The Ghost Kings | Page 9

thinking this saying over, "but you would have been rolling out to sea in the flood water, like that buffalo, with not a whole bone in you, which isn't my idea of glory."
"That's because your father isn't a missionary," said Rachel.
"No, he is an officer, naval officer, or at least he was, now he trades and hunts. We are coming down from Natal. But what's your name?"
"Rachel Dove."
"Well, Rachel Dove--that's very pretty, Rachel Dove, as you would be if you were cleaner--it is going to rain presently. Is there any place where we can shelter here?"
"I am as clean as you are," she answered indignantly. "The river muddied me, that's all. You can go and shelter, I will stop and let the rain wash me."
"And die of the cold or be struck by lightning. Of course I knew you weren't dirty really. Is there any, place?"
She nodded, mollified.
"I think I know one. Come," and she stretched out her hand.
He took it, and thus hand in hand they made their way to the highest point of the island where the trees grew, for here the rocks piled up together made a kind of cave in which Rachel and her mother had sat for a little while when they visited the place. As they groped their way towards it the lightning blazed out and they saw a great jagged flash strike the tallest tree and shatter it, causing some wild beast that had sheltered there to rush past them snorting.
"That doesn't look very safe," said Richard halting, "but come on, it isn't likely to hit the same spot twice."
"Hadn't you better leave your gun?" she suggested, for all this while that weapon had been slung to his back and she knew that lightning has an affinity for iron.
"Certainly not," he answered, "it is a new one which my father gave me, and I won't be parted from it."
Then they went on and reached the little cave just as the rain broke over them in earnest. As it chanced the place was dry, being so situated that all water ran away from it. They crouched in it shivering, trying to cover themselves with dead sticks and brushwood that had lodged here in the wet season when the whole island was under water.
"It would be nice enough if only we had a fire," said Rachel, her teeth chattering as she spoke.
The lad Richard thought a while. Then he opened a leather case that hung on his rifle sling and took from it a powder flask and flint and steel and some tinder. Pouring a little powder on the damp tinder, he struck the flint until at length a spark caught and fired the powder. The tinder caught also, though reluctantly, and while Rachel blew on it, he felt round for dead leaves and little sticks, some of which were coaxed into flame.
After this things were easy since fuel lay about in abundance, so that soon they had a splendid fire burning in the mouth of the cave whence the smoke escaped. Now they were able to warm and dry themselves, and as the heat entered into their chilled bodies, their spirits rose. Indeed the contrast between this snug hiding place and blazing fire of drift wood and the roaring tempest without, conduced to cheerfulness in young people who had just narrowly escaped from drowning.
"I am so hungry," said Rachel, presently.
Again Richard began to search, and this time produced from the pocket of his coat a long and thick strip of sun-dried meat.
"Can you eat biltong?" he asked.
"Of course," she answered eagerly.
"Then you must cut it up," he said, giving her the meat and his knife. "My arm hurts me, I can't."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "how selfish I am. I forgot about that stick striking you. Let me see the place."
He took off his coat and knelt down while she stood over him and examined his wound by the light of the fire, to find that the left upper arm was bruised, torn and bleeding. As it will be remembered that Rachel had no handkerchief, she asked Richard for his, which she soaked in a pool of rain water just outside the cave. Then, having washed the hurt thoroughly, she bandaged his arm with the handkerchief and bade him put on his coat again, saying confidently that he would be well in a few days.
"You are clever," he remarked with admiration. "Who taught you to bandage wounds?"
"My father always doctors the Kaffirs and I help him," Rachel answered, as, having stretched out her hands for the pouring rain to wash them, she took the biltong and began to cut it in thin slices.
These she made him eat before she touched any herself, for she saw that the loss of blood had weakened him. Indeed her own