The Mask: A Story of Love and Adventure
dug the yellow earth out of the hole he shoveled it into the top
screen. When it was full Hickey poured in water while he rocked. The
water washed the dirt through the holes, leaving the stones. These
were taken out, emptied onto a sorting table, where Handsome scraped
off the worthless peddles [Transcriber's note: pebbles?], saving
anything that seemed of value. As a rule, and much to Hickey's
disgust, the table was scraped clean. Sometimes the sailor would make
a joyful exclamation on seeing some glittering pieces of rock crystal,
thinking he had found a prize, only to be disappointed a moment later
when a more experienced miner assured him it was worthless. Both soon
learned, however, to recognize at sight the precious gems, and,
although few came their way, they saw many brought to the surface by
luckier neighbors. One day sounds of great rejoicing was heard in
their tent. They had worked hard for over a month without finding
anything, and were feeling greatly discouraged and dejected, when all
at once something happened. Handsome had been rocking the cradle in a
listless sort of way, and Hickey was sorting the residue, when suddenly
the sailor gave a wild whoop of delight. Darting forward, he held up a
glittering stone. Examination proved it to be a genuine diamond,
weighing about ten carats, and valued at about $1,000. It was not much
of a find, but it was enough to turn their heads. Dropping all work,
they both proceeded to have "a good time," going on a drunken orgie,
which lasted just as long as the money held out. When they came to
their senses they were worse off than before. Weakened by prolonged
debauch, they were in no mood for digging, and to complicate matters
some one had jumped their claim during their absence. Even their tools
had disappeared. Without resource or credit, they could not procure
others. Yet work they must to keep the wolf from the door, so, cursing
others when they had only themselves to blame, Handsome secured
employment, digging for another miner, while the sailor performed such
occasional odd jobs as he could pick up.
Broken in spirit, enraged at the long spell of ill luck, Handsome began
to drink heavily. Every cent he made went to the grog shop, and
Hickey, never over fond of work at any time, was only too glad of an
excuse to drink with him. The two cronies filled themselves with rum
until their reason tottered, and they became beasts, refusing to work,
growing ugly, even menacing, preferring to beg the food their empty
stomachs craved for rather than toil, as before. At last they made
themselves such a nuisance that the attention of the vigilance
committee was called to their particular case. In short order they
were hauled up and ordered to leave camp. There was no alternative but
to obey, and thus began the dreary trek homeward of the two broken and
miserable outcasts.
"We cawn't go on much longer like this," moaned Hickey.
He made a painful effort to get up, but his joints, stiff from the
all-night exposure, refused to obey his will, and he fell back with a
groan. Handsome, more successful, had already risen, and was scanning
the horizon on every side. Except for the kopjies, which in places
obstructed the view, there was a clear range for ten miles or more. If
anything alive moved within the field of vision, they could not help
seeing it, but nothing greeted their eyes. There was neither man or
beast to be seen; seemingly they were still many weary miles from the
nearest homestead.
"We must go on," replied Handsome determinedly. Impatiently he added:
"What do you want to do--stay here and let the jackals gnaw your bones?"
Hickey, too weak to argue, shook his head despondently.
"You go on, Handsome. Leave me here. I cawn't go any further, s' help
me Gawd! My feet hurt somethin' awful. I'm all in. If ye get 'ome
safe, go and see the old folks, will ye, and tell 'em I put up a good
fight?"
"Hell!" retorted the other savagely. "Don't squat there crying like a
baby. Be a man. Get up and let's hike it to the nearest homestead."
Shading his eyes as he gazed earnestly over the plain, he added: "I see
smoke in the distance. It can't be far off. Come----"
Suddenly, to his astonishment, Hickey leaped to his feet, with an
agility unheard of in one so nearly dying. Pointing to the nearest
kopjie, he shouted hoarsely:
"Look! There's a man--near that kopjie--he's coming this way!"
It was no dream. A man, unarmed and unaccompanied, was advancing
toward them. From his dress and manner, it was easy to see that he was
not a Boer farmer. He looked more like an Englishman or an American.
Scarcely able to believe the evidence of his own eyes, Handsome watched
his progress.
As he came nearer, he waved his hand to show that he saw them, and he
walked faster, as if afraid that they might disappear before he could
reach them. Hickey, unable to restrain himself, had run forward, and
in a few minutes they met.
"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, whose face, shaded as it was by a
big canvas helmet, it was difficult to see.
"Miners from the Vaal," answered Hickey. "Who are you?"
"I am a Frenchman--Francois Chalat. I am ze valet of an American
gentleman. Our party not know ze road. We has wandered from what you
call ze trail. Will you show ze way to us?"
"Where's your party?" demanded Hickey.
Francois pointed to a kopjie about three miles distant.
"There! Behind zat hill."
Just at that moment, Handsome came lumbering up almost on the run,
anxious to know what it was all about.
"Have you any whiskey?" was his first breathless ejaculation. "We're
starving."
The valet made no answer. He was too startled to speak. Drawing back
a few steps, he stared blankly at the big fellow. For several minutes
he stood as if struck dumb. Presently, when he found his speech, he
asked in awed tones:
"Who are you? What's your name?"
"What business is it of yours?" snapped Handsome, with some show of
irritation. "Have you any food or whiskey? We're starving."
The valet made no answer, but just stared in astonished silence at the
big six-footer who towered above him. For a moment he had thought it a
trick that his master had played upon him. By walking quickly he had
got there before him, and dressed up in these rags just to have fun
with him. But that matted hair and that chin, with its weeks of growth
of beard. He could not be deceived in that. No, this man was not his
employer. Could it be possible, was it--his twin brother long since
given up for dead? The same physique, the same features, the same
eyes, the same thick, bushy hair with the single lock of white hair in
the center of the forehead. There was no room for doubt. It was his
employer's brother. It was just as well to make friends. Drawing a
flask from his pocket and holding it out, he said:
"Here, take a drink. You need it."
Eagerly, Handsome snatched it out of his hand.
"You bet we do."
He took a deep gulp and handed it to Hickey, whose bleary eyes had
watered at the very sight of the flask. Francois turned to Handsome.
"Where is ze trail?" he asked.
"Over yonder," growled the big fellow in surly tones and making a
sweeping gesture with his arm which embraced every quarter of the
compass.
"Rather indefinite, I should say," smiled the valet. "Where you go?
Are you on ze way to ze mines?"
Handsome Jack took another pull at the flask. His good humor returning
in proportion as he felt warmed up by the spirits, he said more amiably:
"I guess not. My pal and I have enough of the cursed place--ain't we,
Hickey?"
The sailor man glanced dolefully at his limping foot, and nodded his
head in acquiescence.
"You show us the trail home. My boss is very rich man," interrupted
Francois quickly. "He pay anything."
Handsome pricked up his ears.
"Oh, he's rich, is he?"
The valet laughed as he replied:
"All Americans rich--tres riches. Did you ever hear of poor Americans?"
Hickey took another drink and snickered. Handsome looked thoughtful.
After a pause, he said:
"What your boss' name?"
"Monsieur Traynor of the Americo-African Mining Co."
Handsome started.
"What? Kenneth Traynor, of the Americo-African Mining Company--the
people who made those sensational finds."
"Yes--he's vice-president of the company."
Handsome gave a low, expressive whistle.
"He's rich--all right! Do you know what those stones are worth?"
"Over a million dollairs."
"And he came out here to----"
The valet nodded.
"_Oui_--zat's it--to get ze big diamonds. We're on our way back from
ze mines now. He has ze stones in his possession."
"And taking them to New York?" gasped Handsome; "a million dollars'
worth?"
"Yes--taking zem to New York. That's what he came out for. We want to
reach ze coast as soon as possible. Again I ask. Will you guide us
back to ze trail?"
For a few moments Handsome made no answer. The thoughtful expression
on his pale, care-worn face showed that he was thinking hard. What was
passing in his mind no one knew, but whatever it was it caused the
lines about his strong mouth to tighten and the steely blue eyes to
flash. A million dollars? God! What will a man not do for a million
dollars? Turning to the valet, he said hastily:
"Yes, I'm on. Take me to your party. I'll show you the trail. Quick,
lead the way."
CHAPTER VIII
Traveling to and from the diamond fields in the days immediately
following the first rush was not an unmixed joy. Express wagons drawn
by eight horses or mules and running from Cape Town to Klipdrift once a
week charged passengers sixty dollars a head, the journey across the
plains taking about eight days. Travelers whose business was so urgent
that they could not wait for the regular stage had to hire a team of
their own at a much higher expense.
Kenneth did not mind the cost, if only he was able to make good time.
The trip to the mines had been accomplished without mishap. Everything
had gone as well as could be desired. He had been successful in
securing valuable land options for the company, and at last the two
precious stones were in his possession. That it was a big
responsibility, he fully realized. The very knowledge that he had on
his person gems worth over a million dollars, and this in a wild,
uncivilized country where at any moment he might be followed, ambushed
and killed, and no one the wiser, was not calculated to calm his
nerves. But Kenneth Traynor had never known the meaning of the word
fear. He was ready for any emergency and he went about unarmed, cool
and unruffled. From his demeanor at least no one could guess that he
ever gave a thought to the valuable consignment of which he was the
guardian. Of course, it had been impossible to keep the thing secret.
Everybody at the mines knew he had come out for the purpose of taking
the big stones to America. Even his drivers knew, and so did Francois.
The news was public property and was eagerly discussed over every camp
fire as one of the sensations of the day. All this publicity did not
tend to lessen the risk, and that was why he was so anxious to reach
Cape Town without the least possible delay. He had timed his departure
from the mines so as to just catch the steamer for England, and now,
after all his trouble and careful calculation, the fool mule drivers
had gone and lost the trail. It was most exasperating.
The wagon had come to a halt the night before under shelter of a
fair-sized kopjie. The mules, tormented by the deadly _tetse_ fly,
stood whisking their tails and biting savagely at their hereditary
enemy; the drivers, indifferent and stolid, sat on the ground smoking
their pipes, while Kenneth, fuming at this unlooked for mishap which