Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

There was the faint sound of a whinny edging itself through his sleep into his subconscious; it made him think of old man Feldman’s horse and wagon going the rounds of Petticoat Lane buying rags and glass, a comfortable memory momentarily bringing warm thoughts of London and home. But then he came awake, alert, a cold feeling settling upon him. They had no horse! He lay with his eyes barely slitted, feigning sleep, while he listened carefully. There was a repeat of the whinny, a slight, muffled admonition from someone, and then the sound of a horse being led away, out of earshot.

Barney opened his eyes slowly. By the light of the few remaining embers of the fire he could see someone silently climbing onto the rear portion of the wagon, reaching up to untie one of the hanging bags, one of the mealie or biltong carriers. Another man was fumbling with the cover over the crates of machinery, as if to determine what other booty might be taken. Barney felt a fury such as he could scarcely remember. Food and water were life in that desert, and the fact that the thieves probably needed both for their own survival meant little to him. Nor did the fact that there were at least three of them, probably walking, with the one horse to carry whatever they were able to steal. He sat up and then silently came to his feet, his leather hat in one hand, moving quietly toward the wagon. When he was within a few feet he paused, clearing his throat loudly, his fists clenched tightly.

“And just what in the bloody hell do y’think yer doin’?”

The man lifting the cover over the pumping machinery swung around, startled. A muttered curse and a knife suddenly glittered in his hand. The man at the rear of the wagon jumped down, coming around the tailpiece of the wagon to join his partner. Barney crouched slightly, trying to face both men at the same time, but concentrating principally on the man with the knife. It was not the first time a knife had been pulled on him in a fight, nor was it the first time he had been forced to take on more than one opponent at a time, although in the London slums it was usually possible to have a protecting wall at one’s back. Here there was just open space. Still, for some reason the thought of calling to Andries, fast asleep in the deep shadows beneath the wagon, did not even occur to him. This was his fight.

The man with the knife had crouched. His partner, grinning, stood away, interested in seeing his large partner take care of this undersized pipsqueak, wondering a bit where the others of the ox wagon might be, but assuming they had to be off somewhere visiting a farm, leaving this youngster to watch the wagon. Barney could almost read the mind of the second man, sneering at him from the shadows. All the better, he thought with satisfaction, this way I take ’em one at a time.

Now the man with the knife stepped in swiftly. Barney stepped back, easily avoiding the slashing movement. The man with the knife had expected this and he followed up Barney’s retreat with a sudden advance, bending forward at the same time, swinging the blade in a sweeping, curving motion. It was what Barney had hoped for; the force of the blade at that extension was minimal, as was the man’s grip on the haft. With a quick step toward the man, Barney swung the leather hat at the blade, catching the shining steel in the leather, twisting the hat savagely. The knife went flying, torn from the weakened grip, and the man was before him, now unarmed except for his fists. Now Barney stepped in, to the other man’s extreme surprise, unimpressed by the thief’s greater size, no longer furious but now cold, controlled. He slashed at the man with hard fists, stepping away from the wild lunges, coming in again and again to hammer at the man’s stomach and then, when the hands dropped automatically to protect the midsection, battering the confused bearded face, deaf to all sounds except his own breathing and the desperate labored panting of the other. He wondered why the others involved in the attempted robbery had not come to the help of the man he was beating so unmercifully, but there was no time to think of that if he wished to keep from being battered himself. And then the man’s hands dropped slightly, weary from all the missed blows, the wasted energy, and Barney stepped close and ended it with a swift blow to the jaw that sent the man’s head back and brought him to the ground unconscious.

Barney stepped back, prepared to take on the next one, only to find Andries with one thick arm tightly around the neck of each of two men, holding them painfully and securely, watching him with a faint smile on his face. A thin horse, its ribs showing, stood in the shadows, staring forlornly at the scene. Barney shook his head, trying to catch his breath. In the excitement of the fight he had given no thought to Andries. The big Boer suddenly brought together the two heads he had been holding; they banged together with a hollow thud. When he released the men they staggered a moment and then caught their balance, holding their aching heads. Andries pointed to the man on the ground.

“Out,” he said evenly. “Take him and go. Rob somebody else, but stay away from my wagon.” He watched the two men lift the unconscious man and drape him over the saddle of the horse; the horse winced under the load and stumbled slightly as he was led away. Andries watched them go with no pity at all in his hard eyes. “Bloody English,” he said, and spat. It had been the first time Barney had heard him swear. “A Boer would at least have asked for food before he tried to steal it!”

Barney was too tired to argue the point. He suddenly sat down on the ground, still catching his breath, and watched as Andries reached into the wagon where the intruder had untied the rawhide. He brought out his gun, checked it, and then retied the rawhide.

“From now on we keep watch,” he said. “Too many hungry diggers going back to Cape Town. We take turns. You go to sleep, now. I’ll stay awake.” He climbed up into the seat of the wagon and propped the gun against his knee. “Also, boy,” he added, “you fight good.”

“I told you I could fight,” Barney said.

“So you did,” Andries said with an enigmatic smile. “So you did…”

Each night after that they took turns staying awake and keeping watch, two hours awake and two hours asleep, alternating, but they had no more trouble on the trip. This pleased Barney very much as he had no idea if he would have used the gun even under provocation. He had never fired a gun and hoped he would never have to. Fortunately for the rest of the trip he was never put to the test. And as the mountains grew closer and larger, Barney suddenly wondered at the ability of the ox team, strong and willing as they were, to take the heavy wagon with its weighty load of machinery over them. He voiced his doubts to Andries. The big Boer smiled.

“If you can’t go through them, you’ve got to go over them. Right?” He laughed at Barney’s expression. He actually seemed to be looking forward to the mountains, to the challenge of them. “Don’t worry, boy,” he said reassuringly. “I’ve done it many times before, and so have many others.”

“With a load this heavy?”

Andries shrugged. “No, but we’ll get there. We may have to help by pushing in places. In places we may have to take a crate at a time, or maybe two or three, and unload again and go back for the others. But we’ll get you to Colesberg Kopje and your diamonds, don’t worry.”

“They call it Kimberley now,” Barney said.

“I know what they call it now, Englishman,” Andries said dryly, and cracked his whip over the ears of the oxen. And Barney wondered why he resented being called Englishman, especially by Andries, and particularly in that tone…

The mountains were crossed, and Barney would never forget the eight long and arduous days it took to cross them. The trail had been well marked by all the previous coaches and wagons that had made the trek, but few if any wagons had ever been as heavily loaded, and most of the other ox wagons that had made the crossing had many more men along to push and tug and help the oxen. But it was the oxen that Barney had to admire the most. They never allowed the load to drag them backward as mules or horses would have done; they simply set their great weight against the traces and held the wagon steady while Barney and Andries wrestled the lighter crates off before taking what load they could forward and upward.