Chapter 24 | Black Shadows | Diamond Dyke

“What has been the matter, young un?” piped Emson feebly. “I say, don’t look like that. Have I had a fall from my horse? I can’t lift my hand.”

Dyke told him at last as he clung to that hand, and Emson’s face grew more and more troubled.

“Don’t,” he whispered excitedly—“don’t stop. You—you may catch—the fever—too.”

“What!” cried Dyke, with a forced laugh, “me catch the fever! Well, who cares? I don’t. Bother! Who’s going to catch it, old chap? Why, I should have caught it a hundred times before now.”

“You—you’ve been—nursing me?”

“I’ve been here, but it hasn’t been much of nursing,” cried Dyke, laughing in a half-choking way, as his breast swelled with joy. “I’ve fed you with a spoon and washed your face. Oh Joe, old man, you’ve been just like a big, stupid old baby.”

“And have I been ill long?”

“Yes, ever so long. I was a terrible while before I got back, because the little river out yonder was flooded, and when I did come, I—I—I—oh Joe, old chap, I do feel so happy once more.”

It was a wise addition to his speech, for Dyke never looked much more miserable in his life; but there was enough in his aspect to make Emson smile faintly, and then close his eyes.

That brought back Dyke to the responsibilities of his position, and he sprang up.

“Here! I’ve been letting you talk too much while you’re so weak,” he cried excitedly.

Emson’s lips parted to speak, but his brother laid a hand upon them.

“No,” he said, “you mustn’t: you’ll have to get stronger first; and I’ve got to feed you up, old chap.”

Just at that moment a dark shadow crossed the doorway, and Tanta Sal’s black face appeared looking in.

“Baas no go die,” she said. “Jack tief. Baas Joe go get well. Look!”

She held out a rough basket, in which were half-a-dozen new-laid eggs.

“Jack find eggs,” said Tanta. “Do so.”

She took one egg, gave it a tap, deftly broke the shell in two halves, let the white run out, and swallowed the yolk like an oyster.

“Here, hold hard!” cried Dyke angrily. “You mustn’t do that.”

“No. Tant mussen. Jack find eggs, do so. Jack tief.”

“Well, I’m glad I know where the eggs went,” said Dyke, taking the remainder. “I thought our hens ought to lay some. But why didn’t you tell us before?”

“Jack say killum,” replied the woman. “Baas Joe hungry?”

“Not yet; I’ll see to him,” said Dyke, dismissing the woman, and he turned now to his brother with a strange dread creeping over him, for Emson lay back with his eyes closed, looking utterly exhausted, and as if the awakening from the long stage of delirium were only the flickering of the light of life in its socket. But by degrees Dyke realised that it was the fever that had burned out, and Emson had only fallen asleep—a restfully, calm sleep, from which he did not awaken till toward evening, when Dyke shivered with apprehension of the terrible attack that would come on about that time.

But there was no attack, and after talking feebly in a whisper, the invalid partook of a little food, then lay watching the glow in the west, and soon went off to sleep again as calmly as an infant. “It’s all right,” cried Dyke excitedly; “all I ought to do now is to keep on feeding him up with good, strengthening things, given a little at a time. I believe I was cut out for a doctor after all.”

He stood watching the sleeper for a few minutes, thinking of how perfectly helpless the strong man had become, and then a thought occurred to him. In an hour’s time the guinea-fowl would be coming to roost in the trees beyond the kopje, and a couple of these stewed down by Tanta Sal would make a delicious kind of broth, the very thing for the sick man. Going out, he called to the Kaffir woman, and sent her to watch over Emson; while, gun in hand, he prepared to start for the kopje, so as to get into a good hiding-place before the guinea-fowl came home to roost.

His first act was to whistle for Duke, but the dog did not appear, and this set the lad wondering, for he remembered now that he had not seen it for hours.

But he was too intent upon the task he had in hand to think more of the dog just then, and hurried on past the kopje, and into the patch of forest growth which nourished consequent upon the springs which trickled from the granite blocks that sheltered the spring and fertilised a few dozen acres of land, before sinking right down among the sand and dying away.

Dyke felt as if a complete change had come over his life during the past few hours. The golden light of evening had transformed the desert veldt, and everything looked glorious, while his spirits rose so, that had he not wanted the birds, he would have burst out shouting and singing in the exuberance of his joy.

“Who says Kopfontein isn’t a beautiful place?” he said softly. “I did, and didn’t know any better. Why, it’s lovely, and Joe and I will do well yet.”

A cloud came over his brow as he made for the patch of trees. His memory was busy, and he began to recall the past—his discontent, and how trying he must have been to his big, amiable, patient brother.

“But never again!” he said to himself. “I didn’t know any better then: I do now;” and, forgetting the dangers and troubles, or setting them aside as something of no consequence at all, Dyke passed on, and at last entered the trees just as there was a glint of something bright from which the sunset rays flashed.

But Dyke did not see the glint, neither did he hear the bushes being parted as something glided through the low growth, and another something, and then another, and again another—four dark, shadowy figures, which glided softly away, and then seemed to drop down flat and remain silent, as if watching.

Dyke saw nothing and thought of nothing now but the broth for his invalid, but picking out a good hiding-place, he cocked his piece and waited for the birds; while at the click, click of the gun-locks, something bright was raised about fifty yards from where he was hidden, and the bright thing quivered above the bushes for a few moments before it disappeared again.

That bright object, which was gilded by the sun’s rays now flashing horizontally through the trees, was the head of an assegai, sharp and cruelly dangerous; but Dyke’s eyes were gazing straight away, over the desert veldt, while he felt as if he should like to whistle.

At last there was a distant metallic clangour; then came the rushing of wings, the alighting of a noisy flock of birds which began to cry “Come back! Come back! Come back!” and Dyke’s gun spoke out twice, bringing down twice as many birds.

“Now, if I had old Duke here, he might have retrieved those for me,” thought the boy, rising to take a step or two toward the spot where his birds had fallen, the rest of the flock having departed with a wild outcry, and as he moved, four assegais were raised into a horizontal position. But, taught caution by the wild life he had been accustomed to, he stopped to recharge his gun.

Before he had quite finished, there was a loud barking at a little distance.

“Why, there he is, tracking me out,” cried Dyke; and, whistling sharply, the barking came again more loudly, a shout bringing Duke to his side, while, as soon as the dog understood what was wanted, he darted off after the fallen birds, bringing in two directly from close to where the assegais had been poised.

“Good dog! Two more! Seek!” cried Dyke. “Off with you!”

The dog bounded away again, and Dyke stood whistling softly to himself as he examined his prizes, and admired their clean-looking, speckled plumage.

Duke was back directly, gave up the birds, coughed his teeth clear of fluffy feathers, and then turned and stood looking in the direction from whence he had fetched the guinea-fowls.

“Oh yes,” said his master, “there’ll be plenty more soon, but we’ve got enough; so come along.”

Dyke shouldered his gun, carried the speckled birds in a bunch by their legs, and walked away toward the edge of the forest patch, the dog looking back from time to time, and barking uneasily. But the master could not read the dog’s warning; he attributed it to the guinea-fowl coming to roost, though black-faced lurkers, armed with assegais, were on the dog’s trail till they were safely out of the forest, at whose edge the four Kaffirs paused to watch, while Dyke went on toward home.

And now the dog forgot that which he had seen in the wood. The open veldt, with the kopje on their left, made him recall something else, and he began barking and trying to lead his master away beyond the ostrich-pens, Dyke understanding him well enough; but with his game in hand, and the purpose for which it was intended in mind, for a long time he refused to go.

At last, though, he yielded to the dog’s importunity, feeling sure that a portion of their stock must be in trouble, and that Duke had been watching it for some time past, till he heard the reports of the gun.