A Rip Van Winkle of the Kalahari | Page 7

whole moon been lifeless and sad, until he looked even as the old cow that died of lung-sick but yesterday? And has not the very sight of the magic stone again brought fire to his eye, till he is again even as the young bull that killed two of those Bushmen dogs also but yesterday? Who shall say it is not magic?"
"Inyati," I stammered, coming back to my senses, and ignoring his extremely doubtful compliments, "speak, man; where did you get this?"
"In my own land, master; a far land, many moons' trek from here, and where there are many. But few dare touch them except indeed the devil- men and they are not men at all, but devils! Though I feared them little even then . . . and now, now that I have a gun (for surely my master will give me the little gun that speaks many times for this magic stone?) I fear them not at all! And we will go back and get many more if my master so wishes and I will see again the woman who gave me the stone as a talisman long years ago!"
Give him "the little gun that speaks many times" the Winchester for a diamond worth a king's ransom?
"Inyati," I said, though I was sorely tempted, "the gun is thine; not indeed for the stone, for that I will not take from thee, and it is worth more than all the guns and cattle I possess. But for the gun, guide thou me to this land of thine, that I may find these stones thou callest magic."
"That will I do readily, master," he answered, "and, in truth, I am well content to keep the stone, for the sake of the woman who gave it me. And there are many more! And did I not say truthfully that the stones were magic? See now, my master, the very sight of one has made my master give me the desire of my heart the little gun that speaks many times."
I gave him the Winchester there and then, and never did I see a human being so delighted.
Late into the night we sat and talked, and planned, whilst the Bushmen sat round their camp fire, and clucked and chattered in their queer- sounding speech, gorging themselves to repletion on the offal of an eland I had shot the previous day.
I learnt that Inyati's country lay far to the north-east, across the dreaded waterless stretches of the unknown Kalahari. He had fled from it years ago, his life forfeit to the priests or "devil-men" as he called them for some cause that he did not explain, or that my limited knowledge of his language did not permit of my understanding. The stones were plentiful, that he assured me of again and again, but they were sacred, or tabooed, and no one was allowed to handle them but the priests of whom he spoke.
He had always wanted to return, but had always Feared, but now with his "little gun" I believe Inyati would cheerfully have faced a thousand priests, or for the matter of that a thousand warriors. Danger there would be, but what was that to him and his master?
He could find his way back, though the journey would be long and difficult; and now was the only season in which it could be undertaken; the season when the wild melon made it possible to traverse the waterless wastes of the "Great Thirst Land."
I did not hesitate a moment, in fact no wink of sleep had I that night, but lay tossing and turning, longing for daylight to come that I might inspan and commence my long trek.
It came at last, my preparations for striking camp were soon made, and sending off my crowd of Bushmen camp-followers with a small present of tobacco, I turned my back to the sea and began my long journey to the north-east.
Out of the long defiles and valleys we threaded our way into the open country, past the huge flat-topped mountains of Ombokoro, the fastness of the Berg Damaras, thence following the dry river-bed of the Om- Mafako north-east to the confines of the Omaheke desert that great north-western outlier of the true Kalahari not far, indeed, from this very spot! So far the trek had been slow and tedious, but without untoward incident. We were well armed, and those natives who did not avoid us were only too eager to bring in food, or show us water in return for our trade goods.
But, as the broken, bushy country gave way to the sand, water became scarcer and scarcer, until it could only be obtained in small quantities by digging deep in the bone-dry bed of the parched-up river.
At length it became evident that we could take the