Part 26 (1/2)
”I shall go away--ja--and here is the only way for you to reach me!”
As the fresh match glimmered blue, he held it at arm's length in front of him, counting silently up to ten, then blew it out, and set his heavy boot upon the faintly-glowing spark, and did the thing again.
Endeavouring not to breathe so as to be heard, W. Keyse flattened himself against the corrugated fence, and waited, looking ahead into the thick velvet darkness, sensing the faint human taint upon the tell-tale breeze, and counting with the Slabberts; and then, out in the blackness that concealed so much that was sinister, sprang into sudden life an answering bluish glimmer, and lasted for ten beats of the pulse, and went out as suddenly as though a human breath had blown upon it.
”Is that your pal?” she whispered.
”That is my pal now.” He struck another match, and flared it, and screened it with his big hand, and showed the light again, and repeated the manoeuvre three times. ”That is my pal now--and I have said to him 'No news to-night'; but to-morrow night and the night after, and so on for many nights to come, I shall be out there where he is, and after you have called me and I have answered, just as he has done, you will tell me what there is to tell. Can you spell your language?”
”Pretty middlin', Walty deer, though not as I could wish, owin' to me 'avin' to leave Board School in the Fif' Stannard when father sold up the 'ome in drink after mother went orf wiv the young man lodger. Some'ow, try all I could, I never ...”
”Hou jou smoel! With our Boer people, when men speak, the women listen; but you English ones chatter and chatter! Remember that this match-talk goes thus: For the letter A one flare, and hide the light as you saw me do just now. For B, two flares, and hide the light; for C, three, and hide; for D, four, and hide; and so on ... It is slow, of course, and matches will blow out when you do not want them to, and a cycle-lamp or a candle-lantern would be easier to deal with, but for the verdoemte patrols. Do you understand? Say now what I say, after me. For the letter A one flare and hide. For B ...”
He put her through the alphabet from end to end; she laboured faithfully, and pleased her taskmaster. He grunted approvingly.
”Zeer goed! See that you do not forget. And remember, you are to listen and watch, and tell me what you hear and see. If you are obedient, I will marry you--by-and-by.”
He gave her a clumsy hug in earnest of endearments to come.
”But if you do not please me”--the grip of his heavy hand bruised her shoulder through the thin, flowery ”blowse”--”I will punish you--yes, by the Lord! I will marry a fine Boer maiden who is the daughter of a landrost, and who has got much money and plenty of sheep. And you can give yourself to any dirty verdoemte schelm of an Engelschman you please, for I will have none of you! To-morrow you shall have a paper showing you how to tell me very many things in match-talk, and earn much money to buy presents for my nice little Boer vrouw. Alamachtig! what is this?”
”This” was the hard, cold, polished business-end of a condemned Martini poked violently out of the blackness into the Slabbertian thorax.
”Not in such a 'urry by 'arf, you peris.h.i.+n' Dopper,” spluttered the ghastly little man in bandoliers behind the weapon. ”Put up them dirty big 'ands o' yours, or, by Cripps! I'll let 'er off, you sneakin', match-talkin' spy!”
The arms of Slabberts soared as the tongue of Slabberts wagged in explanation.
”This is a.s.sault and battery, Meister, upon a peaceful burgher. You shall answer to your officer for it, I tell you slap. Voor den donder! Is not a young man to light his pipe as he talks to a young woman without being called spy by a verdoemte sentry! Tell him, Jannje, that is all I did do!”
W. Keyse felt a little awkward, and the rifle was uncommonly heavy. The Slabberts felt it tremble, and thought about taking his hands down and reaching for that Colts six-shooter he kept in his hip-pocket. But though the finger wobbled, it was at the trigger, and Walt was not fond of risks.
”Tell him, Jannje!” he spluttered once more.
She had not needed a second bidding.
As the domestic hen in defence of her chicken will give battle to the wilde-kat, so Emigration Jane, with ruffled plumage, blazing, defiant eyes, and shrill objurgations, couched in the vernacular most familiar to their object, hurled herself upon the enemy.
”You narsty little brute, you! To up and try an' murder my young man. With your jor about spies! Sauce! I'd perish you, I would, if I was 'im! Off the fyce o' the earth, an' charnce bein' 'ung for it! Take away that gun, you silly little imitation sojer--d' you 'eer?”
The weapon was extremely weighty. W. Keyse's arms ached frightfully.
Perspiration trickled into his eyes from under the tilted smasher. He felt damp and small, and desperately at a loss. And--as though in malice--the moon looked out from behind a curtain of thick, dim vapour, as he said with a lordly air:
”You be off, young woman, and don't interfere!”
Gawd! she knew him in spite of the smasher hat. Her rage burst the flood-gates. She screeched:
”You!... It's you. 'Oo I done a good turn to--an' this is 'ow I gits it back?” She gasped. ”Because you're arter one young woman wot wouldn't be seen dead in the syme street wi' you ...”
Pierced with the awful thought that the adored one might be listening, W.