NO WOMAN'S LAND

Wairarapa Times-Age, 23 July 1938, Page 10

NO WOMAN'S LAND

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT

BY

JANE ENGLAND

en light; but low down on the horizon were a few fleecy clouds, mere rags of frothy white, tipped with crimson. Forerunners of the rains. The cookboy put down the saucepan he was scouring, and got up quietly. He went on to the stoep where the two men still lay, went into the sitting room stealthily, and over to the cupboard in the corner. It was open, as he knew it would be, because the Baas always opened it when there were visitors, and locked it again afterwards. But this time he had had no opportunity, and the whisky was there. The cookboy took out half a bottle, put it inside his coat, where it made palpable bulge, and padded out of the room and over to his own hut. To the right of Drew’s homestead, the land was being ploughed. The big three-disc plough had cut a wide swathe out of the swaying yellow grass, turning up the red earth like the waves of a motionless sea. Drew was ploughing himself when he saw the Nyassa boy come tearing up in Fellowes’s mule cart. “What’s the matter?” he said curtly in Chiswina, when the Nyassa boy came towards him. “The two Baas over there,” said the boy, “they have fought. They are still alive, Inkoos, but very sick. I come to you.” “Why not the police?” asked Drew. “You are ’ the nearest, Inkos . . and the small Baas, the Hanslow Baas, said come to you.” (To be Continued).

CHAPTER XXVI. (Continued.)

“Well, between you and me, there’s an idea that it might have been Hastings himself. He’s a queer devil, and he’s got no love for Hudson. And he must have money. Look at the way he’s going on at Bloots. Started ploughing as well as gardening. Making a blinking showplace, he is.” “I wonder,” said Archie undecidedly. “Oh, by the way Hanslow, would you like anything? Coffee or whisky?” “Coffee,” said Hanslow virtuously. “To continue,” he went on, when they were settled on the stoep, “it’s funny about the Hastings. The missus went up there and had the devil of a bust-up with them . . came away fairly raging. But now —well, the rest of the district is calling on them, even taking the Howard girl seriously—Oh, sorry, old man, I forgot. You were always a friend of hers, weren’t you?” Archie made some sort of a gesture with one hand, and ignored the question.

“But seriously, old man,” pursued Hanslow, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I mean all this selling cattle. Thinking of clearing out?” . “Not necessarily,” said Archie. He was aware of very familiar symptoms; a cold anger deep down inside him, and the blood drumming in his temples. Interfering, inquisitive little blighter, this Hanslow! “I wouldn’t blame you,” Hanslow went on. “You know it’s a confounded shame the way . . . well, a certain person lets it be thought that there was something funny on the night of Old Howard’s death. I should have thought she’d have had enough decency .. . oh, well, least said, soonest mended. But you know, old man, just the same, there’s a lot of talk going about. And what with you selling cattle, and all that, well ... to some people it looks as if you’ve got the wind-up .. . and of course Nella Howard.”

The familiar boiling cauldron of fury wirled up and bubbled over; a sick, fighting rage choked him, and he sprang to his feet. He hurled himself on Hanslow —who went over backwards as his feet hit the table and sent it flying. Archie was on top of him, and Archie’s thumbs were feeling for his eyes. Hanslow had a momentary and fearful glance at the man’s .face, white and blotched, his eyes mere slits, like bits of fretted glass, his mouth grinning with rage; and then things went black. Hanslow was tough. After the first shock when his head hit the floor, and the blindness that came upon him when Archie’s thumbs blotted' out the light, he began to fight like a maniac. He clawed for Archie’s' throat, and began to throttle him. And then he knew that he couldn’t go on. That awful weight on his chest, that awful pressure on his eyes, were too much for him; but just before he lost consciousness he was aware that the blinding pain on his eyeballs had slackened. Hanslow tried to speak, but his tongue was swollen, and his mouth was as dry as a bone. At last, he said huskily and thickly, “Go for help. The Baas with the yellow hair —nearest —go!” The native got up from off his haunches, and walked away. Hanslow lay still. He wondered vaguely what had happened to Archie, and why Archie—it must have been Archie—it was Archie, of course, had attacked him. Gradually, it came back to him, and qualm made his inside feel like water as he wondered whether Archie was dead. That slackening of pressure after he had got his thumbs on to the man’s windpipe ! Quite near him, Archie Fellowes lay still. His face was puffy, and the, colour of veal. His mouth was blue, and slightly open, and his eyes were almost closed; a white curve of eyeball showed between each dark and stubby lash. It was difficult to say whether he was breathing or not; and his throat was bruised and discoloured. Time passed slowly, and a leathery lizard darted across the open doorway. Outside, Archie’s cookboy squatted by the kitchen door and scoured a saucepan with silver sand. He seemed quite unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened. The Nyassa boy had gone off in the mule cart for help. The cookboy wondered whether it was better to go away, now, and not know anything about the fight between the two white men. But if he did that, the Nyassa would be sure to say that he had been there all the time; and that would make more trouble. Better to stay and see what would happen. Anyway, there would be no food needed this evening, so that the buck which had been shot yesterday could be quite safely taken over to the native huts. Time passed, and the sun sank slowly .The veld was bathed in a thick gold-

(Author of “Sjambok,” “Trader’s License,” &c.)