Part 11 (1/2)

And now, as the horseman we have been following emerges from the bush on to the open s.p.a.ce surrounding the low-roofed, thatched shanty, a man is seated in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves on a stone in front of the door, intently watching something upon the ground. It is a large circular gla.s.s cover, such as might be used for placing over cheese or fruit; but to a very different use is it now being put. For imprisoned within it are two scorpions of differing species--a red one and a black one--hideous monsters, measuring five inches from their great lobster-like claws to the tip of their armed tails, and there they crouch, each upon one side of its gla.s.s prison-house, both, evidently, in that dubious state aptly known among schoolboys as ”one's funky, and t'other's afraid.”

”Hold on a bit,” called out the man in the s.h.i.+rt sleeves, but without turning his head, as the trampling of hoofs behind him warned of the approach of a visitor, ”or, at any rate, come up quietly.”

”Why, what in the name of all that's blue have you got there?” demanded Hicks, dismounting; for he it is whom we have accompanied to this out-of-the-way spot. ”Well, I'm blest?” he continued, going off into a roar of laughter as he approached near enough to see the other's occupation.

”Ts.h.!.+ ts.h.!.+ Don't make such an infernal row, man, you'll spoil all the fun, and make me lose my bet.”

”What's the bet?”

”Why, I've got five goats against that blue schimmel heifer of old Jafta's on these two beggars, that the black one'll polish off the red 'un; but they are to go at it of their own accord, and now I've been watching them for the last half-hour, but the beggars won't fight,”

replied the other, still without moving, or even so much as looking over his shoulder.

”Stir them up a bit,” suggested Hicks.

”Can't; it'd scratch the bet.”

”Where's Jafta?”

”Oh, he wouldn't wait. Went away laughing in his sleeve. He'll laugh the other side of his mouth, the old _schelm_, when he has to fork out.”

”Well, you must have been hard up for some one to run a bet with. A nice little occupation, too, for a Sunday morning,” replied Hicks, with sham irony.

”Sunday be somethinged. There's no Sunday on the frontier. Hullo!”

This exclamation was the result of a change of att.i.tude on the part of the grisly denizens of the gla.s.s. Slack began slowly to move round the circ.u.mference of his prison, in process of which he cannoned against red, and Greek met Greek. With claws interlaced, the venomous brutes plied their sting-armed tails like a couple of striving demons, till at length their grip relaxed, and red fell over on his back with his legs doubled up and rigid.

”Hooroos.h.!.+ I've won,” called out our new acquaintance, jumping up gleefully. ”Hi! Jafta, Jafta!” he bawled, anxious to notify his triumph over his sceptical retainer.

”Hold on; not so fast,” put in Hicks, ”t'other fellow's a gone c.o.o.n, too, or not far from it. Look,” he added, pointing to the gla.s.s.

And in good sooth the victor began to show signs of approaching dissolution, which increased to such an extent, that in a couple of minutes he lay as rigid and motionless as the vanquished.

”Never mind, it all counts. He did polish off the other. Jafta, we'll put my mark on that cow to-morrow.”

”Nay, Baas,” demurred that ancient servitor, who had just come up. He was a wiry little old Hottentot, with a yellow skin, and beady monkey eyes, and as ugly as the seven deadly sins. ”Nay, Baas, the bet's an even one; neither thrashed the other. Isn't it so, Baas Hicks?”

”Well, as you put it to me, I think the bet's a draw,” began Hicks.

”Oh, no, that won't do,” objected Jafta's master, ”the black did polish off the red, you know. If he went off himself afterwards, it was owing to his uneasy conscience. That wasn't provided for in the agreement.

But never mind, Jafta, you can keep your old 'stomp-stert' this time.”

[Note 1.]

The old Hottentot grinned all over his parchment countenance, and the numerous and grimy wrinkles thereof puckered themselves like the skin of a withered apple. He, and his two sons, strapping lads of eighteen and nineteen, const.i.tuted the whole staff of farm servants. No Kafir could be induced to stay on the place, owing to its weird a.s.sociations; a circ.u.mstance which, according to its occupant, was not without its compensating advantage, for the marauding savage, in his nocturnal forays, at any rate kept his hands off these flocks and herds. The old fellow, however, was fairly faithful to his employer, though not scrupulously honest in all his dealings with the rest of mankind at large; the place suited him, and as for ghosts, well, he had never seen anything to frighten him.

And now the jolly frontiersman, who has been driven to so eccentric a form of Sabbath amus.e.m.e.nt, rises, and we see a man of middle height, with a humorous and gleeful countenance; in his eyes there lurks a mirthful twinkle, and every sun-tanned lineament bespeaks ”a character.”

And he is a character. Always on the look-out for the whimsical side of events, he is light-hearted to childishness, and has a disastrous weakness for the perpetration of practical jokes--a vein of humour far more entertaining to its possessor than to its victims--and game to bet upon any and every contingency. He is about thirty, and his name is Jack Armitage.

”Well, Hicks, old man,” said this worthy. ”Taken pity on my lonely estate, eh? That's right; we'll make a day of it. Had breakfast?”

”No.”

”More have I; we'll have it now. Er--Jafta!” he shouted, ”Jafta! Wheel up those chops. Sharp's the word.”

”Ya, Baas. Just now?” called out that menial, and from the kitchen sounds of hissing and sputtering betokened the preparation of a succulent fry.