The Mask Part 15

"I am a Frenchman--Francois Chalat. I am ze valet of an American gentleman. Our party not know ze road. We has wandered from what you call ze trail. Will you show ze way to us?"

"Where's your party?" demanded Hickey.

Francois pointed to a kopjie about three miles distant.

"There! Behind zat hill."

Just at that moment, Handsome came lumbering up almost on the run, anxious to know what it was all about.

"Have you any whiskey?" was his first breathless e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. "We're starving."

The valet made no answer. He was too startled to speak. Drawing back a few steps, he stared blankly at the big fellow. For several minutes he stood as if struck dumb. Presently, when he found his speech, he asked in awed tones:

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"What business is it of yours?" snapped Handsome, with some show of irritation. "Have you any food or whiskey? We're starving."

The valet made no answer, but just stared in astonished silence at the big six-footer who towered above him. For a moment he had thought it a trick that his master had played upon him. By walking quickly he had got there before him, and dressed up in these rags just to have fun with him. But that matted hair and that chin, with its weeks of growth of beard. He could not be deceived in that. No, this man was not his employer. Could it be possible, was it--his twin brother long since given up for dead? The same physique, the same features, the same eyes, the same thick, bushy hair with the single lock of white hair in the center of the forehead. There was no room for doubt. It was his employer's brother. It was just as well to make friends. Drawing a flask from his pocket and holding it out, he said:

"Here, take a drink. You need it."

Eagerly, Handsome s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his hand.

"You bet we do."

He took a deep gulp and handed it to Hickey, whose bleary eyes had watered at the very sight of the flask. Francois turned to Handsome.

"Where is ze trail?" he asked.

"Over yonder," growled the big fellow in surly tones and making a sweeping gesture with his arm which embraced every quarter of the compa.s.s.

"Rather indefinite, I should say," smiled the valet. "Where you go?

Are you on ze way to ze mines?"

Handsome Jack took another pull at the flask. His good humor returning in proportion as he felt warmed up by the spirits, he said more amiably:

"I guess not. My pal and I have enough of the cursed place--ain't we, Hickey?"

The sailor man glanced dolefully at his limping foot, and nodded his head in acquiescence.

"You show us the trail home. My boss is very rich man," interrupted Francois quickly. "He pay anything."

Handsome p.r.i.c.ked up his ears.

"Oh, he's rich, is he?"

The valet laughed as he replied:

"All Americans rich--tres riches. Did you ever hear of poor Americans?"

Hickey took another drink and snickered. Handsome looked thoughtful.

After a pause, he said:

"What your boss' name?"

"Monsieur Traynor of the Americo-African Mining Co."

Handsome started.

"What? Kenneth Traynor, of the Americo-African Mining Company--the people who made those sensational finds."

"Yes--he's vice-president of the company."

Handsome gave a low, expressive whistle.

"He's rich--all right! Do you know what those stones are worth?"

"Over a million dollairs."

"And he came out here to----"

The valet nodded.

"_Oui_--zat's it--to get ze big diamonds. We're on our way back from ze mines now. He has ze stones in his possession."

"And taking them to New York?" gasped Handsome; "a million dollars'

worth?"

"Yes--taking zem to New York. That's what he came out for. We want to reach ze coast as soon as possible. Again I ask. Will you guide us back to ze trail?"

For a few moments Handsome made no answer. The thoughtful expression on his pale, care-worn face showed that he was thinking hard. What was pa.s.sing in his mind no one knew, but whatever it was it caused the lines about his strong mouth to tighten and the steely blue eyes to flash. A million dollars? G.o.d! What will a man not do for a million dollars? Turning to the valet, he said hastily:

"Yes, I'm on. Take me to your party. I'll show you the trail. Quick, lead the way."

CHAPTER VIII

Traveling to and from the diamond fields in the days immediately following the first rush was not an unmixed joy. Express wagons drawn by eight horses or mules and running from Cape Town to Klipdrift once a week charged pa.s.sengers sixty dollars a head, the journey across the plains taking about eight days. Travelers whose business was so urgent that they could not wait for the regular stage had to hire a team of their own at a much higher expense.

Kenneth did not mind the cost, if only he was able to make good time.

The trip to the mines had been accomplished without mishap. Everything had gone as well as could be desired. He had been successful in securing valuable land options for the company, and at last the two precious stones were in his possession. That it was a big responsibility, he fully realized. The very knowledge that he had on his person gems worth over a million dollars, and this in a wild, uncivilized country where at any moment he might be followed, ambushed and killed, and no one the wiser, was not calculated to calm his nerves. But Kenneth Traynor had never known the meaning of the word fear. He was ready for any emergency and he went about unarmed, cool and unruffled. From his demeanor at least no one could guess that he ever gave a thought to the valuable consignment of which he was the guardian. Of course, it had been impossible to keep the thing secret.

Everybody at the mines knew he had come out for the purpose of taking the big stones to America. Even his drivers knew, and so did Francois.

The news was public property and was eagerly discussed over every camp fire as one of the sensations of the day. All this publicity did not tend to lessen the risk, and that was why he was so anxious to reach Cape Town without the least possible delay. He had timed his departure from the mines so as to just catch the steamer for England, and now, after all his trouble and careful calculation, the fool mule drivers had gone and lost the trail. It was most exasperating.

The wagon had come to a halt the night before under shelter of a fair-sized kopjie. The mules, tormented by the deadly _tetse_ fly, stood whisking their tails and biting savagely at their hereditary enemy; the drivers, indifferent and stolid, sat on the ground smoking their pipes, while Kenneth, fuming at this unlooked for mishap which threatened an even more serious delay, strode up and down the _veldt_, swearing at the mules, the stolid drivers and everything else in sight.