This act made Dick very popular among the Police, which popularity was consolidated8 by his free and easy, unaffected way with everybody. He entered with zest9, too, into any of the amusements which they got up to vary the monotony of camp life—cricket or athletic10 sports, or shooting practice; and as he was in the pink of condition, and a fine runner and jumper, it was seldom that in such he would meet his match. Or if any patrol was sent out, he would not be left behind. His keenness and energy were alike unflagging.
Things seemed to be quieting down. Harley Greenoak, who would sometimes be absent for two or three days at a time, visiting this or that chief—for he could move freely among them, where with another it would have been at that juncture11 in the highest degree unsafe—reported that there was a more settled feeling. True the Kafir and Fingo locations were eyeing each other from beyond their respective boundaries with distrust, but there was no longer the threatening and aggressive bearing on the part of the one, or the alarmed uneasiness on that of the other. It looked as if matters would settle themselves.
Sometimes two or three headmen from the surrounding kraals would come into the camp and have a talk with the Police officers; and although Vunisa did not make one of them, his people, too, seemed less restless, and no more was the stillness of night broken by the stamp and roar of war-dancing in his location. The green, rolling plains slept peaceful in the radiant sunlight of each unclouded day, and at night a beacon-like flare12 upon a far-away height might be a grass fire or a less harmless signal.
“What do you think of this as a new thing in blowpipes, Greenoak?” said Sub-Inspector Mainwaring, one day, coming out of his tent with an unusual-looking weapon in his hand—unusual there and then, at any rate.
Greenoak took it.
“One of these Winchesters. Yes, I’ve seen them,” he said, returning it. “New-fangled American invention. Well, I don’t think much of them.”
“Why not?” said the other, who was rather proud of his new acquisition. “I’ve always held that what we want is some sort of repeating rifle. Sort of thing, you know, that can pump in a lot of shots one after another.”
“That’s all right, if the ‘lot of shots’ hit,” said Greenoak. “If not, one shot at a time’s sufficient.”
“Well, look at that sardine13 tin over there”—pointing to one on the ground about seventy yards away, and bringing up the piece.
One shot, and the tin moved; another, and it leapt off the ground; another—a clean miss; likewise a fourth.
“You have a try now,” said the owner of the weapon, handing it back to Greenoak.
Up went the piece. One, two, three, four—Greenoak had hit but once. Something of a murmur14 stirred the group of men who had stopped to look.
“By Jove, old chap, you must be a bit off colour to-day,” cried Dick Selmes. Harley Greenoak to miss—to miss anything—however small and at whatever distance, why, that was an eye-opener to him, and, incidentally, to more than one other. Harley Greenoak—to have “his eye wiped,” and by a young Police sub-inspector! Why, it was marvellous.
“A bad workman finds fault with his tools,” said Greenoak, musingly15, as he eyed the weapon, and balanced it critically. “Well, I may be a bad workman, but this is a tool I’m not used to. Wait a second while I get my .500 Express.”
He went into his tent. Several empty sardine tins were lying about.
“Now then, Mainwaring,” he said as he reappeared, “chuck up one of those, as high and as far as you can.”
The other did so; Greenoak’s rifle spoke16. The tin went whizzing further into the air. Before it came to the ground another bullet struck it, and sent it skimming along some twenty yards further. A shout of applause went up from the onlookers17.
“There you are,” said Greenoak, tranquilly18. “It resolves itself into a matter of what you’re accustomed to. Now, I dare say a lot of practice with that new gas-pipe of yours, Mainwaring, might get one into the way of it. Still, I don’t know—” taking the weapon from him and balancing it again. “I don’t like the hang of it. The hang seems to leave a lot to be desired.”
Then its owner tried some more shots, with fair success, and then Dick Selmes tried some, but indifferently. The while Harley Greenoak watched the performance narrowly and critically; hardly foreseeing that this repeating rifle was destined19 to play some important part in the doings of not very far hence.
There were times when Dick Selmes would get low-spirited. There was not much doing just then, as we have said, and at such times his thoughts went back to Haakdoornfontein and its grim but kindly20 old owner, and more especially, of course, to Hazel Brandon. He had written to her since he left, but to his disappointment had received no reply. Harley Greenoak, who was the recipient21 of his confidences, as they lay in their hut at night smoking their turning-in pipe, would listen with exemplary patience, and with much kindly tact22 strive to comfort him; for he had given up urging any objection Sir Anson might entertain on the subject. That must take its chance, he decided23. There was nothing to be downhearted about, he declared. The girl wasn’t born who would not think the better of him for having borne a man’s share in active events, and so he would find when he met her again, and more to the same effect. All of which was vastly comforting to Dick, who would turn in with the last impression that if any fellow were found bold enough to tell him that this world could contain a better chap than Harley Greenoak, why, he would take infinite pleasure in calling that man a liar24.
A day or two later two express-riders, dusty and fagged with hard riding, arrived in camp with despatches. The burden of these set forth25 with unmistakable plainness that the recent apparent quietude was but the calm before the storm. The plotting and disaffection was all below the surface now, but it was there, and all the more dangerous for that. The Commandant, with two troops of Police and one seven-pounder gun, were marching to the Kangala, a deserted26 trading store, occupying a useful central position, there to go into permanent camp, and Inspector Chambers was instructed to join him there, with A. Troop, immediately on receipt of the said despatches.
“I say, but this express-riding must be a devilish exciting sort of joke,” said Dick Selmes, as he looked at the tired and travel-worn men, who stood there waiting, while their officers, having disappeared within the hut, were examining the despatches.
“Don’t know about the joke part of it, mister,” answered one of them, “but it was exciting enough this morning early. Why, we narrowly missed tumbling into a gang of hundreds of ’em, all bristling27 with assegais and things. And we shouldn’t have missed that if there hadn’t been the devil of a fog on at the time. We saw them, but just managed to slip away before they twigged28 us.”
“By Jove! You don’t say so. Here—come along to our hut and have a glass of grog. We’ve got some left, and it’ll set you up again.”
He had hooked an arm into one of each of them in that boyish impulsive29 way which had gone so far to build up his popularity with all in the camp. The men stared.
“Well, you are a good sort, whoever you are,” said one of them. “But we daren’t.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right. Good old Chambers won’t know. He’s too much taken up with reading his post.”
“Well, we can’t do it, sir—at least not until we’re dismissed,” the man added, rather wistfully. “By the way, is there a Mr Selmes in the camp? Maybe you’re him—are you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Why, there are letters for you then, with those we’ve brought. They’ll be in there—with the Inspector.”
“Hurrah!” cried Dick. “And, I say, you fellows. As soon as you can break loose, don’t forget. There’s a glass of grog going over there. That’s our hut—mine and Greenoak’s,” pointing it out.
Then Chambers came forth. The men saluted30, and retired31.
“Letters for you, just come, Selmes,” said that genial32 officer.
Dick fairly grabbed them. Only two, one from his father, the other— He knew that writing. It was Hazel Brandon’s.
We are sorry to say that once within the solitude33 of his hut—Greenoak was somewhere about the camp—this was the one he opened first. It was in answer to his. It was not particularly long, nor worded with any pretence34 at style, but it was kind, almost affectionate; dwelling35 on all the good times they had had together, and reminding him that he must visit them at their own farm when he had got through the more exciting part of his travels. Her people would be so glad to see him—and so forth. And Dick felt as if he were treading on air. Then he read his father’s communication, and his heart smote36 him for not having taken it first. Sir Anson had arrived safe and sound at home again, and was all right. He referred to the rumoured37 coming troubles in South Africa, and hoped that if he, Dick, came in for any part of them, he would avoid attempting foolhardy feats38, or running unnecessary risks, if only because he had an old fool of a father who hadn’t yet done with him—and so on. Then there was a lot of home news, and warm remembrances to Harley Greenoak, so that by the time he had done, Dick felt just as soft over this letter as he had felt over the other; and, strange to say, considering his time of life, wondered if he was worth any one taking the bother of thinking about at all.
The bustle39 outside aroused him to the outer world; for orders had been issued to strike camp immediately, and begin the march to the Kangala, some five and twenty miles distant. But before the start was made the express-riders got their glass of grog apiece—indeed we dare not swear they did not get two.
“By Jove, Greenoak!” said Dick, as they were hurriedly rolling up their traps. “I would like to have a run across country with these express-riders one of these days. It must be thunderingly exciting.”
“Would you? Well, it’s likely to be, just soon, if all these accounts hold bottom, and I’m more than inclined to think they do. The Commandant is an old friend of mine, and there’s no more cool-headed, intrepid40 man on the whole continent of Africa. If he’s on the look-out, well then it’s time other people were. But you’d better leave express-riding alone. Your dad confided41 you to my charge, remember.”
Dick did remember, with his father’s solicitous42 and affectionate letter fresh in his pocket. And yet—and yet—there was at the bottom of his mind a half-fledged lurking43 determination that he would take his turn at express-riding—if he saw the chance. Two men—or three—darting across a hostile country, bearing with them momentous44 possibilities—could any situation of adventure hold out anything more alluring45? But—he said nothing more on the subject then. Harley Greenoak was sometimes away from camp—on mysterious absences.
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1
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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remitting
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| v.免除（债务），宽恕( remit的现在分词 )；使某事缓和；寄回，传送 | |
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8
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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13
sardine
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| n.[C]沙丁鱼 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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15
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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twigged
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| 有细枝的，有嫩枝的 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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41
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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42
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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43
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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44
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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45
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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