Rensselaer Republican, Volume 21, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 December 1888 — Untitled [ARTICLE]

Fourth reason and last: Because I am going to tell the strangest story that I know of. It may seem a queer thing to say that, especially considering that there is no woipan in it—except Foulata. Stop, though! there is Gagoola, if she was a woman and not a fiend. But she was a hundred at least, and therefore not marriageable, so T don’t count her At any rate, I can safely say that there is not a petticoat in the whole' history. Well I had better come to the yoke. It’s a stiff place, and I feel as though I were bogged up to the axle. But “sutjes, sutjes,” as the Boers say (I’m sure I don’t know how they spell it), softly does it. A strong will come through «*t last, that is If they ain’t too poor. You will never;do anything with poor oxen. Now to begin.” I, Allan Quatermain, of Durban, Natal, Gentleman, make oath and say—that’s how I began my deposition before the magistrate, about poor Khiva’s and Ventvogel’s sad deaths; but somehow it doesn’t seem quite the right way „to begin a book. And, besides, am I a gentleman? What is a gentleman? I don’t quite know, and vet I have had to do with niggers—no, I’ll scratch that word “niggers” out, for I don’t like it. I’ve known natives wfib are, and so you’ll say, Harry, my boy, before your' done with this tale, andJl have known mean whites with lots of money and fresh out from home, too, who ain’t Well, at any rate, I was borp a gentleman, though I’ve been nothing but a poor traveling trader and hunter all my life. Whether I have, remained so I "know not, you must judge ot th«t. Heaven knows I’ve tried. I’ve killed many men in my time, but I’ve never slain wantonly or stained my hand in innocent blood, only in self-defense. The Almighty gave us our lives, and I suppose he meant us to defend them, at least I have always acted on that, and I hope it won’t be brought up against me when my clock strikes. There, there, it is a cruel and w : cked world, and for a timid man I have been, mixed up in a deal of slaughter. I can’t tell the rights of it, but at any rate I have never stolen, though I "once cheated a Kaffer out of a herd of cattle. But then he had done me a dirty turn, arid it has troubled me ever since into the bargain. Well, it’s eighteen months or so ago since I first met Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, and it was in this way. I had been u,p elephant hunting beyond Bamamgwato, and had had bad luck. Everything went wrong .that trip, and to top up with I got the fever badly. So soon as I was well enough I trekked down to the Diamond Fields, sold such ivory as I had, and also my wagon and oxen, discharging my hunters, and took the post-cart to the Cape. After spending a week in Cape Town, finding that they overcharged me at the hotel, and' having* seen everything there was to see, including the botanical gardens, which seem to me likely to confer a great benefit on the country, and new Houses of Parliament, which I expect will no n thing of the sort, I determinedto go on back to Natal by the “Dunkeld,” then lying in the docks waiting for the “Edinburgh Castle” due in from England. I took my berth apd went aboard, and that afternoon the Natal passengers from the “Edinburg Castle” transhipped, and we weighed and put out to sea. Among the passengers who came on board there were two who excited my curiosity. One, a man of about thirty, was one of (he biggest-chested and loug-est-araed men I ever saw. He had yellow hair,abig .yellow beard, cleareCut features, and large gray eyes set deep into his head. I never saw a fitterlooking man, and somehow he reminded me of an ancient Dane. Not that I know much of ancient Danes, though I remember a modern Dane who did me out of ten pounds; but I remember once seeing a picture of some of those genfify. who, I take it, Jrfem * kind of white.. Zulus. They were dnnking out of bighorns, and. their Ring hair hung down their backs, and as I looked at my friend standing their by Hie companionladder, I thought that if one only let his hair grow a bit, put one of thote

chain shirts on to those great shoulders of his, and give him a big battle-axe and a horn-mug, he tpight have sat as a model for that picture. And by the way it is a curious thing, and just shows how the blood will show out, I found out afterward that Sir Henry Curtis, for that was the big man’s name, was of Danish blood. He also reminded me of somebody else - ; but at the time I could not remember whd it was. The other man, who stood talking to Sir Henry was short, stout, and dark, and of quite a different cut I suspected at once that he was a naval officer. I don’t kiiow why, but it is difficult to mistake a natal man. I have gone shooting trips with several of them in the course of my life, and they have iw ays been just the bravest and nicest fellows I evervnet, though given to the use of profane language. I asked a page or two back, what is a gentlemen? I’ll answer it now; a Royal Naval officer is in a general way, though, of course, there may be a black sheep among them here and there. I fancy it is just the wide sea and the breath of God’s wind’s that washes their hearts and blows the bitterness out of their minds and makes them what men ought to be. Well, to return, I was right again; I found out that he was a naval officer, a lieutenant of thirty-one, who, after seventeen years’ service, had been turned out of her majesty’s employ with the barren honor of a commanders rank, because it was impossible that he should be promoted. That is what people who serve the Queen have got to expect; to be shot out into the cold world to find a living just when they are beginning to really tjtwtlerstand their work, and to get to the prime of life. Well, I suppose they don’t mind it, but for my fart I had rather earn my bread as a unter. One’s halfpence are as scarce perhaps, but you dpn’t get so many kicks. His name I found out—by referring to the passenger's list—was GoodCaptain John Good. He was broad, of medium height, dark, stout, and rather a curious man to look at. He was so very neat and so very clean shaven, and al ways wore an eye-glass in his .right eye. It seemed to grow there, for it had no string, and he never took it out except to wipe it At first I thought he used to sleep in it, but I afterward found that this was a mistake. He put it in his trousers pocket when he went to bed, together with his false teeth, of which he had two beautiful sets that have often, my own being none of the best, caused me to break the tenth commandment. But I am anticipating. Soon after we had. ggk&nder weigh evening closed in, and Drought with it very dirty weather. A keen breeze sprung up off land, and a kind of aggra--5 ated Scotch mist soon drove everybody from the deck. And as for that “Dunkeld,’’ she is a flat-bottomed punt, and going light as she was, she rolled very heavily. It almost seemed as though she would go right over, but she never did. It was quite impossible to walk about, so I stood near the engines where it was warm, and amused myself with watching the pendulum, whieh was fixed oppoM te to me,swinging slowly backward and forward as the vessel rolled, and marking the angle she touched at each lurch.

‘■That pendulum’s wrong; it is not properlv weighed,” suddenly saida voice at my shoulder, somewhat testily. Looking round I saw the naval officer I had noticed when the passengers came aboard. “Indeed, now what makes you think so?” I asked, 4 “Think so. I don’t think at all. Why there”—as she righted herself after a roll —“if the ship had really gone to the degree that thing pointed to then she would never have rolled again, that’s all. But it is just like these merchant skippers, they always are so confounded careless.” Just then the dinner-bell rung, and I was not sorry, for it is a dreadful thing to have to listen to an officer of the Royal Navy when be gets on that subject.’ I only know One worse thing, and that is to hear a merchant skipper express his candid opinion of officers of the Royal Navy. Captain- Good and I went down to dinner together, and, there we found Sir Henry Curtis already seated. He and Captain Good sat together, and I sat opposite to them. The captain and I soon got into talk about shooting and what not; he asking me many questions, and I answering as well as I could. Presently he got on to elephants. “Ah, sir,” called out somebody who was sitting near me, “you’ve got to the right man for that; Hunter Quatermain should be able to t?ll you about elephants if anybody can.” Sir Henry, who had been sitting quite quiet listening to our talk, started visibly. “Excuse me, sir," he said, leaning forward across the table, and speaking in very low, deep voice,a very suitable voice it seemed to me, to come out of those great lungs. “Excuse me, sir, but is your pame Allen Quatermain?” _ It said it was. - > The big man made no further remark, but I heard him mutter “fortunate” into his beard. Presently dinner came to an end, and as we were leaving the saloon Sir Henry came up and asked me if I would come into his cabin and smoke a pipe. I accepted and he led the way to. the “Dunkeld” deck cabin, and a very good cabin it was. It had been two cabins, but when Sir Garnet or one of those big swells went down thecoastin the “Dunkeld,” they had knocked away the partition and never put it up again. There was a sofa in the cabin, and a little table in front of it. Sir Henry sent the steward for a bottle Of whiskey; and lit the lamp, “the year before last about this time you were, I believe, at a place called Bamangwato, to the north of Transvaal.” *T was,” I answered, rather surprised that this gentleman should be so well acquainted with my movements, which were not, so far as I was aware, considered of general interest “You were trading there, were vou not?” put in Captain Good, in his quick way. “I was. I took up a wagon-load of goods, and made a camp outside the settlement, and stopped till I had sold them.” Sir Henry was sitting opposite to me in a Madeira chair, his arms leaning off the table. He new looked up, fixing hia large gray eyes full upon my face. There was a curious anxiety in them, I thought “Did you happen to meet a man called Neville there? “Oh, yes; he outspanned alongside of me for a fortnight to rest his oxen before going on to the interior." I had a letter from a lawyer a few months back asking me if I knew what nad become

of him, which I answered to the best of my ability at the time..’ “Yeg,” said Sir Heniy, “your letter was fdrwarded to me. Yon said in it that the gentleman called Neville left Bamangwato in the beginning of May in a wagon with a driver, a voorlooper, and a Kafir hunter called Jim, announcing his intention of trekking if possible as far as Inyati, the extreme trading post in the Matabele country, where be would sell his wagon and proceed on foot. You also said that he did sell his wagon, for six months afterward you saw the wagon in Dre possession of a. Portuguese trader, who told you that he had bought it at Inyati front a white man whose name he had forgotten, and that the white man with a native servant had started off for the interior on ashootingtrip, he believed.” “Yes.” . Then came a pause. , “Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry, suddenly, “I suppose you know or can guess nothing more of the reasons of my-of Mr. Neville’s journey to the northward, or as to what point that journey was directed?” 4 “I heard something,” I answered and stopped. The subject was one which, I did not care to discuss. Sir Henry and Captain Good looked at each other, and. Captain Good nodded. “Mr. Quatermain,” said the former, “I am going to tell you a story, and ask your advice, and perhaps your assistance. The agent who forwarded me your letter told me that I might implicitly rely upon it, as you were,” he said, “well known and universally respected in Natal, and especially noted for your discretion.” ~I bowed and drunk some whisky and water to hide my confusion, for I am a modest man—and Sir Henry went on. I “Mr. Neville was my brother.” I “Oh,” I said, starting, for now I knew I who Sir Henry had reminded me of when I first saw him. His brother was a much smaller man and had a dark beard, but now I thought of it, he possessed eyes of the same shade of gray and with the same keen look in . them, and the features too were not unlike.

“He was,” went on Sir Henry, “my only and younger brother, and till five years ago I do not suppose we were ever a month away from each other. But just about five years ago a misfortune befell us, as sometimes does happen in families. We had quarreled bitterly, and I behaved very unjustly to my brother in my anger-” Here Captain Good nodded his head vigorously to him self. The ship gave a big roll just then, so that the looking-glass, which was fixed opposite us to starboard, was for a moment nearly over our heads, and as I was sitting with my hands in my pockets and staring upward, I could see him nodding like anything. “As I dare say you know,” went on Sir Henry, “if a man dies intestate, and has no property but land, real property it is called in England, it all descends to his eldest son. It so happened that just at the time when we quarreled our father died intestate. He had put off making his will until it was to late. The result was that my brother, who had not been brought up to any profession, was left without a penny. Of course it would have been my duty to provide for him, but at the time the quarrel between us waseo bitter that I did not —to my shame I say it (and he sighed deeply) offer to do anything, but 1 waited for him to make advances, and he made none. lam sorry to trouble ' you with this Mr. Quatermain, but I must make things clear, eh, Good?” “Quite so, quite so,” said the captair. “Mr. Quatermain will, I am' sure, keep this history to himself.”

“Of course,” said I, “for I rather pride myself on my discretion.” “Well,” went on Sir Henry, “my brother had a few hundred pounds to account at the time, and without saying anything to me he drew out this paltry sum, and, having adopted the name of Neville, started off for South Africa in the wild hope of making a fortune. This I heard afterward. Some three years passel, and I heard nothing of my brother, though 1 wrote several times. Doubtless the letters never reached him. But as time went on I grew more and more troubled about him. I found out, Mr. Quatermain, that blood is thicker than water.”

“That’s tru j,” said I, thinking of my boy Harry. “I found out, Mr. Quatermain, that I would have given half my fortune to know that my brother George, the only relation I have, was safe and well, and that I should see him again.” “But you never did, Curtis,” jerked out Captain Good, glancing at the big man’s face. “Well, Mr. Quatermain, as time went on, I became more and more anxious to find out if my brother was alive or dead, and if alive to get him home again. I set inquireis on foot,and your letter was one of the results. So far as it went it was satisfactory, for it showed that till lately George was alive, but it did not go far enotigh. So, to cut a long story short, I made up-toy mind to come out and look for him myself, and Captain Good was so kind as to come with me.” “Yes.” said the captain; “nothing else to do, you see. Turned out by my Lords of the Admiralty to starve on half pay. And now perhaps, sir, you Will tell us what you know or have heard of the gentleman called Neville.”

CHAPTER 11. THE LEGEND OF SOLOMON’S MINES. “What was it that you heard about my brother’s journey at Bamangwato?” said Sir Henry, as I paused to fill my pipe before answering Captain Good. “I heard this,” I answered, “and I have never mentioned it to a, soul till to-day. I heard that he was starting for Solomon’s Mines.” “Solomon’s Mines!” ejaculated both my hearers at once, “Whereare they?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I know where they are said to be. I once saw the peaks of the mountains that border them, but there was a hundred and thirty miles of desert between me and them, andJl am not aware that any white man ever got across it save one. ■ But perhaps the best thing I can do is to tell you the legend of Solomon’s Mines as I know it, you passing your word not to reveal anything I tell you without mv permission. Do you agree to that? I have iqv reasons for asking it” Henry nodded, and Captain Good replied, “Certainly, certainly.” “Well,” I began, “as you may guess, in a general way, elephant hunters are a rough set of men. and don’t trouole themselves with much beyond the facts of life and the wavs of Kafirs. But here and there you meet a man who takes the trouble to collect traditions from the natives, and tries to make out a little piece of the history of this dark land. It wassuch a man as this who first told

me the legend of Solomon’s Mines, now a matter of nearly thirty years ago. It was when s l was on my first elephant hunt in die Matabele country. His name was Evans, and he was killed next year, poor fellow, by a wounded buffalo, and lies buried near Zambesi Falls. I was telling Evans one night, I remember, of some wonderful workings I had found whilst hunting koodoo and eland in what is now the Lydenburg district of the Transvaal. I see they have come across these workings again lately in prospecting for gold, but I knew of thein years ago. There is a great wide wagon road cut out of the solid rock, and leading to the mouth of the working or gallery. Inside the mouth of this gallery are stacks of gold quartz piled up ready, for crushing, which shows that the workers, whoever they were, must have left in a hurry, and about twenty paces in the gallery is built Across, and a beautiful bit of masonry it is. “ ‘Ay,’ said Evans, ‘but I will tell you a queerer thing than that;’ and he “went on to tell me how he had found in the’ far interior a ruined city, which he believed to be the Ophir of the Bible, and, by the way, other more • learned men have said the same long since poor Evans’s time I was, I remember, listening open eared to all these bonders, for I was young at the time, and this story of an ancient civilization and of the treasure which those old Jewish or Phoenician adventurers used to* extract from a country long since lapsed into the darkest barbarism took a great hold upon my imagination, wnen suddenly he said to me. “Lad, did you ever hear of the Suliman Mountains up to the northwest of the Mashukulumbwe coun try?” I told him I never had. - “Ah, well,” he said, “that was where Solomon really had his mines, his diamond mines. I mean.” “ ‘How do you know that?’ I asked. “ ‘KnoW it, why, what is “Suliman” but a corruption of Solomon? and. besides, an olcl Isannsi (witch doctor) up in the Manica country told me all about it. She said that the people who lived across those mountains were a branch of the Zulus, speaking a dialect of Zulu, but finer and bigger men, even; that there lived among them great wizards, who had learned their art from white men when “all the world was dark,” and who had the secret of a wonderful mine of “bright stones.” ’ ~ s “Well, I laughed at this story at the tune, though it interested me, for the diamond fields were not discovered then, and poor Evans went off and got killed, and for twenty years I never thought any more of the matter. But just twenty years afterward —and that is a longtime, gentlemen; an elephant hunter does not often live twenty years at his business — I heard something more definite about Suliman’s Mountains and the country which lies beyond it. I was up beyond the Manica country at a place called Sitanda’s Kraal, and a miserable place it wa?, for one could get nothing to eat there, and there was but little game about. I had an attack of fever, and was in a bad way generally, when one day a Portugee arrived with a single companion—a half breed. Now I know your Delagoa Portugee well. There is no greater devil unhung in a general way, battening as he does upon human agony and flesh in the shape ol slaves. But this was quite a different type of man to the low fellows I had been accustomed to meet; he reminded me more of the polite dons I had read about. He was tall and thin, with large dark eyes and curling mustachois. We talked together a little while, for he could speak broken English, and I understood a little Portugee, and he told me that his name was Jose Silvestree, and that he had a place near Delagoa Bay; and when he went on next day with his half-breed companion, he said, ‘Goodbye,’ taking off his hat quite in the old, old style. ‘Good-bye senor,’ he said;’‘if ever we meet again I shall be the richest man in the world, and I will remember you.’ I laughed a little —I was too weak to laugh much—and watched him strike out for the great desert to the west, wondering if he was mad, or what he thought he was going to find there. “A week passed, I got over the fever. One evening I was sitting on the ground in front of the little tent I had with me, chewing the last leg of a miserable fowl I had bought from a native for a bit of cloth worth twenty fowls, and staring at the hot red sun sinking down into the desert, when suddenly I saw a figure, apparently that of a European, for it wore a coat, on the slope of the rising ground opposite to me, about three hundred _yards away, the figure crept along on its hands and knees, then it., got up and staggered along a few yards on its legs, only to fall and crawl along again. Seeing that it was somebody in distress, I sent one of my hunters to help him and presently he arrived, and who do you suppose it turned out to be? “Jose Silvestre, of course.” said Captain Qood. “Yes, Jose Silvestre. or rather his skeleton and a little skin. His face was a bright yellow with the bilious fever, and his large, dark eyes stood nearly out of his head, for all his flesh had gone; There was nothing but yellow parch-mant-like skin) with hair and the gaunt bones sticking up beneath. “ ‘Water! for the sake of Christ, water!’ he moaned. I saw that his lips were cracked, and his tongue, which protruded between them, swollen and blackish. “I gave him water with a little milk in it, and he drank it in great gulps, two quarts or more, without stopping. I would not let him have any more. Then the fever took him again, and he fell down and began to rave about Suliman’s Mountains, and the diamond’s and the desert. I took him into the te&t and did what I could for him, which was little enough; but I saw how it must end. About eleven o’clock he got quieter, and I lay down for a little rest and went to sleep. At dawn I woke again, and I saw him in the half light sitting up, a strange, gaunt form, and gazing out toward the desert. Presently the first rays of the sun shot right across the wide plain before us till it reached the far away crest of one the tallest of of the Suliman Mountains more than a hundred miles away. “ ‘There it is!’ cried the dying man in Portuguese, stretchingout his long thin arm, ‘but I shall never reach it, never. No one will ever reach it “Suddenly he paused and seemed to take a resolution. ‘Friend,’ he said, turning toward me, ‘are yoti there? eyes grow dark.’ i “Yes,’ I said; ‘yes, lie down now and rest’ ’ a “ ‘Ay,’ he answered, ‘I shall rest soon, I have time to rest—all eternity. Listen I am dying! Ybu have been good to me. I will give you the paper. Perhaps you can get there it you can live through

the desert, which has killed my poor servant and me.’ ‘•‘Then he groped ip his shirt and brought out what I thought was a Boer tobacco pouch of the skin of the Swart-vet-pens (sable antdope). It was fastened with a little strip of hide, what we call a rimpi, and this he tried to untie, but could not He handed it to me. ‘Untie it,’ he said. I did so, and extracted a bit of torn yellow linen on which something was Written in rusty letters. Inside was a paper. 4 “Then he went on feebly;* for he was growing weak: ‘The paper has it all, that is on the rag. It took me years to read. Listen: My ancestor, a political refuge from Lisbon, and one of the first Portuguese who landed on these shores, wrote that when he was dying on those mountains which no white foot ever pressed before or since. His name was Jose da Silveetra, and he lived three hundre 1 years ago. His slave, who waited for him on this side the mountains, found him dead, and brought the writings home to Delagoa. It has been in the family ever since; but none have cared to read it till at last I did. And I have lost my life over it, but another may succeed and become the richest man in the world. Only give it to no one; go yourself!’ Then he began to wander again, and in an hour all was over. “God rest him! he died very quietly, and I buried him deep with big boulders on his breast; so I do not think the jackals can have dug him up. And then I came away.” “Ay, but the document,” said Sir Henry, in a tone of dfeep interest. “Yes the document; what was in it?” added the captain “Well, gentlemen, if you like I will tell you. I have never showed it to anybody except my dear wife, who is dead, and she thought it was all nonsense, and a drunken old Portuguese trader who translated it for me, and had forgotten all about it next morning. The original rag is at my home in Durban, together with poor Don Joe’s translation, but I haye the English rendering in my pocket book, and a lac-simile of the map, if it can be called a map. Here it is.”

“I, J ore da Sl'iVcs’-a. who urn now dying of hunger in the cave where no snow is on the north side of the ni o de of the southernmost '.of the two mountains I have named Sheba’s Breasts, write this in the yewr 159) with a cleft bone upon a remnant of my raiment, my blood being the ink. If my slave should find it when he comes, and should bring it to Delsgoa. let roy friend (name iilegiri e) bring the matter to the knowledge of the king, that he mi>y. tend an armv « bieh, if they live through the desert and the mountains, arid can overcome the brave Kukuanesaud their devilish arts, to whieh end m inv nr ests should ba brought, will make him the richest king since Solomon. With my own eyes I have seen the countless diamonds stored in Solomon’s treasure chamber behind the white Death; but through the treachery of Gagool the witch-finder I might bring nought away except my life. Let him who comes follow the map, and climb toe snow of Sheba’s left breast till he comes to the nipple, on the north side of which is the great road Solomon ( made, from whenee three d»ys’ Journey to the King’s Place. Let him kill Gagool. Pray for my soul. Farewell. t “Jose d a Syh estra. ” When I had finished reading the above and shown the cony of the map, drawn by the dying hand of the old Don with his blood for ink, there followed a silence of astonishment. “Well,” said Captain Good, “I have been round the World twice, and put in at most ports, but may I be hung if I ever heard a yarn like that out of a story book, or in it either, for the matter of that.” “It’s a queer story Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry. “I suppose you are not hoaxing us? It is, I know," sometimes thought allowable to take a green-horn in.’ - “If you think that, Sir Henry,” 1 said, much put out, and pocketing ing my ps.per, for I do not like to be thought one of those silly fellows who considers it witty to tell lies, and who are forever boasting to new-comers of extraordinary hunting adventures which never happened “why that ends the matter,’’and I,rose to go. ” ' Sir Henry laid his large hand upon my shoulder. “Sit down, Mr. Quatermain,” he said, “I beg your pardon; I see very well you do not wish to deceive us, but the story sounied so extraordinary that I can hardly believe it.” “You shall see thr original map and writing when we reached Durban,” I said, somewhat mollified, for really when I came to consider the matter it was scarcely wondefful that he should doubt my good faith. “But I have not told you about vour brother. I knew the man Jim who was with him. He was Bechuana by b'irth, a. good hunter, and for a native a very clever man. The morning Mr. Neville was starting I saw Jim standing by my wagon and cutting up tobacco on the disselboom. i “ ‘Jim’ said I ‘where are you off to this trip? Is it elephants?’ “ ‘No, Baas.’ he answered, ‘we are after something worth more than ivory.’ “ ‘And what might thatjbe?’! said,for I was curious. ‘ls it gold?’ “ ‘No, Baas, something worth more than gold,’and he grinned. “I aid not ask any more questions, for I did not like to lower my dignity by seeming curious, but I was puzzled. Presently Jim finished cutting his tobacco. “ ‘Baas’ said he. “I took no .notice. - “ ‘Baas,’ said he again. “ ‘Eh, boy, what is it?’ sa d I. “ ‘Baas, we are going after diamonds.’ “ ‘Diamonds! why, then, “you are going in the wron? direction; you should head for the Fields.’ “ ‘Baas, have you heard, of Suliman’s Berg?* (Solomon’s Mountains). “ ‘Ay!’ “ ‘Have you ever heard of diamonds there?’ ■ - “ ‘I have heard a foolish story, Jim.’ “ fit is nd story, Baas. I once knew a woman who came from there, and got to Natal with her child, she told me—she is dead now.’ “ ‘Your master will feed the aasvogels (vultures) Jim, if he tries to reach Suliman’s country, and so will you if they can get any r p'ickip|j off your worthless carcass,’ said 1. He grinfled. ‘Mayhap; Baas. Man must die; I’d rather like to try a new country myself; the elephants are gettiog worked out about here-’ “ ‘Ahl my boy,’ I said ‘vou wait till the “palo old man” (death) gets a grip of your yellow throat, and then we’ll hear what sort of a tune you sing. ’ “Half an hour after that I saw Mr. Neville’s wagon move off. Presently Jim came running back. “Good-bye Baas,’ he said ‘I didn’t like to start without bidding you good-bye. for I dare say you are right, and we shall ’ never come back again.’ “ -Is your master really going to Sunman’s Berg, Jim, or are you lying?’ “ ‘No,’ says he, ‘he is going. He told me he was bound to make his

fortune somehow, or try to do so; he might as well try the diamonds ’ “ •Oh!” said I; ‘wait a bit, Jim; will you take a note to your master, Jim, and. promise not to give it to him till you reach Inyati.’ (which is some hundred miles off). “ ‘Yes,’ said he, “So I took a scrap of paper, and wrote on it, ‘Let him who comes . . . climb the snow of Sheba’s left breast, till he corfies to the nipple, on the north side of which is Solomon’s great road.’ “‘Now. Jim,’l said ‘when you give this to your master, tell him he had better follow the advice implicitly. You are not to give it to hjm now, because I don’t want him back asking me questions which I wont answer. Noyr, be off, you idle fellow, the wagon is nearly out of siiht’

“Jipi took the note and weut. and that is all I know about your brother. Sir Henry; but am afraid—- “ Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry, “I am going to trace him to Suliman’s Mountains, and over tnem if necessary till I find him, or till I know that he is dead. Will you come with me?” I am, as I think I have‘said,a cautious man, indeed a timid one, and .1 shrunk from the idea. It seemed to me that to start on such a journey would-be certaip death, and putting other things aside, as I had a son to support, I could not afford to die just then. “No, thank you, Sir Henry, I think I had rather not,” 1 answered. “I am too r old for a wild-goose chase 'of that sort, and we should.only end.up like my poor friend Silvestre. I have a son dependent on me, so cannot afford to risk my life.” Both Sir Henry and Captain Good look very disappointed. “Mr. Quatermain,” said the former, ‘I am weil off, and lam bent upon this business. You may put the remuneration for your services at whatever figure you like in reason, and it shall be paid over to you before we start, Moreover, I will, before we start, arrange that in the exont of anything happening to us or to you, that your son shall be suitably provided for. You will see from this how necessary I think your presence. .Also if by any chance we should reachthis place, and find diamonds, they shall belong to you and Good equally. Ido not want them. But of course the chance is as good as nothing, though the same thing would apply to any ivory we might get. Yon may pretty well make your own terms with me, Mr Quatermain, and of course I shall pay all expenses.” “Sir Henry,” said I, “this is the most liberal offer I ever had, and one not to be sneezed at by a poor hunter and trader. But the job is the biggest I ever came across, and I must take time to think it over. I will give you my answer before we get to Durban.” “Veiy good,” answered Sir Henry, and then I said good-night and turned in, and dreamed about poor long-dead Silvestre and the diamonds. [Continued next week.)