Adventure stories; Johannesburg (South Africa) -- Fiction; South Africa -- History -- 1836-1909 -- Fiction
Following the voice, he came to the point indicated. A rope of twisted
raw-hide thong lay against the rock. His heart leaped within him. Soon
he would be free from this fearful place. The cliff here formed a
projecting angle, all jagged like the teeth of a saw. He remembered
noticing this, remembered balancing its capabilities of forming a
natural ladder. He had even climbed a few steps, and then had been
forced to own that it was impracticable. Now, however, with the aid of
the raw-hide rope, the thing could be done--done with comparative ease.
As a preliminary he stepped back, and, gazing upwards, went over the
climb in his mind, carefully noting every step, every handhold. The
cliff was terrace here, and the nearest resting-place, whence, indeed,
the rope hung, he estimated to be about sixty feet. Without this aid,
however, it might as well have been sixty hundred.
Seizing the rope he began his ascent, the mace and the remainder of his
bone daggers still slung around him. The task was more difficult than it
looked. Contact, often sudden and violent, with the rock face bruised
his knuckles, inflicting excruciating pain, once indeed so as to turn
him sick and faint. But a glance down into the grisly hollow, as he hung
thus suspended by a thread--the glint of the white skeletons in the
moonlight, and, above all, the vague, shadowy outline, black and
frightful, of the horror, which still lingered outside its den, as
though meditating return--nerved him once more. What if he were to fall,
maimed, battered, helpless--would not the frightful thing hold him
entirely at its mercy, and return and drain his life-blood at its
pleasure? Summoning all his will-power, all his strength, he resumed his
climb, and soon a firm, resolute hand, grasping his, drew him up for the
time being into safety; for they were on a ledge.
"Rest now, beloved," said the chief's daughter softly, as she turned to
draw up the rope. "I have saved thee so far."
"But--to what end, Lindela? Did you not fling a stick at me, and strike
me hard? See, I am bruised with it yet. It has even hindered my climbing
powers. That is a strange way of showing love."
"But is this a stranger way?" said the girl sadly, displaying the rope
she had just drawn up. "See now. They suspected me, as it was. Had I not
shown myself the first and the fiercest to turn against you, should I
have been here now? But come, we are not yet in safety. When we are it
will be time enough for talk, and for--love."
She led the way to a steep, narrow cranny. Up this they climbed some
fifty feet without difficulty, emerging upon another terrace. Here
another rope hung from the cliff above, about the same height.
"Go first, Nyonyoba, while I hold the rope to steady it," said the girl.
"Then, too, if your strength should give way, perhaps I may catch you
and break your fall. I am as strong as any of the women of the
Ba-gcatya--and that is saying much."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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