That their owner had once been a warrior in my country; and that I should like to take them home, and have them identified, if possible.

That for her own sake this ought to be done.

"She looked very wistfully at me, but shook her head, and told one of her girls to put the sword and book back in her hut. The necklet she put on again. By this time it was dark, and we sat by a blazing fire of wood.

"Mapana now asked me to sup with her. I was not loth, of course; and, having still some coffee, sugar, and a tin of condensed milk in my saddlebags, I had them and the kettle brought round. I boiled some water, and treated my charming barbarian to her first cup of coffee.

She was delighted, and drank two beakers of it with the greatest enjoyment. Then nothing would do but I must give her my teaspoon. It was an old worn silver one, as it happened. She looked so merry, so good-humoured, so fascinating, there by the cheery firelight, that I felt inclined to deny her nothing.

"'But,' I said, 'you must give me something in return.'

"She looked reflectively for a moment, then sent a girl to her hut. The girl returned with two more of the gold coins I have mentioned. They were strung close together on fine sinew, and were used, as Mapana showed me, as a fillet or decoration for the head. We made the exchange amid much merriment and some chaff, and I think were mutually content.

I certainly had the best of the deal. Mapana, at my suggestion, used the spoon with her milk and porridge, which she had previously eaten by means of a kind of flat spoon--and her pretty fingers. I don't know what possessed me--perhaps it was the caressing touch of her hand, which had been once or twice laid upon mine while begging for the spoon--but, before saying good-night and going to my hut, I asked Mapana if she would like to be saluted in the fashion of my country. She a.s.sented with a smile. I stooped towards her, placed my hands upon her shoulders, and kissed her upon the cheek and lips. Never was caress more sweet! I don't think Mapana thought so badly of it either; there was no sign of displeasure in her dark eyes. Her maidens were rather startled, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed some very astonished 'ous'; but they were very discreet.

"Before I quitted her, I asked Mapana to lend me the old book on Falconry. I wanted to examine it more closely. On my promising to deliver it to her again, she sent for it, and placed it in my hands. I went back to my hut, put the book into my saddle-bag till morning, and quickly fell into a sound slumber.

"I saw little of Mapana till next evening. She was bathing with her women at a lagoon in the morning. Then a council of headmen was held, chiefly to discuss my visit; this lasted some hours. I wandered quietly about the village, escorted by two tribesmen; saw that the horses were well fed and cared for, looked at our rifles, and waited rather impatiently for another audience with Mapana. During the afternoon the Bushmen left the town. They had soon tired of its attractions, and yearned to be in the veldt again.

"It was not till nightfall that Mapana sent for me. I supped with her again by the fire in front of her hut, and again we had coffee and much laughter together. She was in curious spirits; sometimes rippling over with fun and a sort of naive coquetry; at others, looking serious and thoughtful, and even, as I thought, a little askance at me. I lighted my pipe and began to smoke. Presently she sat herself a little nearer to me and spoke.

"'My headmen,' she said, 'want to know if you have come to stay long among us, Kareesa,' (so she p.r.o.nounced my name); 'I could not tell them this morning. What does Kareesa say? I tire of ruling these people alone. I want a man to help me. Seleni hopes to become that man; but Seleni--well, I love not Seleni over-much. Why should not Kareesa join his lot with mine and share my power?' Mapana looked more beautiful than ever, I thought, at that moment; she was very serious, and her dark eyes were turned almost beseechingly to mine. Half barbarian though she was, I never could forget that white blood ran strong within her; and in mere looks alone there was enough to tempt many a better man than I, who was already more than half in love with her.

"I knew not what to say, but was about to stumble into some sort of speech. She leaned yet nearer, and placed a hand gently upon my arm.

At that instant a sharp whistle, which I knew to be April's, and April's only, smote my ears. I half turned round. As I did so, an arrow grazed the breast of my flannel shirt and drove deep into the left bosom of Mapana. She uttered a little choking cry, and fell into my arms, a dying woman. I could not let her go in her last agony, poor soul; yet I knew there was deadly danger about me even as I supported her. Those moments were like some vile and terrible dream. In a second or two another arrow transfixed the fleshy part of my upper arm. Almost at the same instant the report of a rifle rang out; there was a cry, and a fall, and I knew Mapana was avenged--by April.

"Next came April's voice: 'Baas, Baas, are you there? Come quickly.'

"I cried out: 'All right; I'm coming;' and then looked into my poor lost Mapana's face again. She had given a shiver or two, a last struggle, and was now dead in my arms. I laid her quietly upon the earth and kissed her brow. She had in her hands, poor thing, as she often had, the old sword. Her grip upon the scabbard was so strong that I could not easily loosen it. I drew the blade quickly from the sheath, and with one last look at her as she lay, still wonderfully beautiful even in death, I left Mapana.

"Meanwhile, the whole town was in a frightful uproar. Poor Mapana's women were shrieking in her hut. Men's voices were yelling excitedly in different directions. War-drums were beating already.

"I rushed to the _kotla_ entrance. April was there with the two horses, saddled and bridled, and our rifles both loaded. First, I made him break and draw the arrow from my arm. He pointed to the body of Seleni, whom he had shot dead just as he fired his second arrow at me. We jumped into our saddles and galloped straight for the river. It was our only chance. By great good luck we reached the banks safely, swam our horses across, and chanced the crocodiles. Once on the other side, we cantered steadily, all through the night, due south. At early morning we swam the river again, much against the grain, and then, after an hour's rest in thick bush, steadily continued our flight, now more to the eastward. To cut a long story short, by dint of nursing our nags, we made good our escape, reached the wagons in safety, and trekked hard till we had put a hundred and fifty miles between us and Umfanziland.

"Whether the Umfanzis followed us or not, I don't know. Quite possibly, the death of Mapana, and the consequent turmoil, so bothered them that they never did. Thanks to my idea of keeping our nags always saddled and bridled, and to April's bravery and smartness, we escaped with our lives.

"Poor dead Mapana! I shall never cease to mourn her as a good, and true, and most bewitching woman. I admired her beauty and her kindly heart. May she rest in peace!

"Well," ended Cressey, "that's my yarn. It's a curious one, isn't it?

If you are as dry as I am, you must want a whisky and seltzer. After that, if you'll come to my bedroom, I'll show you the relics--the two coins, the sword, and the book--I brought from Umfanziland."

Touching these same relics, which have proved undoubtedly to have once belonged to Prince Maurice of the Rhine, they now adorn the collection of a great personage, and are greatly treasured.

As for the descent of poor Mapana--whether she and her forefathers truly sprang, as she claimed, from Prince Maurice himself--that is a mystery dead with her dead self, never to be clearly explained on this side the dark portals.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE TAPINYANI CONCESSION.

At the hour of noon the straggling main street of Vryburg, the village capital of British Bechua.n.a.land, lay bare and shadeless beneath the merciless glare of a February sun. The few straggling saplings in front of the corrugated-iron shanty known as the Criterion Hotel, and a forlorn blue gum-tree here and there in other parts of the place, served but to accentuate the utter nakedness and lack of shade.

Notwithstanding the sun's fierce a.s.sault, the air was crisp and nimble, for the plains here lie high--nearly four thousand feet above sea-level.

There had been recent rain, and the sea of gra.s.s stretching everywhere beyond the village had now a.s.sumed a garb of fresh green in lieu of the wearisome pall of pale yellow which for months had masked the red soil.

Two Boer horses stood with drooping heads tarrying patiently for their masters, now shopping inside a store on either side of the broad street; and a span of oxen lying and standing on the left hand, waiting for a load to the wagon behind them, were the only indications of life in the centre of the Bechua.n.a.land capital. Beyond and behind these, however, north and south, the two hotels--canteens one might rather call them--at either end of the street showed, by noisy laughter and a gentle flow of humanity, that there the place was alive, and, as was its wont, cheerful.

The click of billiard b.a.l.l.s from either inn gave further tone to the somewhat scant air of civilisation.

Lounging in a corner of the Criterion bar were two men equipped in veldt dress of cord breeches and coats, pigskin gaiters, brown boots, spurs, flannel shirts, and broad-brimmed felt hats. They were youngish men-- both on the better side of thirty--and looked bronzed, full of health, and hard as nails. Both had come out to the country with Methuen's Horse, and, after serving in Warren's expedition, had drifted into the Bechua.n.a.land Border Police, from which they had some time since retired.

The elder, darker and taller, Hume Wheler, after a fairly successful public school and university career, and a short and briefless period at the Bar, had found the active and open-air life of the South African interior far more to his liking than two years of weary expectancy in gloomy chambers. In reality a man of action, the languid and somewhat cynical air which he affected in times of quiet greatly belied him. His friend, Joe Granton, shorter and more strongly knit than his fellow, wore habitually a far more cheerful aspect. His broad, bright countenance, clear blue eyes, fair hair and moustache, and transparent openness, combined to render him quickly welcome wherever he appeared.

Joe had migrated to South Africa after five years' experience of a City office. London-bred though he was, his yearnings were irresistibly athletic; and, after mastering the early troubles of horsemanship, he had settled down to veldt life, with its roughs and tumbles, with a zest that never faded.

These two men had been fast friends for years, and were now engaged in an enterprise which, although nominally enwrapped in some air of mystery, was a pretty open secret in Vryburg. The rage for concession-hunting was just now in full blast throughout South Africa.

The two comrades, in partnership with two or three other Bechua.n.a.landers, were just on the eve of an expedition into the far recesses of the Kalahari Desert, with the object of securing a concession from a native chief over a vast tract of country in that waterless and unknown wilderness.

As the two adventurers smoked their pipes and now and again refreshed themselves from long tumblers of whisky and soda, their eyes wandered with some impatience towards the open doorway. Their expectancy was at length rewarded. A short, strong figure of a man, middle-aged, brown-bearded, grey-eyed, appeared in the sun blaze outside, and entered the cool shade of the canteen. Tom Lane, the third and most important member of the expedition, was a well-known character in the far interior. Hunter, trader, cattle-dealer, border-fighter, Tom's experience of the country was unique. Tough as steel, a wonderful veldt-man, none knew the dim and untravelled recesses of the Kalahari as did he. He had penetrated twice before to the kraal of Tapinyani, the Bakalahari chief whose concession they were now hoping to obtain, and the prime weight and direction of the trek thus fell naturally upon his broad and reliable shoulders.

"Well, Tom!" exclaimed Hume Wheler, waking a little from his languor, "here you are at last. Have you fixed up the drivers and men? What'll you drink--whisky and soda, or beer?"

"Thanks! I'll have a bottle of beer," responded Lane cheerfully.

"Well, I've had a lot of trouble, but I've got all the 'boys' in, and we'll start to-night about twelve, as soon as the moon's up. I see you've got all your kits on the wagon, and the stores in. The last of the mealies for the nags came down just as I left Klaas will see them stowed. The tent I've fastened on to the buck-rail. By the bye, Manning wants us all to sup at his house this evening before saying good-bye. He's got the concession papers fixed up by the lawyers for Tapinyani to sign, if the old buster _will_ sign; and Miss Manning particularly hopes you'll both come."

"That's all right, Tom," rejoined Joe Granton. "We'll turn up at seven o'clock. Miss Manning said something about it yesterday when I met her.

I've got to write some letters after lunch; but you fellows will find me, if you want me, in my bedroom all the afternoon. Well, here's success to the Tapinyani concession! Santeit! and another thousand a year to us all!"

The three men smiled mutually, clinked their gla.s.ses, and drank deep draughts to their undertaking.

That evening the three were gathered at the house of Mr Manning, another member of the concession syndicate, who lived at the top of the town. It was nearly ten o'clock, the last of the business had been discussed, the concession doc.u.ments handed over, and Kate Manning, the only daughter of the house, was singing some English songs. Now Kate was a very charming, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl, who, although she lived with her father in this remote frontier town, had been educated in Europe, had a very charming manner, and was in no mind to suffer herself to rust dully through existence like some Boer _meisje_. She took the keenest interest in the expedition, and had known the active members of it for some years past--since she was a child, in fact. There was a friendly rivalry between Wheler and Granton in securing her commands and favours; but hitherto the girl, though she liked these two pleasant, well-set-up fellows well enough, had shown no decided preference for either. Even within the secret recesses of her own heart the balance stood very evenly. Hume Wheler was handsome, refined, a capital talker; Joe Granton's perennial cheerfulness and unselfish and transparent character counted for much.

The dark-eyed girl, as she finished her song, suddenly turned round upon her audience, and exclaimed, "Oh! before you gentlemen start, there's one little commission I had almost forgotten. You know, Mr Wheler, you brought some wildebeests' tails down from 'Mangwato when you were last up-country. Well, they make excellent fly-whisks; but I want something even bigger. There are plenty of giraffe where you're going, I hear. I want, above all things, a big bull giraffe's tail. It will make a splendid whisk for Piet when he stands behind the chairs at dinner in hot weather. Now, Mr Granton, now, Mr Wheler, whichever of you first captures and brings me home that treasure shall--shall earn my undying grat.i.tude."

"By all means, Miss Kate," answered Wheler gaily. "I haven't yet shot a 'camel'--never had the luck to come across one. But you may consider the tail yours; it shall be laid gratefully at your feet."

"Yes," chimed in Joe Granton, in a much more serious manner. "You shall have the tail, if I have to ride a 'camel' right through to Damaraland to secure it."

"Don't you trust to Joe," laughingly interrupted Wheler; "he can't hit a haystack, much less a 'camel' going full split. _I'll_ bring in the tail, and secure that inestimable treasure, Miss Manning's undying grat.i.tude."

"I'm not sure that I shall not have to trust to my old friend Mr Lane, after all," returned the handsome girl merrily. "I know _he_ can kill 'camel,' at any rate. However, you have my best wishes in your first hunt. And, Mr Granton, please don't forget the blue jay feathers [the 'roller' is usually called 'blue jay' by colonists]. I want them badly."

The conversation now took another turn.

"I forgot to tell you, Tom," said Mr Manning, addressing Lane, "Puff-adder Brown's about again. What's he up to just now, think you?

No good, I'll bet. Kate was out for a ride in the veldt this morning before breakfast, and met him as she came home by the Mafeking Road.

The infernal rascal had the impudence to speak to her too, and ask after me in a sneering way. He owes me one over that cattle-running job five years ago, when I wiped his eye, and saved old Van Zyl's oxen for him."

"Puff-adder Brown, eh!" answered Tom Lane, with a lift of the eyebrows.

"Where can he have sprang from, and what's he after? I wonder he has the cheek to show his face in Vryburg. I thought he was away in Waterberg somewhere."

"I can enlighten you," broke in Joe Granton. "I heard this afternoon.

Puff-adder Brown has an extra light wagon outspanned with fourteen good oxen at Jackal's Pan. He rode into the town late last night to see a pal, and there's something or other in the wind. What that is, I don't know. It can't be cattle-lifting nowadays; those Stellaland luxuries are over. Perhaps it's a new trading trip. Waterberg's played out, I fancy, and the Dutchmen don't much fancy Puff-adder."