Part 5

More than once Mr. Halliday set off in the daytime with John and the Wanderobbo, who was now a frequent visitor to the farm, to track the lions and if possible hunt them down. They found that the spoor led into the dense scrub higher up the river, a region ten or twelve miles in length and nearly as much in breadth. So thick was the scrub that it was impossible to trace the beasts for more than a few yards into its recesses. After what he had heard of the Wanderobbo's skill and prowess as a hunter, Mr. Halliday was surprised to find how reluctant the little man was to accompany them in their expeditions. But he had a wholesome dread of lions. Elephants he was prepared to tackle, and indeed any other creature of the wilds; though even them he would rather snare than stalk; but the lion was a much more cunning and dangerous enemy. He would talk very bravely sometimes, avowing that if he met a lion and stared at him the beast would slink away; but he showed no readiness to enter the probable haunts of the creatures, and admitted that they sometimes took it into their heads to fight instead of running away, and then they were quite as clever hunters as he was. Mr. Halliday somewhat impatiently reminded him that rifles were very deadly weapons; but the Wanderobbo shook his head and said that he had never hunted lions with rifles. He had seen the Arabs do so, and pay for their temerity with their lives. On the whole his advice was to leave the lions alone, and he once confessed very naively that if he, bold hunter as he was, saw a lion approaching, he would certainly go the other way.

With such half-hearted assistance it was not surprising that many days passed before the Englishmen so much as caught a glimpse of their tormentors. However, one morning when they had gone out with the Wanderobbo and Coja to track the smaller game for food, they descried two lions stalking slowly across a glade some miles up the river. In spite of the little man's reluctance Mr. Halliday determined to go in chase, and then the Wanderobbo, forgetting his fears when his hunting instincts were aroused, suggested that they should tempt the lions to come within range. He proposed that they should carry a water-buck which John had just brought down, to a spot where the scent of it would be wafted by the wind towards the beasts. This having been done, the party retreated to the rear of the lions and lurked behind some trees to watch them. The lions soon scented the game, and came slowly towards it, moving with a majestic and yet graceful gait that extorted murmurs of admiration from the Englishmen. But when they had come within two hundred yards, and John was quivering with excitement at the prospect of his first encounter with the king of beasts, one of them became suspicious and halted, lifting his head and sniffing the air, and then uttering a low growl as if to warn his companion. After a minute or two they seemed to decide that they were being led into a trap, and, turning about, stalked slowly away.

"Let's go after them, father," said John, unwilling to let this chance slip.

The four set off stealthily to stalk the beasts, and after an hour's fatiguing march over rough ground, saw them standing together at the edge of a patch of bush just beyond range. Bending low, and taking advantage of every tree and tussock of grass, and a tall ant-hill, for cover, the two Englishmen drew nearer and nearer, and were on the point of lifting their rifles to fire, when the animals disappeared into the bush. There was nothing for it but to begin the stalking again. They cautiously made the circuit of the bush, and presently saw the lions emerge from the further end and continue their promenade. Again the hunters followed them, at one moment flattering themselves that a few yards further would bring them within range, the next chagrined to perceive that the lions had quickened their pace and outdistanced them. At length, when a thin patch of woodland enabled them to hurry their steps and gave hope of overtaking their quarry, the lions broke into a trot and soon disappeared from view.

"Well, if that isn't disgusting!" exclaimed John,

"How long have we been at this game, do you think?" asked his father.

"Two or three hours, perhaps."

"Five hours and a half, my boy, and I rather think we might have been better employed."

John was too much disgusted at the failure of his first lion-hunt to say any more; and when next morning it was found that one of the best cows had been stolen he was still more angry.

"We must put a stop to this, father," he said. "Can't we set a trap?"

"We'll see what our friend Bill says," replied Mr. Halliday. The Wanderobbo's name had proved so unpronounceable that he had been called Bill for short. Bill, however, said that lions were too clever to be caught in traps, which did not seem improbable when he explained what he meant by a trap--a simple pit with a sharpened stick at the bottom, like that in which Oliver Browne had been found, or a spear suspended from the branch of a tree and brought down by the animal treading on a rope. Mr. Halliday set to work to devise a more effective machine.

He got the mistris to cut several stout logs, out of which they constructed a sort of gigantic rat-trap. The door was arranged so that it was held in position by a light pole attached to a length of stout wire, which was connected with a spring hidden under leaves on the floor of the trap. If a lion should enter and tread on the spring, the wire would be released and the door fall behind him down two grooves of corrugated iron. To entice him to enter, a live goat was placed in a compartment adjoining the trap, so strongly fenced that the bait was in no danger.

This trap was rigged up, with the expenditure of a day's work, at one corner of the outer boma.

"It's rather poor sport to treat the lion like a rat," said John, "but that can't be helped. If we catch one we shan't be able to get a good shot at him in the dark, though."

"Well, we can either keep him there till daylight, or, better still, burn a bit of magnesium wire--I've plenty; that will not only give us a good light, but possibly help to scare other beasts away."

The trap was set. For two nights nothing happened. On the third, just as the two Englishmen were thinking of turning in, they heard the door of the trap fall with a clatter, followed by a low growl of rage. They caught up their rifles and hurried to the spot.

"Now for the wire, father," said John. "You give me a light and I'll pot the beast."

Mr. Halliday struck a match and ignited the wire, but just as John was taking aim it fell to the ground.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm as nervous as a cat," said his father, with a rueful laugh. "And I haven't brought a second piece, confound it!"

"Well, we'll take a shot in the dark. We can't both miss."

They fired together. The next moment there was a terrific roar, a crash as of shattered match-wood, and they knew that the infuriated captive had burst through the walls of the trap, stout as they were. They fired another shot in the direction they supposed him to have taken, and then, vexed and disappointed, returned to their tent. They found next day that the lion had been wounded. Bill traced it by the stains of blood upon the ground. But its injuries were plainly not very serious, for the track failed at a patch of reeds a mile up the river, and the Englishmen had to digest their chagrin that the troublesome beast was still at large. Their efforts, however, had not been wholly unsuccessful. The nocturnal visitations ceased, and since no roaring was heard it appeared that the lions had been scared from the neighbourhood.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH--John runs the Farm

Within three months of Mr. Halliday's arrival at his farm, which he named Alloway after the village of his father's birth, the place had assumed the orderly appearance of a prosperous settlement. The knoll was crowned by a neat bungalow; two hundred yards below it stood two wooden huts appropriated to Said Mohammed and the mistris; at some distance from this a row of cattle-sheds had been erected; and beyond these stood the grass huts of Wasama and his son and Lulu the negress, these being all who remained of the original party. Pens had been made for the sheep and goats; about twenty acres of land had been prepared for planting when the rains began; and a dairy had been started, being cut out of the side of the knoll on which the bungalow stood, for the sake of coolness and protection from the sun and dust.

The work of the Indians being finished for the present, Mr. Halliday thought of paying them off; but reflecting that more fencing would be needed by and by, as well as lambing-pens and cattle-sheds as the stock increased, he decided to retain the men, even though he could not make full use of them.

It chanced one day that a Swahili came to the farm with a letter from Mr. Gillespie, enclosing one addressed to Mr. Halliday, and bearing the Glasgow postmark and a date nine weeks back. The flap of the envelope bore the name and address of a firm of lawyers unknown to Mr. Halliday, and he opened the letter with some curiosity mixed with apprehension.

"Well now," he exclaimed, as he hastily read it, "this is a pretty fix."

"What is it, father?" asked John.

"You've heard me speak of my uncle Alec--the old curmudgeon who lived by himself and hasn't spoken to any of his family for twenty years. Well, the poor old man is dead, and these people, Wright and MacKellar, tell me that he left no will, and understanding that I am the next of kin, they urge me to come to Glasgow and make good my title. The letter was written nearly three months ago, and seems by the look of the envelope to have had an adventurous career."

"But hadn't your uncle any children?"

"One daughter. She married without his consent: I forget the man's name, and I haven't heard about her for five-and-twenty years."

"What will you do?"

"I'm just thinking. My uncle was a shipowner, and pretty well-to-do: indeed, your poor mother's friends used to advise me to keep in with him, but I couldn't toady to the old bear. I suppose I ought to go back, and yet!---- It's rather upsetting, my boy, just as we are getting settled. He must have died before we left England, and if I had known then, and really inherit his property, we needn't have come out at all, perhaps."

"I'm jolly glad you didn't, then, for I wouldn't have been out of this for anything."

"That's all very well, but there's the property: it would be a pity to lose that: shouldn't like it to go out of the family. At the same time, I'm not inclined to give up the farm; we've made a good start, and I'm uncommonly interested in it. Besides, I may not be the heir after all; my cousin may be alive: and I should look a pretty fool after going to this expense if I cleared out and got nothing--like the dog in the fable. I think I'd better take a trip back to Nairobi and see Gillespie. And I'll tell you what I'll do, John. If I decide to go home, as most likely I shall, I'll find an experienced man in Nairobi and send him up to take charge while I'm away."

"That's rather rotten," said John with a crestfallen look. "I don't want anybody here bossing me, father. Why not leave me in charge?"

"You're over young, John," replied Mr. Halliday dubiously.

"I'm just on eighteen, and I've got a bit used to things. I learnt a lot in that six months at the agricultural college before we started. I'm not exactly a fool, either. Plenty of fellows have gone to the Colonies on their own at my age, and done jolly well too. Look at Ned Cooper; he's got his own ranch in British Columbia, and he's not more than a year older than I am. Besides, look at the expense. You won't get a decent Englishman who'll be any good under L300 a year, I should think, and if this business in Glasgow turns out a frost, you'll be precious sorry you spent the money."

"There's something in that," said Mr. Halliday, stroking his beard. "Well, I'll think of it."

The upshot of his meditations was that he decided to do as John suggested. The lad was unfeignedly delighted; the responsibility did not daunt him; though he said little he felt capable of carrying on the work of the farm, and inwardly resolved to have a good budget to show his father when he returned. Mr. Halliday spent a good many anxious hours in instilling principles of caution and carefulness into his mind: he gave directions about the steps to be taken to bring the cattle and sheep and dairy produce to market when the proper time came; and then one day he set off with Coja and a couple of villagers as porters, determined to ask Mr. Gillespie to keep an eye on the boy as far as he could.

Before leaving he had a little conversation with Said Mohammed, upon whom he impressed the necessity of paying implicit obedience to his young master, and of helping him in every possible way.

"Verb. sap., sir," said the Bengali. "Mr. John is a chip of the old block, a second edition of you, sir, and I esteem myself most fortunate and in clover to do this trivial round for such a superior person."

Things went on very peacefully and on the whole prosperously at the farm after Mr. Halliday's departure. He sent Coja back from Nairobi with a letter in which he wrote that Mr. Gillespie had advised him to return to England, and had promised to pay John a visit if he found time. The rains began soon after Mr. Halliday had gone, and John was mortified when a few of the sheep died through catching a chill; but apart from this misfortune nothing happened to trouble him. He had no difficulties with the people under his authority. Coja proved to be a handy man; Wasama and his son were excellent herdsmen; and Lulu not only did a fair share of labour in the fields with the villagers, but excelled in laundry work, and looked after John's simple wardrobe with a neatness and care which would have put many a London landlady to the blush. As for Said Mohammed, he was a compendium of utilities. He was cook, khansaman, and table-servant rolled into one. He was careful to explain that in India he would scorn to serve in more than one capacity, but "Tempora mutantur," he quoted impressively, "et nos mutamur in illis."

"Rest, sir, is change of occupation," he said, "and when I have accomplished the culinary part of my functions, I make a lightning change and become a dumb waiter, remembering the beautiful words of the blind epic poet, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"

With the beginning of the rains came the season for planting. Mr. Halliday had brought a variety of seeds with him, for though he hoped to make money out of stock-raising rather than agriculture, and reckoned on getting cereals from the neighbouring village for his native and Indian workers, he was not sure that the villagers would always grow enough to supply their needs, and he wished also to grow English vegetables and fruits for his own consumption. John made a start towards the end of November with oats and wheat; next month he sowed cabbages, peas, tomatoes, potatoes and vegetable marrows, and planted a few apple-tree slips. In January he put in cabbages and onions, and finished off with cauliflowers in February. The great dread of the African cultivator is drought, but the rains fell almost continuously for three months, so that there was every prospect of good crops.

The sheep and cattle throve apace. There was no sign of scab or heartwater in the former, but they were troubled for a time by the nostril-fly, a pest that lays its eggs in the nasal passages, causing intense irritation and sometimes a dangerous fever. Two or three of the animals died, but there happening to be a syringe among the things brought from Nairobi, John made a point every night of thoroughly washing out the nostrils of the sheep affected, and had the satisfaction of preventing any more deaths from this cause, though he never succeeded in banishing the pests. He felt not a little gratified at pulling one of the bulls through an attack of pneumonia. After a little trouble in inducing the two Masai and Lulu to be scrupulous in washing their hands, he managed to get the dairy into working order. Each cow yielded about four pounds of milk a day, some of which he turned into butter, which his people consumed in enormous quantities. All the spare milk over and above what was used for food was utilized for making cheese, which was stored in a deep pit until it could be transported to market at Nairobi.

Being dissatisfied with the grass huts which had originally been erected by the natives, he set the mistris to build substantial houses of logs and thatch, and found them both cleaner and healthier. They cost no more than L1 apiece. He also got them to put up a plant-house with wickerwork sides and thatched roof at a cost of L5. Finding that the villagers possessed fowls, he bought a number, and this provided more work for the carpenters. They built a large hen-house of wood with an iron roof, and fenced in a run of about 1000 square feet in area. With the prospect of good crops a barn was necessary, and they erected a wooden building with a floor of about 300 square feet. Having no iron left, he had to roof this with thatch, resolving to buy more galvanized roofing on his first visit to Nairobi.

Before all this work was finished some of the vegetables and cereals he had planted grew to maturity. Said Mohammed gave him turnips for dinner in February; next month he had some fine tomatoes and potatoes, and by the beginning of April the most delicious peas and vegetable marrows he had ever tasted. The grain fields, however, suffered a good deal from the depredations of weaver birds, and after ineffectual attempts to get rid of these with his rifle and by setting up scarecrows, John resorted to a poison supplied by his native neighbours--a decoction of a certain root. This proved effective. The wheat was ready for reaping in April, and he was amused to see the natives cut it with knives, they being quite unable to handle the scythes Mr. Halliday had brought. They threshed it with sticks and winnowed it with hand-sieves. There was a small hand-mill among the farm utensils, and by the end of April John enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of eating bread baked by Said Mohammed in an earthen oven. Only half an acre had been sown with wheat, and as the yield was 400 lbs. of grain John was thoroughly satisfied. The oats were not ripe until July, and the yield was much less than that of the wheat; but they made good porridge, and John was able to write to his father that when he returned he could have the national breakfast.

John had heard from Mr. Halliday several times since his departure. The first letter arrived early in December, and caused him mingled amusement and vexation.

----

"Here I am, in Glasgow, flourishing as ever. Tennant's stack is behaving even worse than usual, and the atmosphere makes me fair sick after the air of Kenya. I had a horrible passage: we were terribly knocked about in the Bay, and I got a black eye one night through being pitched out of my bunk and coming into collision with the ledge of the one below. There was a teetotal commercial on board (rare bird), who looked at me very suspiciously at breakfast, and asked me at lunch whether I drank pot-still or patent. I asked him which was his line, and he got so red that I was uncharitable enough to conjecture he drinks on the sly.

"But here I am, and I think I've made a fool of myself in coming; for when I called at Wright and MacKellar's they showed me a cable they had just received from the Cape. 'Halliday's daughter inherits; letter this mail.' The death of poor old uncle had of course been announced in the _Herald_, and that goes everywhere, and sure enough when the mail came in there was a letter from some lawyer fellows at Cape Town to say that their client, Mrs. Burtenshaw, nee Sylvia Halliday, having seen the announcement of her father's death, had made arrangements to return to Scotland to claim the estate I asked them why the ballachulish they hadn't waited before they sent for me, and Wright said that if he had been aware that I had changed my domicile (law for left the country, I suppose) he would certainly have hesitated before putting me to the inconvenience (and expense, I put in) of making so long a voyage. I asked whether my expenses would come out of the estate, and he said that he was inclined to believe the trustees would not homologate any claim for my outgoings. I'm glad you were not a lawyer, after all. I was for starting back at once, but he wouldn't hear of it: said I must wait to see whether Mrs. Burtenshaw could substantiate her claim; she might be an impostor, and since the estate is valued at over L100,000 it would be a pity to be out of the way if I turned out to be the heir after all. My cousin's name is Sylvia right enough, and I'm convinced the claimant will prove her bona-fides, but I suppose I must kick my heels until she turns up. It's twenty-five years or more since I saw her, and I shouldn't know her from Lulu, so I can't help to identify her. Altogether I'm very unhappy. Tell me how you're getting on. I am wearying until I get back, and on thorns in case anything goes wrong. God bless you!

"P.S.--Don't forget that cabbages and cauliflowers must be transplanted _about five weeks_ after they are sown."

----

This was vexing enough, but when the next letter came, saying that Mrs. Burtenshaw was laid up with bronchitis and would be unable to travel for some time, John was thoroughly distressed. He knew how his father would hate hanging on indefinitely, with nothing to do, and no interests to keep him in St. Mungo's city. Mr. Halliday, however, did not remain in Glasgow. He went to his old home in the south of England, instructing Wright and MacKellar to summon him by telegraph when the lady arrived.

As time went on, the stock on the farm was considerably increased by the arrival of healthy lambs and calves. John had expected his father to return before it became necessary to drive the animals to Nairobi for sale, and he became seriously concerned as to how that was to be done. Being the only white man on the farm he could not leave it; yet the animals must be taken to market somehow, for his father was relying on the proceeds of their sale to replenish his small balance at the bank, which he had had to draw upon to meet the expenses of his prolonged stay in England. John himself was running short of "trade" for the payment of his native workers from the village, and of ready money for his immediate dependants, who required hard cash or notes of the East African currency. He did not wish to draw on the bank, as his father had authorized him to do; and he knew that the sums realized by the sale of the stock would enable him to carry on for a considerable time, and also to add to the bank surplus, upon which Mr. Halliday might have to draw at any moment.

There was no one among the hands to whom he could entrust the driving of the cattle. Wasama and his boy, no doubt, could do the actual driving, if they were not plundered on the way; but the presence of a white man would be almost a _sine qua non_ to prevent molestation on the journey. Even in the unlikely chance of Wasama getting the beasts safely to Nairobi he could not be expected to sell them to advantage, and Said Mohammed, when John spoke of it to him one day, very frankly acknowledged that the Masai would come off second best in any attempt to barter with the traders of Nairobi, whether Indian or European.