Men of Men - Smith Wilbur (онлайн книга без txt) 📗

Nobody would offer ZOUGA 5,000 pounds for his claims now.

On the contrary, a week after he first heard those two dreaded words, the manager of the Standard Bank had sent a note asking him to call.

"Major Ballantyne, in view of recent developments, the bank has been forced to review the value of collateral securing our clients" overdrafts. We have calculated the present market value of your claims as five hundred pounds each."

"That's ridiculous, sir."

"Major, the blue has shown on the claims of the orphen Company."

The bank manager did not have to elaborate. The Orphen block was only separated from the Devil's Own by a dozen intervening claims. "I don't enjoy doing this, Major, but I must ask you to reduce our overdraft to one thousand pounds."

"The blue" was the reason why many of the town's merchants were running down their stocks, preparing themselves to pull out.

"The blue" was the reason why many of the transport riders were re-routing their wagons to the new goldfields at Pilgrims" Rest.

"What is the blue?" asked Louise Sint John, and when none of the others spoke, Zouga's duty as host placed the burden of reply upon him.

"The blue is the diggers, name for a type of rock formation, missis Sint John. A volcanic conglomerate, dark blue in colour and very hard, too hard to work easily." Zouga picked up his champagne glass, sipped the yellow wine and then studied the rising pinpricks of bubbles.

"Is that all?" Louise asked quietly.

"It has zircons in it, small zircons the size of sugar grains, but there is no market for zircons," Zouga went on grudgingly.

"What is the significance of this, blue?" Louise persisted.

Zouga paused to pick his words with care.

"The diamondiferous earth is a friable yellow gravel friable means crumbling., "Thank you," Louise smiled without rancour. "I do know the word."

"Well, then, on some of the deeper claims in the northern section the yellow gravel has pinched out, and we have come up short against this hard blue floor, hard as marble and just as sterile."

"That hasn't been proved," Rhodes cut in sharply, and Zouga inclined his head in acceptance.

"No, it hasn't been proved, but that is what we all fear.

That we have come to the end. That the fields are worked out., They were all silent then, contemplating that terrifying eventuality.

"When will you know for certain?" Mungo Sint John asked. "When will you know that this blue ground underlies the entire field, and that there are no diamonds in it?"

"It will be many months still before the shallower claims can be worked down to the level of those that have run into the blue," Rhodes answered. "Then if we do find it covers the whole field, we will have to drive pot-holes through it to make sure that it is not a thin layer, and that the yellow gravel does not recur below it., "I see," Sint John nodded. "It seems that I was fortunate to delay my visit to Kimberley until after this blue ground was encountered, or I might have found myself the owner of a mountain of blue marble and no diamonds."

"You have always been a fortunate man, Mungo."

Louise flashed a smile at him, and he replied to it gravely.

"You, my dear, are the greatest of all my good fortunes."

With obvious relief the company abandoned the subject of the dreaded blue ground and turned to lighter topics. Only Rhodes did not join them, but sat silent and brooding at the head of the long table.

Though Zouga smiled and nodded at the repartee, he also was distracted by the talk of lurking disaster, and his thoughts were a barrier between him and the company, so that Louise Sint John had to repeat his name to gain his attention.

"Is that possible, Major Ballantyne?"

Zouga roused himself and turned to her. "Forgive me, missis Sint John.

Will you repeat the question?"

Louise was not accustomed to having a man's thoughts wander when she was talking to him. This cold and correct Englishman was truly beginning to irritate her, and she found herself wanting to shock some natural reaction out of him. She had thought of including a man's word, one of Mungo's soldier's words, in her conversation, but good sense warned her that he would merely raise an eyebrow at such gaucherie. She had thought of ignoring him, but intuition warned her that he would probably welcome that treatment. The best course open to her was to direct her queries at him and force him to recognize her existence, and let it nettle him.

"I was led to understand that you were the Chairman of the Kimberley Sporting Club?"

"I have that honour," Zouga agreed.

"I have heard also that your steeplechases or pointto-point races, I am never quite sure of your British terminology, are the most popular diversions on the diamond fields."

Zouga shook his head and smiled. "I'm not sure of the terminology myself. They certainly are not steeplechases, we are critically short of steeples out here, and they are not point-to-point exactly, for we throw in a little rifle drill. So, we prefer to call them rough rides.

A fairly accurate description, I think."

"i thought to enter one of my horses, in a rough ride," Louise said.

"We would welcome your participation," Zouga agreed.

"I could prepare a list of our better riders from which you could choose."

"I prefer to ride myself," Louise shook her head.

"I am afraid that would not be possible, missis Sint John., "Why now "Because you are a woman., Her expression gave Zouga his first truly satisfying moments in her company. She had turned waxen pale so that the freckles stood out boldly on her cheeks and her eyes glowed a lighter, brighter, angry blue.

Zouga waited for her retort, but she sensed his anticipation and, with a huge effort, denied him the satisfaction. Instead she turned to her husband.

"It's after three o'clock. It has been a very pleasant luncheon, but I should like to return to the hotel now."

She stood up quickly, and Mungo Sint John shrugged resignedly and stood up beside her.

"Please do not let us break up this delightful gathering., his smile and his tone asked their indulgence for a womanly whim.

The groom brought her horse to her and she caressed its pale silken muzzle. Then she gathered the reins, looked up at the group of men on the stoep, held Zouga's eye for a moment, before deliberately turning away.

She placed one neat gloved hand on the stallion's withers where the long white mane rose into the crest of the shoulders, and then in the next instant she was seated on the broad and powerful back, her small feet thrust deeply into the silver-starred Mexican-type stirrups.

Zouga was astounded. He had never seen a woman vault to the saddle. Usually it took a groom to hold the head and another to form a bridge of linked fingers to boost her to the height of the horse's back.

Louise Sint John had gone up so lightly and easily that she might have flown, and the movement of her left hand that made the stallion rear was only apparent to someone looking for it.

The huge horse went up on its hind legs, walking backwards in a circle, cutting at the air with its forehooves, until it faced the five-foot barbed-wire fence that marked the division between Zouga's camp and the public road.

Then Louise moved her hand again and the stallion dropped into a dead run, straight at the fence.

The watching men exclaimed in alarm for the stallion had a bare twenty strides to build up momentum for the jump, yet he flew at it with his pink nostrils flaring and the serpentine veins beneath the burnished skin of his cheeks swelling with the pumping of the great heart.