A Frontier Mystery

Chapter Twenty One.
Dolf Norbury Again

When two people, trekking together beyond the confines of civilisation fall out, the situation becomes unpleasant. If each has his own waggon, well and good, they can part company, but if not, and both are bound to stick together it spells friction. For this reason I have always preferred trekking alone.

Even my worst enemy could hardly accuse me of being a bad-tempered man, let alone a quarrelsome one. On the other hand I have never laid claim to an angelic disposition, and if I had the demeanour of my present companion would have taxed it to the uttermost, since we had each been betrayed into showing the other our hand. For my part I can honestly say the fact would have made no difference whatever in our mutual relations, but Falkner Sewin was differently hung. First of all he sulked heavily, but finding that this did not answer and that I was entirely independent of him for companionship, for I would talk to the Zulus by the hour – he threw that off and grew offensive – so much so that I felt certain he was trying to pick a quarrel with me. Had it been any other man in the world this would have concerned me not one atom, indeed he needn’t have tried overmuch. But here it was different. There was my promise to his cousin, and further, the consideration that Aïda Sewin was his cousin and thus very nearly related indeed. No, on no account must we come to blows, and yet the strain upon my temper became hourly more great.

I had not been able to trek when I had intended, by reason of something beyond the ordinary native delay in bringing in my cattle; in fact in one particular quarter I had some difficulty in getting them brought in at all. In view of the troubled state of the border this looked ominous. In ordinary times Majendwa’s people like other Zulus, though hard men of business at a deal, were reliability itself once that deal was concluded. Now they were inclined to be shifty and evasive and not always over civil; and all this had come about suddenly. Could it mean that war had actually broken out? It might have for all we knew, dependent as we were upon those among whom we dwelt for every scrap of information that might reach us from outside. Otherwise their behaviour was unaccountable. But if it had, why then we should be lucky to get out of the country with unperforated skins, let alone with a wheel or a hoof to our names.

Even Majendwa’s demeanour towards me had undergone a change, and that was the worst sign of all; for we had always been good friends. All his wonted geniality had vanished and he had become curt and morose of manner. I resolved now to take the bull by the horns, and put the question to Majendwa point-blank. Accordingly I betook myself to his hut, with that object. But the answer to my inquiries for him was prompt. The chief was in his isigodhlo, and could not be disturbed. This sort of “not at home” was unmistakable. I returned to the waggons.

Now an idea struck me. Was there more in that gruesome discovery of mine – and Falkner’s – than met the eye? Was the fact that we had made it, first one of us and then the other, at the bottom of the chief’s displeasure? It might have been so. At any rate the sooner we took the road again the better, and so I announced to Falkner that we would inspan at sunrise. His reply was, in his then mood, characteristic.

“But we haven’t traded off the stuff yet,” he objected. “I say. You’re not in a funk of anything, are you, Glanton? I ask because I rather wanted to stay on here a little longer.”

I turned away. His tone was abominably provoking, moreover I knew that he would be glad enough to return, and had only said the foregoing out of sheer cussedness.

“You have your horse,” I said. “If you like to remain I’ll leave Jan Boom with you, and you can easily find your way back.”

“Want to get rid of me, do you?” he rapped out. “Well you won’t. Not so easily as that. No – you won’t.”

To this I made no answer. At sunrise the waggons were inspanned. Then another difficulty cropped up. The boys who were to have driven the herd of trade cattle, at any rate as far as the border, did not turn up. In disgust I was prepared to take them on myself with the help of Mfutela. Falkner had learnt to drive a waggon by this time and now he must do it. His reply however when I propounded this to him was again characteristic. He was damned if he would.

The knot of the difficulty was cut and that unexpectedly, by the appearance of the chief’s son, and with him some boys.

“These will drive your cattle, Iqalaqala,” he said.

“That is well, Muntisi,” I answered. “And now son of Majendwa, what has come between me and the chief that he holds my hand no more? Is there now war?”

We were a little apart from the others, and talk in a low slurred tone that natives use when they don’t want to be understood.

“Not war,” he answered; “at any rate not yet. But, Iqalaqala, those who come into a chief’s country should not come into it with too many eyes.”

“Ha!” I said, taking in the quick glance which he shot in Falkner’s direction, and with it the situation. “Too many eyes there may be, but a shut mouth more than makes up for that. A shut mouth, impela!”

“A shut mouth? Au! Is the mouth of Umsindo ever shut?”

This, it will be remembered, was Falkner’s native name, meaning noise, or bounce, and the chief’s son was perpetrating a sort of pun in the vernacular.

“But it will be this time, never fear,” I answered. “Farewell now, son of Majendwa. I, who have seen more than men think, know how not to talk.”

I felt really grateful to Muntisi, and made him a final present which he appreciated.

“You need not mistrust those I have brought you,” he said. “Only for others you cannot have too many eyes now until you reach Inncome,” he added meaningly.

Nothing of note happened and we trekked on unmolested in any way, travelling slow, for the trade cattle were fat and in excellent condition, which of course I didn’t want to spoil. Then befel an incident which was destined to give us trouble with a vengeance.

We had got into sparsely inhabited country now, and were nearing the border. One afternoon Falkner and I had struck off from the track a little to shoot a few birds for the pot – by the way Falkner had in some degree condescended to relax his sulks, being presumably tired of his own company. We had rejoined the track and had just put our horses into a canter to overtake the waggons when Falkner threw a glance over his shoulder and said:

“What sort of beast is that?”

I turned and looked back. It was a dark afternoon and inclining moreover to dusk, but I could make out something white glinting through the bush, rather behind us, but as if running parallel to our way. The bush grew in patches, and the thing would be alternately hidden or in the open again.

“Here goes for a shot, anyway,” said Falkner, slipping from his horse. He carried a rifle and smooth-bore combination gun, and before I could prevent him or perhaps because I tried to, he had loosed off a bullet at the strange beast. A splash of dust, a good deal short of the mark, leaped up where it struck.

“The line was good but not the distance,” he grumbled. “I’ll get him this time,” slipping in a fresh cartridge.

“Much better not,” I urged. “We don’t want to get into any more bother with the people by shooting their dogs.”

He made no answer, and I was glad that the bush thickened where the animal had now disappeared.

“Let’s get on,” I said. “It’s nearly dark.”

He mounted and we had just resumed our way, when not twenty yards distant, the creature came bounding forth, frightening our horses by the suddenness of his appearance. There was nothing hostile, however, in his attitude. He was wagging his tail, and squirming and whimpering in delight, as a dog will do when he has found a long-lost master, or at best a well-known friend. I stared, hardly able to believe my own eyesight. The large, wolf-like form, the bushy tail – why there could be no duplicate of this ever whelped at a Zulu kraal, that was certain.

“Arlo,” I cried. “Arlo, old chap. What are you doing in these parts, eh?”

The dog whined with delight, squirming up to us, his brush going like a flail. In a moment we were both off our horses.

“It’s Arlo right enough,” said Falkner, patting the dog, who never ceased whimpering and licking his hands. “The question is how did he get here? Eh?”

“Stolen most likely, but it couldn’t have been long ago, for Miss Sewin made no mention of his loss in her letter to me – and it’s hardly likely she’d have forgotten to mention such an important event if it had happened then.”

Somehow I could not help connecting Ukozi with this, and felt vaguely uneasy. What had been happening of late? Had the dog been stolen with any deeper motive than his own intrinsic value – to get him out of the way for instance and clear the road for the carrying out of some sinister and mysterious scheme on the part of the witch doctor?

“Of course,” assented Falkner, “we’ll take him home with us now, at all events. What a devilish lucky thing I happened to look back and see him.”

“Yes, and what a devilish lucky thing you happened to look wrong and miss him,” I answered, for I own to a feeling of petty jealousy that he should be in a position to claim the credit of having found the dog.

“Oh-ah! But a miss is as good as a mile,” he said, with a hoarse laugh. “By Jove, but won’t Aïda be glad when I bring him back to her. Won’t she just?”

“I should think so. Well we’ll have to keep a bright look-out on him till we get home.”

“How the deuce they managed to steal him beats me, I own,” went on Falkner. “Arlo was the very devil where niggers are concerned. Won’t let one of ’em come within fifty yards of him.”

This would have puzzled me too, but for what Aïda’s letter had told me – as well as for what I had witnessed myself up at the waterhole. There was at any rate one “nigger” of which the above held not good. More than ever did I connect Ukozi with the matter.

“Well, we’ve got him back,” I said, “and it’ll be our own fault if we don’t keep him.”

The dog trotted along contentedly behind our horses, wagging his tail in recognition if we spoke a word or two to him. The waggons were outspanning for the night when we reached them – according to instructions, but Arlo went straight up to Tom, whom of course he knew fairly well, wagging his tail, in a sort of “how-d’you-do” manner. He condescended likewise to approve of Jan Boom, who being a Xosa was, of course, a sworn dog fancier, but the others he just tolerated.

We inspanned before daylight, intending to make a long trek, and that evening to cross the Blood River and outspan for the night on the other side. In the then state of the border I should not be sorry to be out of the Zulu country. The trip had not been a signal success, and I began to think of it as possibly the last I should make. I thought too, of other possibilities, even as I had thought when taking my midnight up and down walk beneath the stars – a custom I had before turning in, when the weather permitted, as it generally did. The country was sparsely inhabited, as I have said, and beyond passing three or four small kraals we saw nobody.

We had started upon our afternoon trek. In another hour we should strike the drift and have crossed the border. Then one of the boys Muntisi had given me to drive the cattle came up with the pleasant news that a large body of men, armed too, was coming rapidly on behind, on our track.

I don’t know why this should have caused me uneasiness yet it did. No war had broken out as yet – this I had ascertained from such Zulus as we had fallen in with on the way. I gave orders to push on the waggons, and the cattle. Then getting out a powerful binocular I rode up to a point whence I knew I could command a considerable sweep.

The ground was open on all sides, a thin thread of mimosa along some slight depression being the only sort of cover it afforded. Cresting a rise about three miles distant I made out a dark mass moving forward along our track, and that at a rapid rate.

At any other time this would have caused me little if any anxiety, but now we had had bother enough in all conscience. I didn’t want any more of it, but that the crowd behind was in pursuit of us there was no room for doubt. It was an armed band, for by the aid of the glasses I could make out the glint of assegais and the war shields that were carried.

I returned to the waggons but saw that the pace was as good as the oxen could be put to. The cattle were ahead, going well, but the drift was a good deal further on than I should have wished it to be. Of course there was no physically defensive advantage on the other side over this one, still a boundary is a great moral force; certainly was then while the boundary dispute was awaiting the award of the commission.

“We’ll get out the rifles and cartridges, Sewin,” I said – “and have them handy, but we won’t show them. Also sling on your revolver, on the same terms. There’s a crowd coming on fast on our track – what the deuce for I can’t make out. Still it’s as well to be prepared for emergencies.”

“Oh rather,” he assented, brisking up at the prospect of a row. “I think it’s about time we read Mr Zulu a lesson.”

Chapter Twenty Two.
A Solomon – in the Zulu

Suddenly Arlo, who had been trotting along placidly beside the waggons stopped short, looking backward, and emitting low growls, which soon changed to a deep-toned, booming bark. We followed his glance. The Zulus were on the crest of the ridge about half a mile behind. I at once gave orders to the drivers to resume their normal pace. Further flight – as flight – was useless and impolitic.

“Put the dog into the tent waggon and tie him there,” I said to Falkner. “He knows you better than he does me, and might give me trouble. We don’t want him damaged at any rate.”

Even Falkner found it by no means easy to work his will with the now infuriated animal, which with hackles erect was facing in the direction of the impending aggression, making the air resound with his roaring bark; and only he managed it by his characteristically drastic methods in the shape of a double reim well laid on. As it was I thought the dog would have pinned him. However he managed to get him into the tent waggon and securely tied. Hardly had he rejoined me when the whole crowd was upon us, shouting and roaring as they surrounded the waggons, bringing them to a standstill.

“I see you!” I said, coldly sarcastic. “Well, and what is it you want now?”

For I had recognised several who had taken part in the former riot, what time Dolf Norbury had appeared upon the scene.

“Want? What we want is the dog – the white dog,” came the reply. “The dog which you have stolen, Abelungu.”

“The white dog. The dog which we have stolen,” I repeated sarcastically. “But the dog belongs to our people on the other side – and we are taking him back. If he has been stolen it is from them.”

“From them. Ha! That is a lie, Umlungu. Give us the dog, or we will take him and everything you have got besides.”

“I think not,” I said. “But as I cannot talk with a number at once, I must talk with one. Where is that one?”

The clamour redoubled but of it I took no notice. I filled my pipe deliberately, and handed the pouch to Falkner.

“What are they saying?” he asked. I told him.

“Well, we ain’t going to give up the dog,” he said. “I’ll see them damned first,” and in his excitement he appended a great deal more that it is not expedient to reproduce.

“I’m with you there,” I said. “And now,” relapsing into the vernacular, as a ringed man came forward – he was an evil-looking rascal, and I recognised him as having been among those who had troubled us before. “And now to begin with – who claims him?”

“Udolfu.”

“Udolfu? Well how long has he had him, and where did he get him?”

“That is nothing to you, Umlungu. He is Udolfu’s dog, and we are come for him. So give him to us.”

“Do you think you could take him yourselves and alive?” I said banteringly, for the savage and frenzied barks of Arlo within the waggon pretty well drowned our talk.

“We will take him, I say. Bring him out.”

“Bring him out – bring him out,” roared the crowd, brandishing assegais and rapping their shields, in an indescribable clamour.

“Hau! Umfane! I will cut thee into little pieces,” cried one fellow, seizing my boy Tom by the throat and brandishing a big assegai as though he would rip him up.

“Have done!” I said pulling my revolver and covering the savage. “See. We hold plenty of lives here.”

Falkner too had drawn his and was eagerly expecting the word from me to let go.

“Hold!” roared the spokesman, in such wise as to cause the aggressive one to fall back. “Now, Umlungu, give us the dog.”

“First of all,” I said, “if the dog belongs to Udolfu, why is not Udolfu here himself to claim him? Is he afraid?”

“He is not afraid, Umlungu,” answered the man, with a wave of the hand. “For – here he is.”

A man on horseback came riding furiously up. With him were a lot more armed Zulus running hard to keep pace with him. In a twinkling I recognised we were in a hard tight place, for the number around us already I estimated at a couple of hundred. He was armed this time, for he carried a rifle and I could see a business-like six-shooter peeping out of a side pocket. It was our old friend, Dolf Norbury.

“Hallo, you two damned slinking dog thieves,” he sung out, as the crowd parted to make way for him. “Here we are again you see. Not yet within British jurisdiction, eh?”

There was a banging report at my ear, and lo, Dolf Norbury and his horse were mixed up in a kicking struggling heap.

“I don’t take that sort of talk from any swine, especially outside British jurisdiction,” growled Falkner, hurriedly jamming in a cartridge to replace the one he had fired.

There was a rush to extricate the fallen man, and ascertain damages. It turned out that he had not been hit but his horse was killed. He himself however seemed half stunned as he staggered to his feet. Then up went his rifle but the bullet sang high over our heads in the unsteadiness of his aim.

“Put up your hands!” I sung out, covering him before he could draw his pistol. “Hands up, or you’re dead, by God!”

He obeyed. Clearly he had been under fire enough.

“Go in and take his pistol, Sewin,” I said, still covering him steadily. “If he moves he’s dead.”

It was a tense moment enough, as Falkner walked coolly between the rows of armed savages, for to drive half a dozen spears through him, and massacre the lot of us would have been the work of a moment to them, but I realised that boldness was the only line to adopt under the circumstances. Even then I don’t know how the matter would have ended, but some sort of diversion seemed to be in the air, for heads were turned, and murmurs went up. Still no weapon was raised against us.

“I’ve drawn his teeth now, at any rate, the sweep!” said Falkner with a grin, as he returned and threw down the discomfited man’s weapons. “I say Dolf, old sportsman,” he sung out banteringly. “Feel inclined for another spar? Because if so, come on. Or d’you feel too groggy in the nut?”

But now I had taken in the cause of the diversion. The opposite ridge – that between us and the river – was black with Zulus. On they came, in regular rapid march, hundreds and hundreds of them. They carried war shields and the large umkonto or broad stabbing spear, but had no war adornments except the isityoba, or leglet of flowing cow-hair.

Those of our molesters who had been most uproarious were silent now, watching the approach of the newcomers. Dolf Norbury sat stupidly staring. The roaring bark of Arlo tied within the waggon rose strangely weird above the sudden silence.

“I say,” broke out Falkner. “Have we got to fight all these? Because if so, the odds ain’t fair.”

For all that he looked as if he was willing to undertake even this. Whatever his faults, Falkner Sewin was a good man to have beside one in a tight place.

“No,” I said. “There’s no more fight here, unless I’m much mistaken. This is a King’s impi.”

It was a fine sight to see them approach, that great dark phalanx. Soon they halted just before the waggons, and a shout of sibongo went up from the turbulent crowd who had been mobbing and threatening us but a little while since.

The two chiefs in command I knew well, Untúswa, a splendid old warrior and very friendly to the whites, and Mundúla, both indunas of the King.

“Who are these?” said the first, sternly, when we had exchanged greetings. “Are they here to trade, Iqalaqala?”

“Not so, Right Hand of the Great Great One,” I answered. “They are here to threaten and molest us – and it is not the first time some of them have visited us on the same errand. We are peaceful traders in the land of Zulu, and assuredly there are many here who know that this is not the first time I have come into the land as such.”

A hum of assent here went up from the warriors in the background. Those I had thus denounced looked uncommonly foolish. Still I would not spare them. It is necessary to keep up one’s prestige and if those who are instrumental in trying to lower it suffer, why that is their lookout, not mine.

“He is a liar, chief,” interrupted Dolf Norbury, savagely. “These two have stolen my dog and I and my people have come to recover him. Before they came in to try and steal my trade. That is where we quarrelled before.”

Untúswa heard him but coldly. As I have said, Dolf Norbury was not in favour with the more respectable chiefs of Zululand at that time. Quickly I put our side of the case before this one.

“This I will look into,” he said. “It is not often we have to settle differences between white people, especially Amangisi (English). But the Great Great One, that Elephant who treads the same path as the Queen, will have order in the land – wherefore are we here,” with a wave of his hand towards his armed warriors; from whom deep-toned utterances of sibongo went up at the naming of the royal titles. “With the matter of the trade, I have nothing to do. But, Iqalaqala, Udolfu says you have stolen his dog, though had it been his lion he had said, I think he would have uttered no lie, for in truth we could hear his roars while yet far away,” added the old induna with a comical laugh all over his fine face. “Now bring forth this wonderful beast, for we would fain see him.”

“Get out the dog, Sewin,” I said. “The chief wants to see him.”

“Yes, but what the devil has all the jaw been about? It’s all jolly fine for you, but I’m not in the fun,” he growled.

“Never mind. I’ll tell you presently. Leave it all to me now. You’ve got to, in fact.”

Falkner climbed into the waggon, and in a moment reappeared with Arlo, still holding him in his improvised leash. At sight of him the warriors in the impi set up a murmur of admiration.

“Loose him,” said Untúswa.

I translated this to Falkner, and he complied. The dog walked up and down, growling and suspicious.

“See now, Udolfu,” said Untúswa, who had been watching the splendid beast with some admiration. “This is your dog. Now call him, and take him away with you.”

“Arno!” called Norbury. “Here, Arno, old chap. Come along home. Good dog.”

But the “good dog” merely looked sideways at him and growled the harder.

“Arno. D’you hear? Come here, sir. Damn you. D’you hear!”

The growls increased to a sort of thunder roll.

“Whau!” said Mundúla. “That is a strange sort of dog to own – a dog that will not come, but growls at his master when he calls him instead.”

“I have not had him long enough to know me thoroughly,” said Dolf. “Those two, who stole him from me, have taught him better.”

“Call him in the other direction, Falkner,” I said.

This he did, and the dog went frisking after him as he ran a little way out over the veldt, and back again, both on the best understanding with each other in the world.

“Au! the matter is clear enough,” pronounced Untúswa. “The dog himself has decided it. He is not yours, Udolfu. Yet, Iqalaqala, may it not be that those with whom you last saw the dog may have sold him?”

“That is quite impossible, leader of the valiant,” I answered. “From those who own him no price would buy him. No, not all the cattle in the kraals of the Great Great One. Further, he has not even got the sound of the dog’s name right,” and I made clear the difference between the “l” and the “n” which the other had substituted for it.

“Au! That is a long price to pay for one dog, fine though he is,” said Untúswa with the same comical twinkle in his eyes. “Well, it is clear to whom the dog belongs. You,” with a commanding sweep of the hand towards the riotous crowd who had first molested us, “go home.”

There was no disputing the word of an induna of the King. The former rioters saluted submissively and melted away. Dolf Norbury, however, remained.

“Will the chief ask them,” he said, cunningly, “why they had to leave Majendwa’s country in a hurry, and why they are bringing back about half their trade goods?”

“We did not leave in a hurry,” I answered, “and as for trade goods, the people seemed not willing to trade. For the rest, we have plenty of cattle, which are even now crossing Inncome, driven by boys whom Muntisi the son of Majendwa sent with us.”

“That is a lie,” responded Norbury. “They had too many eyes, and looked too closely into what did not concern them. They had to fly, and now they will carry strange stories to the English about the doings on the Zulu side.”

This, I could see, made some impression upon the warriors. However, I confined myself simply to contradicting it. Then Norbury asked the chief to order the return of his weapons.

“I need no such order,” I said. “I am willing to return them, but – I must have all the cartridges in exchange.”

He was obliged to agree, which he did sullenly. As he threw down the bandolier and emptied his pockets of his pistol cartridges he said:

“Glanton, my good friend – if you value your life I warn you not to come to this section of the Zulu country any more. If it hadn’t been for this crowd happening up, you’d both have been dead meat by now. You can take my word for that.”

“Oh no, I don’t,” I answered. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself, and I fancy I’ll go on doing it. So don’t you bother about that. Here are your shooting-irons.”

“What about my horse? You’ve shot my horse you know. What are you going to stand for him?”

“Oh blazes take you and your impudence,” struck in Falkner. “I’m only sorry it wasn’t you I pinked instead of the gee. Outside British jurisdiction, you know,” he added with an aggravating grin. “Stand? Stand you another hammering if you like to stand up and take it. You won’t? All right. Good-bye. We’ve no time to waste jawing with any blighted dog-stealer like you.”

The expression of the other’s face was such that I felt uncommonly glad I had insisted on taking his cartridges; and at the same time only trusted he had not an odd one left about him. But the only weapon available was a string of the direst threats of future vengeance, interspersed with the choicest blasphemies, at which Falkner laughed.

“You came along like a lion, old cock,” he said, “and it strikes me you’re going back like a lamb. Ta-ta.”

I talked a little further with the two chiefs, and then we resumed our way, they walking with us as far as the drift. As to the state of the border Untúswa shook his head.

“See now, Iqalaqala,” he said. “One thing you can tell your people, and that is that any trouble you may have met with in the land where the Great Great One rules has not been at the hands of his people but at those of your own.”

This was in reference to all sorts of reports that were being circulated with regard to the so-called enormities of Cetywayo, and the hostility of his people; and the point of it I, of course, fully recognised.

I made the chiefs a liberal present, out of the remnant of the things we were taking back with us. We took leave of them at the drift, and the whole impi, gathered on the rising ground, watched us cross and raised a sonorous shout of farewell. Under all the circumstances I was not sorry to be back over the border, but I decided to trek on a good bit before outspanning lest Dolf Norbury should yet find means to play us some bad trick.

And then – for home!