The Ghost Kings | Page 8

fifty yards in width, and was about to step
into it when she became aware of two things. The first was a seething,
roaring noise so loud that it seemed to still even the bellowing of the
thunder, and the next, now seen, now lost, as the lightning pulsed and
darkened, the figure of a youth, a white youth, who had dismounted
from a horse that remained near to but above him, and stood, a gun in
his hand, upon a rock at the farther side of the donga.
He had seen her also and was shouting to her, of this she was sure, for
although the sound of his voice was lost in the tumult, she could
perceive his gesticulations when the lightning flared, and even the
movement of his lips.
Wondering vaguely what a white boy could be doing in such a place
and very glad at the prospect of his company, Rachel began to advance
towards him in short rushes whenever the lightning showed her where
to set her feet. She had made two of these rushes when from the
violence and character of his movements at length she understood that
he was trying to prevent her from coming further, and paused confused.
Another instant and she knew why. Some hundreds of yards above her
the river bed took a turn, and suddenly round this turn, crested with
foam, appeared a wall of water in which trees and the carcases of
animals were whirled along like straws. The flood had come down
from the mountains, and was advancing on her more swiftly than a
horse could gallop. Rachel ran forward a little way, then understanding
that she had no time to cross, stood bewildered, for the fearful tumult of
the elements and the dreadful roaring of that advancing wall of foam
overwhelmed her senses. The lightnings went out for a moment, then
began to play again with tenfold frequency and force. They struck upon,
the nearing torrent, they struck in the dry bed before it, and leapt

upwards from the earth as though Titans and gods were hurling spears
at one another.
In the lurid sheen of them she saw the lad leap from his rock and rush
towards her. A flash fell and split a boulder not thirty paces from him,
causing him to stagger, but he recovered himself and ran on. Now he
was quite close, but the water was closer still. It was coming in tiers or
ledges, a thin sheet of foam in front, then other layers laid upon it, each
of them a few yards behind its fellow. On the top ledge, in its very crest,
was a bull buffalo, dead, but held head on and down as though it were
charging, and Rachel thought vaguely that from the direction in which
it came in a few moments its horns would strike her. Another second
and an arm was about her waist--she noted how white it was where the
sleeve was rolled up, dead white in the lightning--and she was being
dragged towards the shore that she had left. The first film of water
struck her and nearly washed her from her feet, but she was strong and
active, and the touch of that arm seemed to have given her back her wit,
so she regained them and splashed forward. Now the next tier took
them both above the knees, but for a moment shallowed so that they did
not fall. The high bank was scarce five yards away, and the wall of
waters perhaps a score.
"Together for life or death!" said an English voice in her ear, and the
shout of it only reached her in a whisper.
The boy and the girl leapt forward like bucks. They reached the bank
and struggled up it. The hungry waters sprang at them like a living
thing, grasping their feet and legs as though with hands; a stick as it
whirled by them struck the lad upon the shoulder, and where it struck
the clothes were rent away and red blood appeared. Almost he fell, but
this time it was Rachel who supported him. Then one more struggle
and they rolled exhausted on the ground just clear of the lip of the
racing flood.
Thus through tempest, threatened by the waters of death from which he
snatched her, and companioned by heaven's lightnings, did Richard
Darrien come into the life of Rachel Dove.

Presently, having recovered their breath, they sat up and looked at each
other by lightning light, which was all there was. He was a handsome
lad of about seventeen, though short for his years; sturdy in build, very
fair-skinned and curiously enough with a singular resemblance to
Rachel, except that his hair was a few shades darker than hers. They
had