The stranger warmed his hands slowly at the fire; then he raised his
head:--“They are camped at the foot of those hills tonight,” he said,
pointing with his hand into the darkness at the left. “Tomorrow early
they will be here, before the sun has risen.”
“Oh, you’ve met them, have you!” said Peter joyfully; “that’s why you
weren’t surprised at finding me here. Take a drop!” He took the small
flask from his pocket and held it out. “I’m sorry there’s so little, but
a drop will keep the cold out.”
The stranger bowed his head; but thanked and declined.
Peter raised the flask to his lips and took a small draught; then
returned it to his pocket. The stranger folded his arms about his knees,
and looked into the fire.
“Are you a Jew?” asked Peter, suddenly; as the firelight fell full on
the stranger’s face.
“Yes; I am a Jew.”
“Ah,” said Peter, “that’s why I wasn’t able to make out at first what
nation you could be of; your dress, you know--” Then he stopped, and
said, “Trading here, I suppose? Which country do you come from; are you
a Spanish Jew?”
“I am a Jew of Palestine.”
“Ah!” said Peter; “I haven’t seen many from that part yet. I came out
with a lot on board ship; and I’ve seen Barnato and Beit; but they’re
not very much like you. I suppose it’s coming from Palestine makes the
difference.”
All fear of the stranger had now left Peter Halket. “Come a little
nearer the fire,” he said, “you must be cold, you haven’t too much
wraps. I’m chill in this big coat.” Peter Halket pushed his gun a little
further away from him; and threw another large log on the fire. “I’m
sorry I haven’t anything to eat to offer you; but I haven’t had anything
myself since last night. It’s beastly sickening, being out like this
with nothing to eat. Wouldn’t have thought a fellow’d feel so bad after
only a day of it. Have you ever been out without grub?” said Peter
cheerfully, warming his hands at the blaze.
“Forty days and nights,” said the stranger.
“Forty days! Ph--e--ew!” said Peter. “You must have have had a lot to
drink, or you wouldn’t have stood it. I was feeling blue enough when you
turned up, but I’m better now, warmer.”
Peter Halket re-arranged the logs on the fire.
“In the employ of the Chartered Company, I suppose?” said Peter, looking
into the fire he had made.
“No,” said the stranger; “I have nothing to do with the Chartered
Company.”
“Oh,” said Peter, “I don’t wonder, then, that things aren’t looking very
smart with you! There’s not too much cakes and ale up here for those
that do belong to it, if they’re not big-wigs, and none at all for those
who don’t. I tried it when I first came up here. I was with a prospector
who was hooked on to the Company somehow, but I worked on my own account
for the prospector by the day. I tell you what, it’s not the men
who work up here who make the money; it’s the big-wigs who get the
concessions!”
Peter felt exhilarated by the presence of the stranger. That one unarmed
man had robbed him of all fear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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