"Homesick, man?" he queried.
"Sure," Weldon replied imperturbably.
"Oh.Then get over it.Just dream of the days when the bronchos cease from bucking and the Stringies shoot no more.Meanwhile, if you could look pleasant, as the photographers say, it would help on things wonderfully."But the mess orderly interrupted.He had tidings to impart, and they burned upon his tongue.
"Have you heard about Eaton-Hill?" he asked, in the first pause that offered itself.
Five faces turned to him with gratifying expectancy.Eaton-Hill had come out on the Dunottar Castle.He was known to them all as the acknowledged exquisite of the entire camp.
"What about him?"
"C.B.I met him coming out of the orderly room.""Hm! Camp scavenger.Eaton-Hill will like that," Weldon commented dryly."What's the row about?""Cupid apparently.He went calling in Cape Town, last night, without leave, stayed till past eleven and undertook to come in by sea.He shipped in a leaky boat with a crew composed of one Kaffir boy; the Kaffir funked the surf; they had an upset and Eaton-Hill waked up the picket by the fervor of his swearing at the half-drowned Kaffir.""Poor Eaton-Hill! Both his morals and his clothes must have suffered," Carew suggested."Weldon, take warning.Next time you go to call on Miss Arthur, start early and be sure you have your pass pinned to the lining of your coat.""Who is Miss Arthur?" demanded the chorus.
Deliberately Carew helped himself to the last of the bacon.Then he made answer, with equal deliberation,--"Miss Arthur is Weldon's lawful chaperon."At four o'clock, that afternoon, Weldon arose reluctantly from his seat on the western end of the Dents' veranda.
"Parade at five, Miss Dent, and Maitland Camp is four miles away."Without rising, she smiled up into his waiting eyes.
"You made more than four miles an hour, when Captain Frazer and Iwere watching you, the other day, Mr.Weldon.""Yes, twenty at least.Still, as you may have noticed, my mount doesn't always choose the straightest course.If she elects to go to Maitland by way of Durban, it will take me all of the hour to make the journey."She laughed at his words.Then of a sudden her face grew grave.
"They've no right to give you such a horse, Mr.Weldon.""Right? Oh, I beg pardon.I chose it."
"Is your life so unhappy?" she questioned, in mocking rebuke.
"It is no suicidal mania, Miss Dent," he reassured her."I like the rush and excitement of it all; but I had a summer on a ranch, and Ilearned the trick of sitting tight until the beast tires itself out.
Broncho-busting is only a concrete form of philosophy, after all.""And must you really go?" she asked him.
He lingered and hesitated.Then, with a glance at the horse fastened to a post in the drive below, he straightened his shoulders.
"I must."
She rose to her feet.
"Good afternoon, then."
"And good by," he added.
"What does that mean?"
"That we leave Maitland Camp in the morning.""I am sorry," she said, and her voice showed her regret."Where are you going?""To Maitland station.Then into a train.Beyond that, I do not know.""I am sorry," she repeated; "but very glad.It is time you were doing something.I know you didn't take all this journey out here for the sake of being drilled in Maitland Camp until the end of time.We shall miss you; but you will come back to us, some day, and tell us all the story of your deeds.Success to you, Trooper Weldon!"She gave him her hand; then stood looking after him, as he went down the steps.Once in the saddle, he turned back to wave a farewell to the tall girl framed in the arching greenery that sheltered the broad veranda.Then, urging on his horse, he went galloping away, his boyish face turned resolutely towards the front.
Careless of the oldtime superstition, the girl watched him out of sight.Then slowly she moved back to their deserted corner where she sat long, her elbows on the arms of her chair and her chin resting on her hands.Her eyes were held steadily on Table Bay; but her thoughts followed along the road to Maitland Camp--and beyond.
