her lover Herman, whom she had admired. And Rinkals spoke to her of Sara who had saved his life, of the Griqua whom he hated and of Zwart Piete whom above all other men he loved. He told her what a fine hunter he was, he cold her how he had allowed a lioness to play with him, and how he once got into difficulty by lying when he was drunk to a Portuguese, and of how he, Rinkals, had saved his face by his ever-ready wir. “Ja, Mevrou, Baas Piete was very drunk that day he said, ‘‘and boasted of having shot an eland through the head and hind foot with one shot.” “That could not be done,” Tanre Anna said. “Of course it could not be done, but he turned to me for confirmation of his tale, and I confirmed it. Ja, ja,” he said; “my wit is as ready and as strong as a river flowing through the rich land of my knowledge.” “Ja, it was a good lie,” Tante Anna said, “and you were most cunning to tell it” “But I have not told you what I said,” Rinkals protested. “Oh, did you not tell me? I thought you had or it may be that I grow confused, for in these last days you have said so much.” “Since I came I have hardly spoken,” Rinkals said; “my heart is too full of sorrow for me to speak and my tongue a dead thing in my mouth. But since you desire to hear this story, you shall have it, for I would not let my private sorrow impinge on my duties as the mevrou’s guest. It was done in this fashion,” he continued. “As we mounted the lower steps of the LemboDombo hills, my master saw a great eland bull and determined to slay it, but not wishing to spoil the meat, he shot is through the head” “Ja, he could well do that,” Anna de Jong said; “but what of the foot, since he shot it in the head how could he also shoot it in the foot with one ball’” “That is the point, mevrou, he did not do it, nor could he have explained it away without my aid. When he asked me to corroborate this tale I was for the moment perplexed, and so I said, “Ja, lord, of course you shot the eland through the head and the hind foot with one shot.’ And to give myself time, I began to laugh holding my belly, and as I laughed a great thought came to me. “It was done this way,’ I said. “As my lord fired so did the eland scratch his ear with his hind foot.’ But such things as these should not be held against him, mevrou, for he is young and there was a time when even I had no skill in such matters. Nie, mevrou, the art of conversation is not learnt in a day neither is it learnt in a year. But my master is a great man, and I fear that he is dead.” *** 3 For & month nothing happened in Lemansdorp and they heard no news, another week passed and then those in the laager saw the dust of a vast herd of cattle coming towards them, and an hour later the commando rode in. These were the recaptured beasts of Canaan which were now ownerless till the heirs of those who had died were traced, and with them were the Kaffir cattle that they had taken. Their story did not take long to tell, and Leman in a few words told it. “When we get there,” he said, “it was already finished. Riding hard as we did, we were still too late. All were dead, their bodies stuck as full with spears as porcupines with quills. Aye,” he said, “nothing was left, and the wagons were burnt, broken and tipped sideways. Their wheels had collapsed beneath them, for the Kaffirs had stripped off the iron tyres for the forging of spear-heads. “But there had been a great fight. Those folk had fought to the last and the dead were about them so thick that our horses had to pick their way over them, Ja, they lay like a parapet heaped up to the very beds of the wagons. Nothing is left,” he said. “Nothing, Canaan is no more. To-day it is a place of weeping that hunters will pass by, and Kaffirs even by day no longer approach. “There was no work left for us save to bury our dead, which we did, and to ride out for our revenge and we have taken it. “Kraal after kraal we have destroyed, and here are the cattle we have captured, those that were stolen and many more besides. We have also prisoners, young boys and girls that we have taken as apprentices, and we have lost but one man, Frantz Schoeman, who was killed in our first battle and only four men are wounded.” *** 4 Sitting with her arms folded, Tante Anna looked at Frikkie playing on the stoep beside her. So this was what was left of their effort. This was what remained of those who had ridden out of the Cape. Death had touched them with cold-fingered hands. Babylon was fallen and the folk of Canaan were as dust and scattered. Of that company which had followed Hendrik van der Berg, none were left but herself, Gert Kleinhouse, Frikkie, Jacoba and Louisa. Hendrik’s seed was sown on stony soil. All that was left of it was his son’s son, a small branch of a great tree, and the g’tl Jacoba. His other children had gone back with Sannie and were dead. Much had been destroyed but something remained. If he lived, the boy would rebuild the race of van der Berg. Sannie’s beauty was gone the way of Herman s youth and Hendrik’s strength, but their seed went on, the blood of these three was now concentrated in one small body; it was not lost, one day it would become active and potent, but she would never see that day. She was Old and felt the weight of her years. What she wanted now was comfort, a place to grow her vegetables and where she could keep pigs. It might even be that she would stay with her grandson and his wife. Blood was thicker than water, and if they wished to profit by her death, they would, until it occurred, treat her with that consideration to which a rich and aged relative was entitled. Ach, ja, they would keep her for many years in great comfort and should their kindness wane she had other relatives, a mention of whom would be enough to ensure the peaceful life that she desired. THE END