Renshaw Fanning's Quest: A Tale of the High Veldt

Chapter Thirty One.
The “Valley of the Eye.”

The floor of the crater was nearly level, though somewhat depressed in the centre. Great masses of rock spar protruded here and there from the soil, which latter was gravelly. On turning up the surface, however, a formation of whitey-blue clay lay revealed.

“This is the place for the ‘stones,’” said Renshaw, exultantly, making a tentative dig or two with his pick. “The Eye apart, we ought to find something here worth having. Ah, I thought so.”

He picked up a small, dingy-looking crystal about the size of a pea. It was of perfect symmetry even in the rough, the facets being wonderfully even.

“You’d better put that aside, Sellon, and stick to it as the first stone – apart from our division of the swag. Knock it into a pin or something.”

It was a small act. But it was thoroughly characteristic of the man’s open-souled unselfishness. The first instalment of the treasure, attained at the cost of so much anxious thought – of so much hardship and lonely peril – he offered to his companion. And the latter accepted it without hesitation – equally characteristically.

“We’d better get on to the big thing now, though,” he continued, “and leave the fossicking until afterwards.”

In a few minutes they crossed the crater. Then carefully scanning the opposite cliff they made their way along the base of the same.

“There’s one of our ‘flags,’” cried Renshaw, suddenly. “And by Jove – there are our chalk splashes! Not bad archery in the dark, eh? Look. They are all within half a dozen yards of each other.”

A great boulder some dozen feet in height and in shape like a tooth, rose out of the soil about twenty yards from the base of the cliff. It was riven obliquely from top to bottom as if split by a wedge; a curious boulder, banded with strata of quartz like the stripes of an agate.

On the face of it were four white marks – all, as the speaker had said, within a few yards of each other, and bearing the relative formation of the stars composing the Southern Cross. Two of the arrows with the strips of rag attached, lay a little further off, while the shafts which had so faithfully left their mark lay at the foot of the boulder, the chalk shattered to pieces.

The intense excitement of the moment was apparent in both men, and it took widely different phases. Sellon advanced hurriedly to the face of the boulder, and began scrutinising it, eagerly, fiercely, from top to base. Renshaw, on the other hand, deliberately sat down, and, producing his pipe, proceeded leisurely to fill and light it.

“It isn’t on the face of the rock we’ve got to look, Sellon,” he said, when this operation was completed. “It’s here.”

He rose, advanced to the cleft, and gazed eagerly inside. It was just wide enough to admit a man’s body. Just then the first arrowy gleams of the risen sun shot over the frowning rock walls, glowing athwart the grey chill atmosphere of the crater. They swept round the searcher’s head, darting into the shaded cleft.

And then one swift reflected beam from the shadow of that rocky recess, one dart of fire into his eyes, and Renshaw started back. There, not two yards in front of his face, protruded from the rough surface of the quartz, a dull hard pyramid; but from the point of that pyramid darted the ray which had for the moment blinded him.

“HERE IT IS! THE EYE!”

The other was at his side in a moment. And thus they stood side by side, speechless, gazing upon a truly magnificent diamond.

Well might they be struck speechless. To one the retrospect of a hard, lonely life, sacrificed in detail to the good of others, a struggling against wind and tide, a constant battle against the very stars in their courses – rose up and passed before his eyes in a lightning flash at that moment. To the other what experience of soured hopes, of reckless shifts, of a so far marred life, of failure, and confidence misplaced and unrequited – of gradual cutting loose from all principle – a confusion between the sense of right and wrong, and, following immediately upon all, a golden glow of hope no longer deferred, a sunny ideal of abundant consolation; of love and happiness! But to both comfort, ease, wealth.

Wealth. The riches lying waste for ages in this remote solitude must at length yield to the grasping hand of their predestined owner – Man. With the first human footfall in this solemn untrodden recess rushed in the jarring cares and considerations of the busy world in all its whirling haste – its feverish strivings. Wealth!

With the point of his geological hammer Renshaw next proceeded to chip a circle around the great diamond. Clink, clink! The hammer bit its way slowly but surely into the face of the hard rock. Clink, clink! The circle deepened. The chips flew into their eager faces. No thought of pausing to rest.

It was a long job and a tedious one. At length the quartz cracked, then split. The superb stone rolled into Renshaw’s hand.

“Seven or eight hundred carats, if it’s one,” he said, holding it up to the light, and then passing it to his companion. “Look what a shine it has, even in the rough. It must have been partially ‘cut’ by the splitting of the quartz, even as old Greenway conjectured. Directly I saw this boulder, split in half like that, I knew that it was in the cleft that we had to search. Yet the thing is a perfect marvel, well-nigh outside all experience.”

“I wonder what the schelm Bushmen will think when they find that their ‘devil’s eye’ has knocked off shining,” said Sellon. “By Jove, we should look precious fools if they were to drop down and quietly sneak our rope!”

“We should,” assented Renshaw, gravely. “We should be pinned in a trap for all time.”

“Pho! The very thought of it makes one’s blood run cold. But, I say, let’s hunt for some more stones, and then clear out as soon as possible.”

A careful search having convinced Renshaw that such a freak of Nature was not likely to repeat itself, and that neither the cleft nor the sides of the great boulder offered any more of its marvellous treasures to be had for the taking, they turned away to search the gravelly soil of the crater, with what intensity of eagerness only those who have experienced the truly gambling passion involved in treasure-seeking can form an idea. No food had passed their lips since the previous evening, yet not a moment could be spared from the fierce, feverish quest for wealth. They ate their dry and scanty rations with one hand while wielding pick and shovel with the other. Even the torments of thirst, for the contents of their pocket flasks were as a mere drop to the ocean in the torrid, focussed heat now pouring down into this iron-bound hollow, they hardly felt. Each and every energy was merged in that intense and craving treasure hunt.

“Well, this can’t go on for ever,” said Renshaw at last, pausing to wipe his streaming brow. “What do you say to knocking off now, and leaving this for another day? Remember, we are not out of the wood yet. There is such a thing as leaving well alone. And we have done more than well.”

They had. It wanted about two hours to sunset. In the course of this long day’s work they had found upwards of sixty diamonds – besides the superb Eye. All were good stones, some of them indeed really magnificent. This long-sealed-up treasure-house of the earth, now that its doors were opened, yielded its riches in no niggardly fashion.

“Perhaps we had better clear out while we can,” assented Sellon, looking around regretfully, and making a final dig with his pick. There hung the good rope, safe and sound. A stiff climb – then away to spend their lives in the enjoyment of the fruits of their enterprise.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go first. I am so cursedly heavy,” said Sellon. “And just steady it, like a good chap, while I swarm up.”

A good deal of plunging, and gasping, and kicking – and we are sorry to add – a little “cussing,” and Sellon landed safely upon the grassy ledge. Renshaw was not long in following.

There remained the upper cliff, which was, it will be remembered, nearer the perpendicular than the other one, though not so high. Up this Sellon proceeded to climb, his companion steadying the rope for him as before. Pausing a few moments to draw up and coil the longer line, Renshaw turned to follow. But – the rope was not there. Looking up, he saw the end of it rapidly disappearing over the brow of the cliff above. What did it mean?

It could not be! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The rope was gone. What idiotic practical joke could his companion be playing at such a time? Then, with a shock, the blood flowed back to his heart, and he turned deadly cold all over.

Alas and alas! It could mean but one thing. Renshaw’s feelings at that moment were indescribable. Amazement, dismay, burning indignation, were all compressed within it, and following upon these the warning words of Marian Selwood, spoken that sunny morning under the cool verandah, flashed through his brain.

“He is not a man I should trust. He doesn’t seem to ring true.”

Heavens and earth – it could not be! No man living, however base, could be guilty of such an act of black and bitter treachery. But in Maurice Sellon’s possession was the great diamond – the superb “Eye.”

Even then it could not be. Surely, surely, this man whose life had been saved twice now; whom he had been the means of enriching for the remainder of that life – could not be capable of requiting him in such a manner as this. It must be a mere senseless practical joke.

“Anything gone wrong with the rope?” he called up, striving to suppress the ring of anxiety in his voice.

No answer.

Again he called.

No answer. But this time, he fancied he heard receding footsteps clambering up the steep hillside beyond.

Renshaw Fanning’s life had not held many moments more bitter than those which followed. The hideous treachery of his false friend, the terrible fate which stared him in the face – pent up within that deathtrap, and – hollow mockery – wealth untold lying at his feet. And the cold-bloodedness which had planned and carried out so consummate a scheme! Why had not the villain drawn up the longest rope, and left him below in the crater instead of up here on the ledge? Why, because he knew that he himself could be shot dead from below while climbing the upper rope, whereas now he was safe. The whole thing was as clear daylight. There was no room for doubt.

Chapter Thirty Two.
Judas Impromptu

One of those inexplicable problems which now and again crop up to puzzle the student of human nature and to delight the cynic is the readiness wherewith a man, who on the whole is rather a good fellow, will suddenly, and at a moment’s notice, plunge into the lowest depths of base and abject villainy.

When Maurice Sellon first laid his hand upon the lower rope to ascend out of the crater, he had no more idea of committing this act of blackest treachery than his generous and all too trusting friend had. It came to him, so to speak, in mid-air – begotten of a consciousness of the priceless treasure now in his possession – of the ease wherewith he could draw up the rope.

The temptation became too strong. That splendid stone, worth a fortune, would be all his. Renshaw might eventually work his way out by some other point – but not until he himself had got a long start to the good. He remembered his friend’s words earlier in their expedition. “Do you think you could find your way back alone?” Strangely prophetic! Yes, he thought he could do that. At any rate, with the fabulous wealth about him, it was worth while making the trial.

We think we have hitherto made it clear that Sellon was not without some good impulses. Equally we seem to have made it clear that he was at the same time what is commonly, and expressively, known as a “slippery character.” From a slip to a downright – a heavy – fall is the work of an instant. So, too, had been the dastardly resolve which he had formed and carried out.

He could not have lifted a hand against his friend – his nature was too weak for any such aggressive act of villainy. But to leave him to perish miserably of starvation, shut up there in the crater, involved the playing of a comparatively inactive part. And again, it did not look so bad. Renshaw was a man of infinite resource. He might eventually succeed in finding a way out – probably would. Thus was conscience seared.

Sellon climbed up to where the horses were grazing, closely knee-haltered. He untied the reims, and led them back to the place where they had camped. It was a short distance, but it gave him time to think.

He saddled up his own horse. Then he took out the great diamond. How it flashed in the sinking sunlight. It must be worth a fabulous sum. All his own – all, not half.

His foot was in the stirrup. He took one more look around. There was their resting-place, just as it had been left in the small hours of the morning. His friend’s blanket still lay there, as it had been thrown aside. His friend’s saddle and bridle – a few reims and other gear. The sight of these objects set him thinking.

The sweet golden sunshine slanted down into the hollow, its course nearly run. Opposite, the great cliffs flushed redly at its touch; below, the crater was already in shade. And upon that lonely ledge stood the man who was thus treacherously left to die a lingering death – never again to look upon a human face, never again to hear the sound of a human voice.

Why had he been so blindly, so besottedly confiding? Had he not by the very fact placed temptation in the other’s way? Marian was right. “He does not seem to ring true,” had been her words. Her quick woman’s instinct had gauged the risk, while he, in his superior knowledge, had suffered himself to be led blindfold into the trap. Ah, well, these considerations came just a trifle too late. He must make up his mind to meet his end, and that soon, for even to his resourceful brain no glimmer of a way out of the difficulty presented itself.

“Hallo! Fanning!”

The blood tingled in his veins at the call. He paused a moment before replying to the treacherous scoundrel – and then it was in one single stern monosyllable.

“Well?”

“Look here, old chap. I want to talk to you.”

“Why don’t you show yourself?”

For although the voice came from the cliff’s brow above, not even the speaker’s head was visible.

“Look here, old boss,” went on the latter, ignoring the question. “I’m a pretty desperate sort of a chap just now – because I’m desperately in want of the needful – all of it that I can lay hands on, in fact. Now, with you it’s different; for you went out of your way to tell me as much. Remember?”

“Go on.”

“Well, you said you’d be content with moderate riches. Now you’ve got them. With me it’s different. I want a good deal more than anything moderate.”

He paused, but no answer came from below.

“Well, what I want to propose is this. You hold on to what you’ve got, and I’ll stick to what I’ve got. Is that a bargain?”

“No.”

“Now, Fanning, do be reasonable. By-the-by, you remember when we first talked about this place. I told you I had an object in trying to make a pile, and rather chaffed you on having one too. Said I believed our object was the same. Remember?”

“Well?”

“Well, I little thought how I was hitting the right nail on the head. Now, by agreeing to my suggestion, you can benefit us both – benefit all three of us, in fact. For you behaved devilish well over that other business, mind, devilish well. Look here now. Agree that we shall start quits from this moment – that we each stick to what we’ve got on us – mind you, we’ve had no division yet, and you may have as many stones as I have – or nearly so – for all I – for all either of us – know. Give me your straight word of honour that you agree to this, and – I’ll let down the rope again.”

Here again the speaker fell unconsciously into an inconsistency so paradoxical as to be almost grotesque. Had the position been reversed, would he have scrupled at passing his own “word of honour” a score of times, if necessary, in order to get out of the present quandary. And once out of it would he have hesitated to break his pledged word equally a score of times, and to pursue his claim to the uttermost. Not for a moment would he have so scrupled. Yet he was prepared to accept this other man’s word in perfect good faith. Wherein is indeed a paradox, and, as we have said, a grotesque one.

“And if I refuse?” said Renshaw.

“If – ? In that case I shall not let down the rope again.”

“I do refuse, then.”

The stern determined tone left no room for doubt. That, once it was formed, there was no shaking this man’s resolution Maurice was well aware.

“Then you are committing suicide,” he said.

“And you murder – murder in the blackest and most diabolical form in which it has ever been committed. And – believe me or not, as you please – I would rather be myself here, than be you, at large with the results of your villainy. And those results – mark my last words – you will never benefit by.”

To this there was no reply, and some minutes went by in silence. Again Renshaw heard his name called. But he deigned no answer.

“I say, Fanning,” came the voice from overhead again. “Hang it, man, say you agree.”

“Never,” now replied Renshaw, speaking coldly and deliberately. “I have never been a grasping man, and I defy my worst enemy to charge me with a single instance of taking advantage of anybody. But – I have always tried to be a man of principle – to act on principle. And in utterly refusing to play up to your villainous hand I am following out that line consistently. And now, Maurice Sellon, I will just add this. I am alone in the world, and having no ties my life is to that extent my own. I will let it be sacrificed rather than violate a principle. But you, from the hour you leave this place, you will never know a moment’s peace, never for a moment will the recollection of what you have done to-day cease to haunt you. Here from my living tomb I can afford to pity you.”

Again there was silence. But there was an awfulness about those parting words, the more forcible that they were spoken without heat or anger – a solemnity which could not but live in the recollection of him to whom they were addressed. How did they strike him now?

Suddenly something shot out into the air from above, falling with a ‘thwack’ against the face of the cliff. It was the raw-hide rope.

Renshaw merely looked at it. The end trailed at his feet. Yet he put forward no hand to seize it.

“Come on, old chap,” sung out Sellon in his heartiest manner. “Why, I’ve only been playing off a practical joke on you – just to see how ‘grit’ you are. And you are ‘grit’ and no mistake.”

But Renshaw shook his head with a bitter smile. Still he made no move forward.

“Do you want to finish me off more quickly than at first?” he said. “I suppose the line will be cut by the time I’m half-way up.”

“No. I swear it won’t,” called out the other. “Man alive, can’t you take a little chaff? I tell you I’ve only been humbugging you all along.”

Renshaw did not believe a word of this. But as he stood there the whole truth of the matter seemed to flash upon him. Sellon had been beset by a terrible temptation, and had yielded – for the moment. Then his better instincts had come uppermost, and this was the result.

Still, as he seized the rope, and having tested it, started on his climb, he more than half expected every moment of that climb to be his last. Then as he rose above the brink Sellon put out his hand to help him. This, however, he ignored, and drew himself up unaided.

“What a game chap you are, Fanning,” began Sellon, trying to laugh. But the other turned to him, and there was that in the look which cut him short.

“I only wish I could believe in your ‘practical joke’ theory, Sellon,” said Renshaw, and his tones were very cold and stern. “But I can’t, and I tell you so straight. Do you know that for the bare attempt at the hideous treachery you proposed just now you would be lynched without mercy, in any mining camp in the world. Wait – let me say it out. I have shared my secret with you, and have given you wealth, and even now I will not go back on our bargain – share and share alike. But there is one condition which I must exact.”

“And what’s that?” asked Sellon, shortly, not at all relishing the other’s way of looking at things.

“I trusted you as fully as any man ever was trusted. I thought the large diamond was as safe in your possession as in my own. I left it in your possession, thereby placing temptation in your way. Now I must insist on taking charge of it myself.”

“Oh, that’s another pair of shoes. Possession, you know – nine points – eh?” answered Maurice, defiantly.

“Why, the very fact of your hesitating a moment proves what your intentions were, and are,” said Renshaw, speaking rather more quickly, for even he was fast reaching the limits of patience. “I must ask you to hand it over.”

“And suppose I decline?”

“One of us two will not leave this place alive.”

Sellon started. Well he might. There was a look upon the other’s face which he had never seen there before. Accustomed as he was to trade upon his friend’s good nature, he could hardly believe him in earnest now. He had felt a real liking for Renshaw, sincere, but dashed with a touch of superiority. A fine fellow in many ways, but soft in others, had been his verdict. And now this man was actually dictating terms to him. Even then, however, some faint stirrings of his better impulses moved Sellon, but greed of gain, selfishness, self-importance, came uppermost.

“I’m not the sort of man to be bullied into anything,” he answered.

They stood there facing each other – there on the brink of that marvellous treasure house – on the brink, too, of a deadly quarrel over the riches which it had yielded them. To the generous mind of one there was something infinitely repulsive – degrading – in the idea of quarrelling over this question of gain. But in this instance it was to him a question of self-respect, and therefore of principle. How was it going to end?

They stood there facing each other; the countenance of one set and determined, that of the other sullen, defiant, dogged. How was it going to end?

Suddenly an ejaculation escaped Sellon, and the expression of his face changed to one of vivid alarm.

“Oh, good God!” he cried. “Here they come! Look! look!” and, turning at the same time, he started off up the hill towards where the horses were standing, fortunately ready saddled.

Renshaw, suspecting a new trick, sent a quick glance backward over his shoulder. But the other had spoken truly.

Swarming over the opposite brow of the mountain, came a crowd of uncouth shapes. Baboons? No.

Ape-like, it was true, but – human.