The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies Part 28

"No."

"What? You don't drink and you won't take good money?"

"No."

"I'll give you three chances, and this time I'll shoot."

"Take 'em! One!"

"No."

"Take 'em! Two!"

"No."

"Take 'em before I say three!"

"No."

"Well then, no one shall have 'em." And with that Rogers flung the bundle out of the door into the darkness. Then he bent his head upon his crossed arms and sobbed.

Jimmy seemed to be watching, for he lifted a flap in the bar counter, went outside the door, and returned almost immediately, stuffing the bundle into his pocket.

"Don't mind him, William."

Then to Rogers, "What about your drink?"

The transport-rider stood up.

"Did you see the train, Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"Ain't n.o.body drunk?"

"Not very."

"The train's in and n.o.body drunk? I'll get drunk. I will get drunk."

And with that he danced round and round the bar waving his gla.s.s. "The train! The train! The train!" ... Cras.h.!.+

Everyone turned round. John Rogers, transport-rider of Tantani, had fallen, and lay on the floor insensible.

"Rogers drunk?" came in a chorus of incredulity from all quarters. No one stooped to examine him; perhaps because few besides William and the barman felt it quite safe to stoop. Then several of his fellows pushed him under a seat with their feet, and turned to the bar again.

"Poor old Rogers," they said, "who would have thought it? Must be breaking up. Used to keep goin' for days together without turnin' a hair. Poor old blighter. Train's taken his transport-ridin' away from him. Yes, that's what's upset him."

But William met Rogers next morning, quite himself again.

"Morning, boy."

"Good morning."

"Jimmy gave me my money back."

"Of course."

"Have you got a job?"

"No."

"Looking for one?"

"Yes."

"Well, come my next journey with me. I'll go on the strict t.t. I'll show you some good shooting, too, and I want a hefty young man to help me with my cattle. Jimmy told me he thought you'd come. I want you to come."

William went, and a partners.h.i.+p sprang up which resulted in profit to both.

Rogers and Blake own that large cattle ranch just beyond Belingwe.

Rogers must be nearly seventy now, and is still hale and hearty.

THE LOST RUBIES.

If you asked a South African mining man, no doubt he would tell you that there are no rubies in Africa. He would be wrong.

To my knowledge two very large ones have been found. One of them I have seen. The other I have heard about. Take my word for it, there are many rubies in Africa. I will go so far as to tell you where. I hope you will go and look for them, and, what is more, find them.

The rubies of which I write are to be found on the banks of the Zambesi, somewhere below the Victoria Falls. If I could give more exact details, I wouldn't do it: I should go and look for them myself.

As I said before, I know they are there, because I have actually held one in my hand. The man who showed it to me told me it was a ruby. I believed him, of course. I had reason to. But just to make sure, I placed it between two half-crowns, put the precious sandwich on a flat slab of granite, and gave it a severe twisting under my heel.

My silver suffered. I did manage to pa.s.s those half-crowns off on someone, but I felt a criminal.

Now this old man who showed the ruby to me looked a very old man indeed. He was a Scotsman. His long beard was only slightly red, otherwise it was white. To be quite accurate, I suppose I should say he had a long white beard tinged with pink. At least, so it seemed to me the first time I saw it and him.

It is just twenty-five years ago that the old man came to my camp on the Zambesi, some forty-five miles above the Victoria Falls.

Quite apart from his beard he was obviously old. His legs were thin. He hobbled from rheumatism. His cheeks were hollow, and how very thin his ears were! I remember his ears quite well, they were almost transparent and his hands--well, they were just claws.

This poor old man came to me for three things.

One. Could I mend a shot-gun? I had a look at the dingy old weapon and admitted that it was quite beyond me. It was a double-barrelled shot-gun with four good inches gone from the right barrel, one from the left, and the rib of metal which should join the two was curled back for a good ten inches.

He explained that he had tried to shoot a king-fisher and his gun exploded. He suggested that a mouse must have crept up the barrel during the night.