Sunset at Sheba, page 22
A stone chinking below him jerked his head up, interrupting his musings, and his light eyes narrowed as he stared through the cranny between the stones. Briefly, for an instant, he had seen a shadowy figure move in the darkness. Slowly, he reached out for the water bottle alongside him and, moving slowly, took a sip. Holding it to his ear he shook it and realised it was almost empty.
He stiffened as he saw the figure move in the shadows again, difficult to make out in the uncertain light. At first he thought the men below were trying a night move against him, then he realised there was only one man there, whom he must have seen twice. The figure was moving with the utmost caution, but clumsily nevertheless, with the awkwardness of a city dweller. It was closer now, moving steadily upwards, keeping always to the shadows so that it was difficult at times to see him. It was an easy shot. Too easy for the Mauser.
Sammy watched for a few moments longer, his eyes glittering, a muscle working at the side of his lean unshaven jaw, then he reached backwards and drew the old big-bored Martini-Henry up to his chin, pushing it forward inch by inch through the cranny in the rocks...
Fourteen
The crash of the shot brought them all to their feet. As they leapt for cover, the sock-darner was jostled into the embers of the fire and he scrambled out again, yelling and swearing and kicking sparks of burning wood flying in his haste and anguish.
Sergeant Hadman was out of his blanket in a bound and behind a rock on his hands and knees.
‘Christians, awake,’ he called. ‘We’re off again!’
The sound of the shot had gone rolling round the jagged slopes of Sheba, echoing and clattering among the spires of rock in the silence, so that for a moment it seemed as though there were several guns up there. The horses threw up their heads, their ears pricked, listening, and the dozing Le Roux at the end of the horse lines came to life at once and ran to see what was happening.
Kitto appeared at the entrance of the tent with Romanis and Hoole, and stopped there, staring up at Sheba. Around them were men in various stages of undress, some without boots, others without jackets, holding blankets, all staring with them up at the spires of rock that stood out against the sky.
‘Wind up,’ someone commented in a hoarse voice.
O’Hare’s sergeant shook his head. ‘That’s something be ain’t got, brother,’ he said dryly. ‘Something moved. Mebbe a rock rabbit. Thank your lucky stars it was that what he was shooting at and not you. There’ll be one rock rabbit less’n there was. That’s for sure.’
‘It was like this in the last war,’ somebody muttered. ‘Stuck out on the veld, listening, hearing rifles. You remember Ladysmith, Sarge?’
‘Sure.’ The sergeant nodded, staring upwards. ‘It was me what took her dancing...’
Waiting out among the group of mimosa trees, Polly jumped to her feet as she heard the rifle bark. The horses which she had tethered nearby edged away, their ears back, settling down again as the silence flooded round them once more. She could hear frogs not far away in the low-lying ground near the stream, croaking hoarsely, and the high thin irritating cheep of crickets.
For a while, she stared nervously around her, wondering what to do. Judging by the time that had elapsed, she guessed that Winter must have reached the little krantz where Sammy was hiding out beyond that she knew nothing, and she was desperately tempted to leave the mimosa thorn and head back to camp.
The thought of the crowded circles of men round the fires and the big knotty body of Le Roux held her as she moved towards the horses, then the need to be with Sammy again and some loyalty to Winter drew her down again to the rock where she had been sitting.
With her nerves prickling, she heard someone in the camp call out, then a rifle fired, and there was silence again...
Kitto was still standing by the tent door, staring up at Sheba, his eyes narrowed.
‘Tell that damn’ fool over there to put up his rifle,’ he snapped.
‘Accident, sir!’ Sergeant Hadman appeared alongside him, the sharp planes of his features glowing in the light of the fire. ‘It won’t happen again. It nearly took his ‘ead off and he’ll be more careful in future, I think.’
‘See anything, Sergeant?’
‘No, sir. Nothing. I been forward a bit but there’s nothing moving. I think he musta seen a rock rabbit or a snake or something and mistook it for one of us.’ .
‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Kitto glanced again up at Sheba, then turned into the tent, followed by Romanis and Hoole. ‘Whatever it was,’ he said, ‘it’s one bullet less to face tomorrow.’
Winter lay back in a crevasse between two rocks where he had been flung by the shock of the heavy, soft-nosed bullet which had hit him high up on the right side of the chest and smashed his shoulder blade on its way out.
He put his left hand to his shoulder and was surprised to find that the blood on his fingers was black in the light of the stars. Then the pain began to come to the torn hole in his back where the flattened bullet had made its exit, growing steadily stronger as the numbness of the initial shock wore away. He struggled to sit up and was startled to discover he couldn’t do so, and it dawned on him quite clearly and without fear that he was probably going to die.
He struggled back through the mists to complete consciousness and called out softly.
‘Sammy! Sammy! Can you hear me?’
He moved his left hand about, trying to push himself upright, and found that his fingers only weakly scrabbled over the uneven stony surface. Feebly he began to pat his pockets and realised they were still jammed with food and Mauser cartridges, then as a wave of pain swept over him he tried to hold his shattered shoulder together again, clutching at the splintered bone as though with his own desperate anguished strength he might stop the bleeding and take the pain away.
He remembered the look of amazement he had seen on the face of the dead Offy Plummer, and he wondered if the same look of shock had been on his own face as the bullet had flung him back among the rocks.
Once again, he struggled to rise, but his fall had jammed him somehow in the crevasse with his useless arm beneath him, and he was unable to shove himself upright.
‘Sammy!’ he called again. ‘This is Winter! Come here, quickly!’
Again he struggled to sit up, wishing he had something at his back against which he could use his legs as a lever to force himself upright. Then, his mind swinging dangerously, erratically, he found himself wishing he had a drink and tried to remember if he’d brought a brandy flask with him. After a struggle to find it, he realised he couldn’t get at it even if he had, and he began to wonder instead if Sammy Schuter had saved a few drops of water up there in his rocky eyrie.
‘Sammy! This is Winter!’ He was horrified to hear his voice come out only in a croaking whisper. ‘Come down here, for God’s sake!’
He was lying on a sharp-edged stone which dug into his back, but the effort of thinking about it seemed too exhausting and he let it slip from his mind with relief...
With a start and a groan he came back to consciousness from a dark world of peace, back to torment where spinning things of flame-coloured red whirled before his eyes, where a growing thirst and a dreadful agony wrapped him about with iron pinions.
Dimly, he realised he had failed. He had failed Offy and killed him. He had failed Sammy, and now he had failed Polly, to whom he had wanted to give so much. Like so many others, he had the gift of thinking correctly and acting hopelessly wrongly. In fact, he thought in a haze of pain, they had all thought correctly and acted wrongly. Offy had been right in principle but wrong in his methods, as indeed so was Kitto, with his stern belief that Sammy’s survival was more dangerous to the country than his death. They had all planned correctly but they were all losers in the end, every one of them, because of a simple inexorable fact that behind every action, every event, there had been an unseen, unmentioned and unconsidered being called God.
If only Willie Plummer hadn’t acted so stupidly, if only it hadn’t been Sammy Schuter with his skill and courage and cunning who’d been involved, if only he hadn’t broken his word and turned south instead of heading west, if only they hadn’t all distrusted him and followed, if only they hadn’t chivvied him until he had turned round on them like an angry dog, if only the politicians and the would-be savers of humanity hadn’t failed to take into account the individuals in their plans. There were so many ifs which had become facts, building up one upon another until the outcome had become as inevitable as the next morning’s daylight.
Through his numbed meanderings, Winter heard a faint murmur of disturbed earth, and a pebble rolled down near his ear and finished with a click as it bounced against the rock by which his head rested.
He forced his eyes open and in the faint light that came from the stars, he saw a figure standing above him. As tall as a steeple it seemed, and beyond it towering away to the heavens themselves was the ragged summit of Sheba.
‘Sammy, old boy,’ he said weakly, ‘I brought the rescue party.’
Sammy knelt beside him, laying the rifle down.
‘You asked for it, Mr Winter,’ he said fiercely, and the voice came booming out at Winter from what seemed a hollow tunnel full of echoes, rising and falling as it came in uneven woolly tones. ‘They all asked for it. I never wanted to shoot nobody, but they made me. It was them or me.’
‘That’s all right, that’s all right!’ Winter gasped the words and struggled to sit up, clarity returning to his mind. ‘Pull me out of this bloody rabbit hole, for God’s sake!’
Sammy knelt by his feet and Winter felt his strong fingers round his ankles.
‘If they hadn’t forced me, Mr Winter, I wouldn’t have shot.’
‘Yes, I know. But never mind that now. For God’s sake, get me out! Your bloody bullet tossed me in here. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?’
Sammy’s face came nearer, blurred and indistinct, and Winter struggled to focus his eyes on it.
‘I didn’t know it was you, Mr Winter. Honest I didn’t.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, shut up, and get on with it!’
Sammy’s fingers tightened on his ankles and Winter felt himself being dragged out of the humiliating situation in the crevasse. As his shattered shoulder bumped over the sharp-edged stone in the middle of his back, he choked dryly on a scream, but bit it off short as he remembered the waiting men below, already alerted by the shot.
Sammy came nearer, kneeling by Winter’s side, uneasy, sensing that things were not as they should be.
‘Mr Winter,’ he said, ‘what were you doin’ crawling about on Sheba like that? You ought to have known I’d shoot.’
‘I did, you bloody fool! Now shut up and listen to me.’
‘I didn’t ask to kill anybody - not even Mr Plummer.’
Winter wrenched his eyes round. ‘For the love of God, stop indulging in self-sympathy,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want pity, man. I knew what I was doing and so, I suppose, did Offy Plummer.’ He gasped as the pain tore at him with iron-clawed fingers, then he patted his pocket with his left hand. It was a clumsy, awkward movement, for he found his arm wouldn’t do quite what he intended it to do, and he was fighting all the time to get his breath against the tearing pain that seemed to stop everything inside him as it dragged at him.
‘Listen, Sammy, you know that clump of mimosa out there by the stream. You must have noticed it. You’ve been staring at it for two days now -’
‘Look, Mr Winter, there’s no need to talk -’
‘In the name of Christ,’ Winter said weakly, ‘shut up and listen if you want to get off Sheba alive. I’m trying to help you. Be quiet and listen.’
Although the boy knelt beside him, Winter could see him only faintly, but he was silent at last and not full of stumbling excuses and apologies.
‘Listen, Polly’s there among those mimosas waiting for you -’
‘Polly -!’ There was anger and contempt in the boy’s voice, and Winter stirred weakly.
‘Yes, Polly,’ he said. ‘By God, that’s a good woman - you don’t know how good! And she’s waiting for you. Don’t start blaming her for running away. Women do funny things, boy, as you’ll learn when you’re a bit older. She was probably scared. She’d never seen killing before. She’s there among the mimosas -’
‘What’s she - ?’
‘Don’t interrupt, for God’s sake! I can’t go over it all again. It’s too damn’ painful! Listen, she’s got two horses. One each for you. She’s got food and forage. Go to her as fast as you can. You can get out that far in the dark without being seen. Nobody’ll follow you. They’ll be too busy. De Wet’s out again and they’ll never waste two or three days chasing you now. Go south-west, as hard as you can. Get out towards the Flats. You’ll be all right. But, for God’s sake, keep to the south! I should hate you to run into De Wet after all the blasted trouble I’ve taken on your behalf. Now, get going. Take your gun, but for God’s sake, only use it from now on to get meat. And don’t stop till you reach safety.’
‘What about Polly?’
‘She’s going with you.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, why do you think? Why do you think she’s willing to wait all night in those damn’ mimosas in case you come? Now that you’ve blown a hole in me, she’ll probably think I’ve failed, and go back. But I don’t think so. She’s not the type. You’re luckier than I’ve ever been. She’s tough and good and honest in spite of everything, and she deserves something better than you.’
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’
‘Feel in my pockets, man. Empty ‘em. There’s as much food in ‘em as I could get in. There are cartridges for the Mauser. It is a Mauser, isn’t it? Take your water bottles and fill ‘em at the stream as you go. Don’t take anything else, though, nothing that’ll hold you up. Polly’s got all you’re likely to want. She’s got money, blankets, everything I could find. You’ll be all right if you go now.’
Sammy leaned over him, dimmer somehow now. Winter could feel the blood running through his fingers as they clutched his broken shoulder and he winced once or twice as the boy emptied his pockets quickly, jerking at his body in his nervous hurry.
When he had finished, Sammy paused, staring at Winter. ‘I ought to get you down there,’ he said. ‘Or somewhere where you can call for help.’
Winter turned his head away. ‘Don’t talk damn’ silly. It’d give the game away at once.’
‘Well, let me make you comfortable.’
‘You’ll be better advised to cut and run for it while you can, and stop wasting your time with me.’
‘But that’s an awful bad wound -’
‘ “ ‘Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door”.’ Winter paused before he finished. ‘ “But ‘tis enough”,’ he concluded quietly.
‘Mr Winter, let me just -’
‘In the name of God, man,’ Winter croaked, ‘go!’
The boy straightened up and Winter saw him slip away up into the heavens again, up among the battlemented crags of Sheba.
‘As a matter of fact, Mr Winter,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t be much good whatever I did.’
‘I know that, you fool!’
‘I’m - I’m sorry, Mr Winter.’
‘Oh, keep your bloody condolences!’
‘I’ll go then now.’
Winter nodded, his face towards the rocks. He knew the boy was still standing alongside him, still watching him with those curious glittering eyes of his which were so deadly sharp behind a rifle.
‘Are you still there?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Mr Winter. But I’m going now.’
‘Give Poll my love.’
‘You’re a toff, Mr Winter.’
‘That’s what Poll said. I think there must be something in it, after all.’
He sensed the boy move away then, and heard the stones disturbed faintly by those soft veldschoen-clad feet of his, and he felt hysterically like laughing as he remembered his own clumsy efforts to move quietly.
As the little sounds died away, the pain came again, worse than ever now that his job was done and he had nothing to take his mind off it. He wanted to cry out with the agony of it, but he bit his lips feverishly, to hold back the cries.
He awakened after what seemed like a long sleep, feeling nothing and hearing nothing, silent, sunk in the deep sad loneliness of approaching death. At first he thought the day had come, for it seemed much lighter suddenly, then he realised it was only his imagination and that in actual fact he couldn’t see much at all, that he was already standing with one foot on the other side of death.
He seemed to be looking down now from far up above, seeing the jagged slopes of Sheba in a brilliance of light, the veined granite rocks and the little valleys, and the scatter of equipment where Sammy had fought them all off so courageously. Beyond, there was the patch of mimosa and the thread of the stream, dark amber where it was stained by its iron-stone bed, and black where the rocks shone under the stars. In his imagination, he could see two small shapes heading out over the veld, two horses, two lonely people, heading westwards and never stopping...
He was in darkness again now, a rising darkness, opaque and unpierceable like floodwater rising in a cellar. For a while he stared, unmoving, absorbed. There seemed to be no sensation anywhere except for that fierce burning that extended down the whole of his right side, but even that was growing insubstantial now, and there was little else left except the mist...
Fifteen
Sunrise at Sheba. It came in a faint creeping violet tinge of light in the east across the pure clear morning, throwing a purple haze over the land, touching hollows of the veld where the night mists still hung about. Then the purple turned to grey, a deep lavender grey that began to paint their faces with glowing light, and finally, the first hint of day reached the topmost spires of Sheba.
