Swallow: A Tale of the Great Trek by H. Rider Haggard (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

Early the next morning I sought for Ralph to speak to him on the matter of his marriage, which, to tell truth, I longed to see safely accomplished. But I could not find him anywhere, or learn where he had gone, though one of the slaves told me that they had seen him mount his horse at the stable.

I went down to the cattle kraal to look if he were there, and as I returned, I saw Sihamba seated by the door of her hut engaged in combing her hair and powdering it with the shining blue dust.

“Greeting, Mother of Swallow,” she said. “Whom do you seek?”

“You know well,” I answered.

“Yes, I know well. At the break of dawn he rode over yonder rise.”

“Why?” I asked.

“How can I tell why? But Swart Piet lives out yonder.”

“Had he his gun with him?” I asked again and anxiously.

“No, there was nothing but a sjambock, a very thick sjambock, in his hand.”

Then I went back to the house with a heavy heart, for I was sure that Ralph had gone to seek Piet van Vooren, though I said nothing of it to the others. So it proved indeed. Ralph had sworn to Suzanne that he would not try to kill Piet, but here his oath ended, and therefore he felt himself free to beat him if he could find him, for he was altogether mad with hate of the man. Now he knew that when he was at home it was Swart Piet’s habit to ride of a morning, accompanied by one Kaffir only, to visit a certain valley where he kept a large number of sheep. Thither Ralph made his way, and when he reached the place he saw that, although it was time for them to be feeding, the sheep were still in their kraal, baa-ing, stamping, and trying to climb the gate, for they were hungry to get at the green grass.

“So,” thought Ralph, “Swart Piet means to count the flock out himself this morning. He will be here presently.”

Half an hour afterwards he came sure enough, and with him the one Kaffir as was usual. Then the bars of the gate were let down, and the sheep suffered to escape through them, Swart Piet standing upon one side and the Kaffir upon the other, to take tale of their number. When all the sheep were out, and one of the herds had been brought before him and beaten by the Kaffir, because some lambs were missing, Swart Piet turned to ride homewards, and in a little gorge near by came face to face with Ralph, who was waiting for him. Now he started and looked to see if he could escape, but there was no way of doing it without shame, so he rode forward and bid Ralph good-day boldly, asking him if he had ever seen a finer flock of sheep.

“I did not come here to talk of sheep,” answered Ralph, eyeing him.

“Is it of a lamb, then, that you come to talk, Heer Kenzie, a ewe lamb, the only one of your flock?” sneered Piet, for he had a gun in his hand and he saw that Ralph had none.

“Aye,” said Ralph, “it is of a white ewe lamb whose fleece has been soiled by a bastard thief who would have stolen her,” and he looked at him.

“I understand,” said Piet coldly, for he was a bold man; “and now, Heer Kenzie, you had best let me ride by.”

“Why should I let you ride by when I have come out to seek you?”

“For a very good reason, Heer Kenzie; because I have a gun in my hand and you have none, and if you do not clear the road presently it may go off.”

“A good reason, indeed,” said Ralph, “and one of which I admit the weight,” and he drew to one side of the path as though to let Piet pass, which he began to do holding the muzzle of the gun in a line with the other’s head. Ralph sat upon his horse staring moodily at the ground, as though he was trying to make up his mind to say something or other, but all the time he was watching out of the corner of his quick eye. Just as Swart Piet drew past him, and was shaking the reins to put his horse to a canter, Ralph slid from the saddle, and springing upon him like light, he slipped his strong arm round him and dragged him backwards to the ground over the crupper of the horse. As Piet fell he stretched out his hands to grip the saddle and save himself, so that the gun which he carried resting on his knees dropped upon the grass. Ralph seized it and fired it into the air; then he turned to face his enemy, who by this time had found his feet.

“Now we are more equally matched, myn Heer van Vooren,” he said, “and can talk further about that ewe lamb, the only one of the flock. Nay, you need not look for the Kaffir to help you, for he has run after your horse, and at the best he will hardly dare to thrust himself between two angry white men. Come, let us talk, myn Heer.”

Black Piet made no answer, so for a while the two stood facing each other, and they were a strange pair, as different as the light from the darkness. Ralph fair-haired, grey-eyed, stern-faced, with thin nostrils, that quivered like those of a well-bred horse, narrow-flanked, broad-chested, though somewhat slight of limb and body, for he was but young, and had scarcely come to a man’s weight, but lithe and wiry as a tiger. Piet taller and more massive, for he had the age of him by five years, with round Kaffir eyes, black and cruel, coarse black hair that grew low upon his brow, full red lips, the lower drooping so that the large white teeth and a line of gums could be seen within. Great-limbed he was also, firm-footed and bull-strengthed, showing in his face the cruelty and the cunning of a black race, mingled with the mind and mastery of the white; an evil and a terrible man, knowing no lord save his own passions, and no religion but black witchcraft and vile superstition; a foe to be feared indeed, but one who loved better to stab in the dark than to strike in the open day.

“Well, myn Heer van Vooren,” mocked Ralph, “you could fling your arms about a helpless girl and put her to shame before the eyes of men, now do the same by me if you can,” and he took one step towards him.

“What is this monkey’s chatter?” asked Piet, in his slow voice. “Is it because I gave the girl a kiss that you would fix a quarrel upon me? Have you not done as much yourself many times, and for a less stake than the life of one who has been doomed to die?”

“If I have kissed her,” answered Ralph, “it is with her consent, and because she will be my wife; but you worked upon her pity to put her to shame and now you shall pay the price of it. Do you see that whip?” and he nodded toward the sjambock that was lying on the grass. “Let him who proves the best man use it upon the other.”

“Will be your wife——” sneered Piet, “the wife of the English castaway! She might have been, but now she never shall, unless she cares to wed a carcase cut into rimpis. You want a flogging, and you shall have it, yes, to the death, but Suzanne shall be—not your wife but——”

He got no further, for at that moment Ralph sprang at him like a wild cat, stopping his foul mouth with a fearful blow upon the lips. Then there followed a dreadful struggle between these two. Black Piet rushed again and again, striving to clasp his antagonist in his great arms and crush him, whereas Ralph, who, like all Englishmen, loved to use his fists, and knew that he was no match for Piet in strength, sought to avoid him and plant blow after blow upon his face and body. This, indeed, he did with such success that soon the Boer was covered with blood and bruises. Again and again he charged at him, roaring with pain and rage, and again and again Ralph first struck and then slipped to one side.

At length Piet’s turn came, for Ralph in leaping back caught his foot against a stone and stumbled, and before he could recover himself the iron arms were round his middle, and they were wrestling for the mastery.

Still, at the first it was Ralph who had the best of it, for he was skilful at the game, and before Swart Piet could put out his full strength he tripped him so that he fell heavily upon his back, Ralph still locked in his arms. But he could not keep him there, for the Boer was the stronger; moreover, as they fought they had worked their way up the steep side of the kloof so that the ground was against him. Thus it came about that soon they began to roll down hill fixed to each other as though by ropes, and gathering speed at every turn. Doubtless, the end of this would have been Ralph’s defeat, and perhaps his death, for I think that, furious as he was, Black Piet would certainly have killed him had he found himself the master. But it chanced that his hand was stayed, and thus. Near the bottom of the slope lay a sharp stone, and as they rolled in their fierce struggle, Piet’s head struck against this stone so that for a few moments he was rendered helpless. Feeling the grip of his arms loosen, Ralph freed himself, and running to the sjambock snatched it from the ground. Now Piet sat up and stared at him stupidly, but he made no effort to renew the fight, whereon Ralph gasped:

“I promised you a flogging, but since it is chance that has conquered