The White Hand and the Black. Mitford Bertram

in these times would walk about my farm armed with assegais?”

      The path had now widened out. The savage halted and stepped aside.

      “Do you know me, Inqoto?” he said. “Have you ever seen me before?”

      “Surely. O Elephant. In another world,” came the ready and sarcastic reply.

      “M-m! In another world. But it is in this world you shall see me again, Inqoto. Ah, ah! In this world. Hamba gahle!”

      With which farewell, insolently sneering, the speaker turned and strolled leisurely away.

Chapter Four.

       Table of Contents

      The Magistracy at Kwabulazi.

      The magistracy buildings at Kwabulazi, consisted of a roughly built thatched bungalow, a red brick oblong which was the Court house, and various groups of native huts which served to house the other Court officials—white and coloured—and the handful of mounted Police permanently quartered there. Another red brick structure represented the Post and Telegraph Office. The place was situated at the foot of a great mountain whose wooded slopes made, scenically, a fine background. In front the veldt rolled gently away; quite open, and sparsely dotted with mimosa; and for miles around, at intervals, rose the smoke of native kraals; for this was an important location.

      Within the red brick oblong mentioned above Elvesdon sat, administering justice. There was not much to administer that day, for the cases before him involved the settlement of a series of the most petty and trivial disputes relating to cattle or other property, protracted beyond about five times their due length, as the way is with natives once they get to law. Beyond the parties concerned there was no audience to speak of. Three or four old ringed men, squatted in a corner on the floor, drowsed and blinked through the proceedings; while now and again two or three natives would enter noiselessly, listen for a few minutes and then as noiselessly depart.

      The morning was drawing to an end, for which Elvesdon was not sorry. It was very hot, and the Court room was becoming unpleasantly redolent of native humanity. He was about to adjourn, when he became aware of the entrance of somebody. Looking up he beheld Thornhill.

      The latter stood leaning against the wall just inside the door. Elvesdon, while putting three or four final questions to a voluble and perspiring witness, found himself wondering whether Thornhill was alone, or whether his daughter, preferring the shade and open air to the heat and stuffiness of the Court room, was waiting for him outside. So he sent down the witness and adjourned the Court straight away.

      Thornhill crossed the room to shake hands with the clerk, whom he knew, and who was gathering up his papers, then he adjourned to the magistrate’s office.

      Thither Elvesdon had gone straight on leaving the bench. If he had one little weakness it was—well, a very adequate sense of his official position, but only when not off duty—and this weakness suggested to him that it might impress the other more if he received him there, instead of going forward to greet him in the emptying Court room. As a matter of fact Elvesdon did show to advantage to the accompaniment of a tinge of officialdom, but, we are careful to emphasise, only at the proper time and place.

      “Come in,” he called out in response to a knock. “Ah, Mr. Thornhill, I’m so glad to see you,” and there was no official stiffness now about his tone or his handshake. “Anything I can do for you? But unless it’s of first-rate importance it’ll keep till after lunch, which you are going to take with me. So let’s go and get it.”

      They went out into the fierce noontide glare, but even it was an improvement after the stuffiness within. Elvesdon called to a native constable to take Thornhill’s horse, and wondered if he felt a twinge of disappointment as he saw there was only one horse to be taken care of. Groups of natives squatting about in the shade, fighting all the points of evidence over again, saluted as they passed.

      The clerk joined them at table. He was a thick-set stolid youth, with a shock of light hair, and a countenance wooden and mask-like; without much conversational ability, but a first-rate man at his work. For living purposes, he inhabited a couple of native huts, but messed with his official chief: which in many cases was a bore, as the latter subsequently explained to Thornhill; but Prior had had the same arrangement with the former man, and he couldn’t turn the poor devil out to feed by himself, which in that eventuality he would have had to do. Besides, he was a very decent fellow even if a bit heavy on hand.

      During lunch they talked about sport, and the state of the country, and ordinary things. Immediately afterwards the clerk went out.

      “Well, I’m getting firm into the saddle here, you see,” said Elvesdon, as they lit their pipes. “And I’m not sure that the situation isn’t going to turn out interesting.”

      “Think so? Look here, I haven’t exactly come to look you up officially, still as my round took me rather near Kwabulazi, I thought I’d give you a look in and mention a little matter.”

      “Well whatever the ‘little matter’ may be, I’m glad it had that effect. And now what is it?”

      Thornhill told him about the meeting with Tongwana and his people, and the mysterious stranger who was in their company. Told him too of the outrageous impudence of the man in refusing to get out of the way for him.

      “It was all I could do to keep my hands off him,” he said. “Nothing but the thought that he’d certainly use his assegais and I should have to shoot him dead in self defence kept me from pounding him between the shoulders with the butt of the gun as he swaggered along.”

      “And this was quite near your house, you say?”

      “Yes. Right bang on the spot where you so pluckily saved my girl’s life, Elvesdon. I’ve heard all full details now.”

      Elvesdon reddened slightly, but he was secretly pleased.

      “Oh, come now,” he protested. “I don’t know that it requires much pluck to crack a whip at a snake. And if it comes to that, I think it was your daughter who showed the pluck. I told her to cut and run while I drew the brute off. D’you think she would? Not a bit of it. She had picked up a whacking big stone and was standing there ready to heave it. I tell you it was a magnificent sight. Suggested a sort of classical heroine up-to-date. But—I say. Do you think it’s altogether safe for a girl to go about so much alone round here?”

      “Round here I do. The people have known her since she was a little thing and take a sort of proprietary interest in her. For the rest, she can use a six shooter—and that quickly and straight. I taught her.”

      Elvesdon was on the point of observing that she was not provided with that opportune weapon at the critical moment of a few days previous, but an instinctive warning that it might seem a little too much like taking the other to task caused him to refrain. But he said:

      “What of that swaggering impudent swine we were talking about? Supposing he were to pay your place a visit in your absence?”

      “There are four great kwai dogs who’d pull down the devil himself at a word from either of us—you saw them, Elvesdon. As an alternative Edala would drill him through and through—with no toy pistol, mind you, but real business-like lead, if he made the slightest act of aggression. Besides, a Zulu from beyond the river, and a head-ringed one at that, wouldn’t. So, you see, she’s pretty safe.”

      “Oh, he’s a Zulu from beyond the river, is he?”

      “So Tongwana said. And he looked like one.”

      “And he was carrying assegais?”

      “Rather. Two small ones and a big umkonto. I chaffed him, gave him royal sibongo, and it made him mad. You know, Elvesdon, how these chaps hate being chaffed.”

      “Of