The Mask Part 16

Francois, who had left camp for a.s.sistance long before sunrise, had not yet returned. Unless help came soon they'd be held there another night. There was no use trying to proceed without a guide, for they might find themselves going round and round in a circle. There was nothing to do but wait until help came.

Sitting down on the stump of a tree near the fire, he tried to possess his soul in patience while one of the teamsters, who also officiated as cook, busied himself getting breakfast. It was now broad daylight; the weather clear and cold. As he sat there idly and smoked reflectively, his thoughts wandered homeward, four thousand miles across the seas.

He wondered what Helen was doing, if little Dorothy was well, if everything was all right. Only now he realized what the word home meant to him, and a chill ran through him as he thought of all the things that could happen. Yet how foolish it was to worry. What could happen? Helen had her sister constantly with her, and she was well looked after by Mr. Parker and Wilbur Steell. It was absurd to have any anxiety on that score. Besides, if anything had gone wrong, they would certainly have called him. He had had several letters from Helen, all of them saying she and baby were well and waiting eagerly for his return. Yes, he would soon be home now. In another two days he would reach Cape Town. From there to Southampton was only a fortnight's sail, and in another week he would be in New York.

These and kindred thoughts of home ran through his mind as he sat before the camp fire and tranquilly smoked his pipe. The drivers were busying themselves cleaning the harness, the mules were docilely browsing, the air was filled by a fragrant odor of coffee. His memories went back to his boyhood days. He recalled what the old nurse had told him about a twin brother. How strange it would be if he ever turned up. Such things were possible, of course, but hardly probable.

No, the chances were that he was dead. If he had lived, how different everything might have been. He would have inherited half their father's money. What had been enough to start one so well in life would only have been a meagre provision for two. Yet it might have been an advantage, forced him to still greater effort. He might have got even farther than he had--who knows?

At that moment his reflections were interrupted by the sound of voices in the distance. He heard some one running. One of the teamsters came up hurriedly and exclaimed breathlessly:

"He's found some one, sir; he's got two men with him. They're coming now."

Kenneth jumped up and, shading his eyes, looked out across the yellow waste of stones and gravel. About a mile away he saw Francois, accompanied by two strangers, who looked like miners. They were tattered and miserable looking, as if down on their luck. One of them was limping as if lame; the other, much taller, although ragged and forlorn, had a soldierly bearing and the appearance of a gentleman.

The valet, who had been walking faster than his companions, came up at that instant.

"Who have you got there?" demanded Kenneth.

"Two miners, monsieur. I found zem several miles away on ze _veldt_.

They have tramped for days without food; they are starving."

"Do they know the trail?"

"Yes, monsieur. Ze big man knows ze trail. He will show ze way--for a consideration."

"Good! First give them some breakfast and then we'll go."

He waved his hand in the direction of the cook's mess, where the coffee was already steaming on the fire, and, turning away, began to gather his things together, preparatory to departure. There was no reason why he should have anything to say to the strangers. In fact, it would be better if they did not see him, or know who he was. It was possible that they had been at the mines when he arrived, in which case they would instantly recognize him as the American who had come to take the big diamonds to New York. Besides, they were not particularly attractive objects. What did their adventures and mishaps matter to him? He had troubles of his own. Francois could look after their wants. The main thing was to find the trail and get started back toward Cape Town as soon as possible. When the strangers had been fed they would set out, and, the trail once found, he would give them a lift on their way and a few sovereigns into the bargain. That would more than compensate them for all their trouble.

Meanwhile he thought he would take a quiet walk. His legs were stiff from sitting so long. A little exercise would do him the world of good. So, without a word to anybody, he slipped out of camp un.o.bserved and started off at a brisk gait.

The region where they had halted seemed to be the center of Nowhere, a land where had reigned for all time the abomination of desolation spoken of by all the prophets. Knocking about the world, as he had done for a lifetime, Kenneth had seen some queer spots in the world, but never had he come across so savagely repellent a spot as this. It was Nature in her harshest mood--not a vestige in any direction of human or animal life. There was not a farm, not a Boer or Kaffir, not even a tree to be seen. Nothing in every direction but a monotonous waste of yellow sand, rough stones and stunted gra.s.s. An unnatural stillness filled the air, making the silence oppressive, and uncanny.

The soil was so poor that cultivation was impossible. The ground, strewn with broken rocks and sharp stones which cut the shoes and hurt the feet, suggested that in prehistoric times the plateau had been swept by a volcanic tempest. The slopes of the few scattered kopjies were spa.r.s.ely covered with verdure and as he strode along, he pa.s.sed here and there clumps of trees, veritable oases in the desert, or deep water holes under overhanging rocks where under cover of night, strange beasts came to drink. Apart from these few oases, it was a dreary monotonous waste of rock and sand, where neither beast or man could find food or shelter.

He had walked about three miles and was just pa.s.sing a kopjie where a group of stunted trees offered a little shelter from the glare of the sun on the yellow gravel when he began to feel tired. Sitting down on a decayed tree stump, he took out his pipe, removed his helmet, and laying lazily back, closed his eyes, a favorite trick of his when he wished to concentrate his thoughts.

The trip, tiresome as it was, had certainly been worth while. His ambitious dreams had been more than realized. He could scarcely wait for his arrival to tell Helen the good news. He had secured signatures to a plan of consolidation of practically all the mining companies operating in South Africa. Until now, these companies had been engaged in a fierce and disastrous compet.i.tion, which cut into each other's profits and cheapened the market price of stones. He had suggested a scheme of amalgamation which would put all the mines under one management, and fix arbitrary prices for diamonds which henceforth could not be sold under a certain figure agreed upon by the Syndicate.

This plan, which had the general approval of the mining companies, practically gave Kenneth Traynor control of the diamond industry of the world, an industry which in South Africa alone had already produced 100,000,000 carats estimated to be worth $750,000,000. Overnight, Kenneth found himself many times a millionaire.

It had come at last--what he waited for all these years. This new consolidation deal meant great wealth to its promoters. What would he do with it? Most men need only enough for their actual needs, but he had higher aims. An ardent socialist he would use his money for the cause. Not, however, in the way others did, but to buy influence, power. He would fight Capitalism, in his own way. He would go into politics, run for public office, try and remedy some of the economic abuses from which people of the United States were now suffering. He would wage warfare on the high cost of living, on Greed and Graft. He would attack the Plutocracy in its stronghold, lay bare the inner workings of the System, the concentration of the wealth of the entire country in the hands of a few, by which the rich each year were becoming richer and the poor each year poorer. It would not be the first time a multi-millionaire had espoused the cause of the proletariat, but he would carry on the fight more vigorously than anyone had done. He would force an issue, make Greed disgorge its ill-gotten gains and accord to Labor its rightful place in the sun, its proper share of the world's production of wealth. His sympathies in the bitter struggle between the capitalists and the wage earners were wholly with the people who under the present wage system, had little chance to raise themselves from the mire. But he was intelligent enough to realize that the faults were not all on the side of Capital.

Labor, too, needed the curb at times. Too ready to listen to the reckless harangues of irresponsible professional demagogues, wage earners were often as tyrannical as capitalists, insisting on impossible demands, rejecting sober compromise which, in the end, must be the basis of all amicable relations between employer and employed.

For some time he sat there, giving free rein to his imagination, when suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of heavy footsteps crunching on the hard sand. Raising his head he looked quickly round but seeing no one, concluded he was mistaken. Looking at his watch, he was amazed to find that he had been away from camp a whole hour. There was no time to be lost. The men had certainly finished eating by now; they could start at once. Jumping up he turned round to retrace his steps the same way he had come, when, suddenly, a shadow fell between him and the white road. Looking up, he was startled to see himself reflected as in a mirror against the green background of the kopjie.

At first he thought he must be ill. The walk, the sun, the exposure had no doubt overstimulated him and made him excited and feverish. He was seeing things. His success with the diamond deal had affected his brain. Of course, it was only an hallucination. The next time he looked this fantastic creation of his disordered mind would be gone.

Again he glanced up in the direction of the kopjie. The apparition was still there, a horrible, monstrous, distortion of himself, standing still, speechless, staring at him. That it was only a mirage there could be no doubt. He had heard of such mirages at sea and also in the Sahara where wandering Arabs have beheld long caravans journeying in the skies. But he had never heard of a mirage lasting as long as this one. Would it never disappear? It must be a nightmare which still obsessed him. That was it. He had fallen asleep on the tree and was not yet awake. With an effort he made a step forward and tried to articulate, but the words stuck in his throat. Suddenly the spell was broken by the apparition itself, which moved and spoke. He recognized who it was now--one of the strangers brought in by Francois--but that astonis.h.i.+ng likeness of himself--

Judging by the astonished expression on his face, Handsome was just as much surprised as Kenneth at the encounter. After satisfying his hunger he, too, had strayed away from the camp, unable to control his impatience while the teamsters were harnessing the mule team. He had left Hickey to gorge still more while he strutted on by himself, cogitating on what the valet had told him in regard to the diamonds.

This sudden meeting with the very man who had been uppermost in his thoughts was surprising enough, and instantly he, also, was struck with the extraordinary resemblance between them.

"Who the devil are you?" he demanded in surly tones.

Thus rudely aroused to the reality, and seeing that it was really a creature of flesh and blood he had to deal with and not a creature of another world, Kenneth answered haughtily:

"I'm not accustomed to being addressed in that manner."

Handsome laughed mockingly. With affected politeness he retorted:

"Your lords.h.i.+p's servant! What is his lords.h.i.+p's pleasure?"

Kenneth did not hear the taunting reply or heed the sneer. He was still staring at this counterpart of himself, this very image yet who was not himself, but a human derelict, a wretched, sodden outcast. All at once, an overwhelming, horrible suggestion rushed across his brain.

Could it be, was it--his long lost twin brother? Almost gasping, he demanded:

"Who are you?"

Handsome chuckled.

"I don't know."

"What is your name?"

The man chuckled.

"They call me Handsome. That's because I'm a good looker. I have had a good many other names, but I've forgotten what they are. The police know. It's all in the records."

"My G.o.d--a police record!"

"What of it?" Bitterly he added: "We can't all be fine gentlemen and millionaires."

"Where are you from?"

"Nowhere."

"Who were your parents?"

"Never had any that I know of."

Kenneth started forward and, seizing the man's left hand, closely examined it. Yes, there was the scar on the index finger of the left hand. No further doubt was possible. This was his brother. Handsome, meantime, had been watching the other's agitation with mingled interest and amus.e.m.e.nt.

Hoa.r.s.ely, Kenneth cried:

"Where have you been all these years?"

Handsome stared as if he thought his interlocutor had gone crazy.

Almost angrily he retorted:

"What d----d business is it of yours?"

Paying no heed to the miner's offensive att.i.tude, and anxious only to learn something of his history, Kenneth approached him and held out his hand.

"I wish to be your friend."