Adventure stories; Clergy -- Fiction; Scots -- South Africa -- Fiction; South Africa -- Fiction; Zulu (African people) -- Fiction
Then I saw my pursuers. High up on the left side, and rounding the rim
of the cup, were little black figures. They had not followed my trail,
but, certain of my purpose, had gone forward to intercept me. I
remember feeling a puny weakling compared with those lusty natives who
could make such good going on steep mountains. They were certainly no
men of the plains, but hillmen, probably some remnants of old Machudi’s
tribe who still squatted in the glen. Machudi was a blackguard chief
whom the Boers long ago smashed in one of their native wars. He was a
fierce old warrior and had put up a good fight to the last, till a
hired impi of Swazis had surrounded his hiding-place in the forest and
destroyed him. A Boer farmer on the plateau had his skull, and used to
drink whisky out of it when he was merry.
The sight of the pursuit was the last straw. I gave up hope, and my
intentions were narrowed to one frantic desire—to hide the jewels.
Patriotism, which I had almost forgotten, flickered up in that crisis.
At any rate Laputa should not have the Snake. If he drove out the white
man, he should not clasp the Prester’s rubies on his great neck.
There was no cover in the green cup, so I turned up the ravine on the
right side. The enemy, so far as I could judge, were on the left and in
front, and in the gully I might find a pot-hole to bury the necklet in.
Only a desperate resolution took me through the tangle of juniper
bushes into the red screes of the gully. At first I could not find what
I sought. The stream in the ravine slid down a long slope like a
mill-race, and the sides were bare and stony. Still I plodded on,
helping myself with a hand on Colin’s back, for my legs were numb with
fatigue. By-and-by the gully narrowed, and I came to a flat place with
a long pool. Beyond was a little fall, and up this I climbed into a
network of tiny cascades. Over one pool hung a dead tree-fern, and a
bay from it ran into a hole of the rock. I slipped the jewels far into
the hole, where they lay on the firm sand, showing odd lights through
the dim blue water. Then I scrambled down again to the flat space and
the pool, and looked round to see if any one had reached the edge of
the ravine. There was no sign as yet of the pursuit, so I dropped
limply on the shingle and waited. For I had suddenly conceived a plan.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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