Chapter 5. 'Unspeakable Boor!'
LONG days of loneliness. Long nights of terror. Hopelessness and vain regrets so keen that they pained as might physical hurts. Only a brave heart had kept the girl from going mad since her men had deserted her. That seemed an eternity ago; days were ages.
Today she had hunted. A small boar had fallen to her rifle. At the sound of the shot, coming faintly to his ears, a white man had halted, scowling. His three companions jabbered excitedly.
With difficulty the girl had removed the viscera of the boar, thus reducing its weight sufficiently so that she could drag it to her camp; but it had been an ordeal that had taxed her strength and endurance to their limits. The meat was too precious, however, to be wasted; and she had struggled for hours, stopping often to rest, until at last, exhausted, she had sunk beside her prize before the entrance to her tent.
It was not encouraging to consider the vast amount of labor that still confronted her before the meat would be safe for future use. There was the butchering. The mere thought of it appalled her. She had never seen an animal butchered until after she had set out upon this disastrous safari. In all her life she had never even so much as cut a piece of raw meat. Her preparation, therefore, was most inadequate; but necessity overcomes obstacles, as it mothers inventions. She knew that the boar must be butchered, and the flesh cut into strips and that these strips must be smoked. Even then they would not keep long, but she knew no better way.
With her limited knowledge of practical matters, with the means at hand, she must put up the best fight for life of which she was capable. She was weak and inexperienced and afraid; but none the less it was a courageous heart that beat beneath her once chic but now soiled and disreputable flannel shirt. She was without hope, yet she would not give up.
Wearily, she had commenced to skin the boar, when a movement at the edge of the clearing in which her camp had been pitched attracted her attention. As she looked up she saw four men standing silently, regarding her. One was a white man. The other three were natives. As she sprang to her feet hope welled so strongly within her that she reeled slightly with dizziness; but instantly she regained control of herself and surveyed the four, who were now advancing, the white man in the lead, then, when closer scrutiny was possible, hope waned. Never in her life had she seen so disreputable appearing a white man. His filthy clothing was a motley of rags and patches; his face was unshaven; his hat was a nondescript wreck that might only be distinguished as a hat by the fact that it surmounted his head; his face was stern and forbidding. His eyes wandered suspiciously about her camp; and when he halted a few paces from her, scowling, there was no greeting on his lips.
'Who are you?' he demanded. 'What are you doing here?'
His tone and words antagonized her. Never before had any white man addressed her in so cavalier a manner. In a proud and spirited girl the reaction was inevitable. Her chin went up; she eyed him coldly; the suggestion of a supercilious sneer curved her short upper lip; her eyes evaluated him disdainfully from his run-down boots to the battered thing that covered his dishevelled hair. Had his manner and address been different she might have been afraid of him, but now for the moment at least she was too angry to be afraid.
'I cannot conceive that either matter concerns you,' she said, and turned her back on him.
The scowl deepened on the man's face, and angry words leaped to his tongue; but he controlled himself, regarding her silently. Had he not already seen her face he would have guessed from the lines of her haughty little back that she was young. Having seen her face he knew that she was beautiful. She was dirty, hot, perspiring, and covered with blood; but she was still beautiful. How beautiful she must be when properly garbed and groomed he dared not even imagine. He had noticed her blue-grey eyes and long lashes; they alone would have made any face beautiful. Now he was appraising her hair, confined in a loose knot at the nape of her neck; it had that peculiar quality of blondness that is described, today, as platinum.
It had been two years since Old Timer had seen a white woman. Perhaps if this one had been old and scrawny, or had buckteeth and a squint, he might have regarded her with less disapprobation and addressed her more courteously. But the moment that his eyes had beheld her, her beauty had recalled all the anguish and misery that another beautiful girl had caused him, arousing within him the hatred of women that he had nursed and cherished for two long years.
He stood in silence for a moment; and he was glad that he had; for it permitted him to quell the angry, bitter words that he might otherwise have spoken. It was not that he liked women any better, but that he realized and admired the courageousness of her reply.
'It may not be any of my business,' he said presently, 'but perhaps I shall have to make it so. It is rather unusual to see a white woman alone in this country. You are alone?' There was a faint note of concern in the tone of his question.
'I was quite alone,' she snapped, 'and I should prefer being so again.'
'You mean that you are without porters or white companions?'
'Quite.'
As her back was toward him she did not see the expression of relief that crossed his face at her admission. Had she, she might have felt greater concern for her safety, though his relief had no bearing upon her welfare; his anxiety as to the presence of white men was simply that of the elephant poacher.
'And you have no means of transportation?' he queried.
'None.'
'You certainly did not come this far into the interior alone. What became of the other members of your party?'
'They deserted me.'
'But your white companions-what of them?'
'I had none.' She had faced him by now, but her attitude was still unfriendly.
'You came into the interior without any white men?' There was skepticism in his tone.
'I did.'
'When did your men desert you?'
'Three days ago.'
'What do you intend doing? You can't stay here alone, and I don't see how you can expect to go on without porters.'
'I have stayed here three days alone; I can continue to do so until-'
'Until what?'
'I don't know.'
'Look here,' he demanded; 'what in the world are you doing here, anyway?'
A sudden hope seemed to flash to her brain. 'I am looking for a man,' she said. 'Perhaps you have heard of him; perhaps you know where he is.' Her voice was vibrant with eagerness.
'What's his name?' asked Old Timer.
'Jerry Jerome.' She looked up into his face hopefully.
He shook his head. 'Never heard of him.'
The hope in her eyes died out, suffused by the faintest suggestion of tears. Old Timer saw the moisture in her eyes, and it annoyed him. Why did women always have to cry? He steeled his heart against the weakness that was sympathy and spoke brusquely. 'What do you think you're going to do with that meat?' he demanded.
Her eyes widened in surprise. There were no tears in them now, but a glint of anger. 'You are impossible. I wish you would get out of my camp and leave me alone.'
'I shall do nothing of the kind,' he replied. Then he spoke rapidly to his three followers in their native dialect, whereupon the three advanced and took possession of the carcass of the boar.
The girl looked on in angry surprise. She recalled the heartbreaking labor of dragging the carcass to camp. Now it was being taken from her. The thought enraged her. She drew her revolver from its holster. 'Tell them to leave that alone,' she cried, 'or I'll shoot them. It's mine.'
'They're only going to butcher it for you,' explained Old Timer. 'That's what you wanted, isn't it? Or were you going to frame it?'
His sarcasm nettled her, but she realized that she had misunderstood their purpose. 'Why didn't you say so?'
