Oom Sam spread out the document which Trent had handed him upon a tree-stump, and explained. His Majesty nodded more affably. The document reminded him of the pleasant fact that there were three casks of rum to come to him every year. Besides, he rather liked scratching his royal mark upon the smooth, white paper. He was quite willing to repeat the performance, and took up the pen which Sam handed him readily.
“Him white man just come,” Oom Sam explained; “want see you do this.”
His Majesty was flattered, and, with the air of one to whom the signing of treaties and concessions is an everyday affair, affixed a thick, black cross upon the spot indicated.
“Him want to know,” he said, jerking his head towards Captain Francis, “whether you know what means?”
His forefinger wandered aimlessly down the document. His Majesty's reply was prompt and cheerful.
Sam explained further. “There will be white men come digging,” he said; “white men with engines that blow, making holes under the ground and cutting trees.”
The King was interested. “Where?” he asked.
Oom Sam pointed westward through the bush.
The King was thoughtful “Rum come all right?” he asked.
“Say so there,” he declared. “All quite plain.”
The King grinned. It was not regal, but he certainly did it. If white men come too near they must be shot--carefully and from ambush. He leaned back with the air of desiring the conference to cease. Oom Sam turned to Captain Francis.
“King him quite satisfied,” he declared. “Him all explained before--he agree.”
The King suddenly woke up again. He clutched Sam by the arm, and whispered in his ear. This time it was Sam who grinned.
“King, him say him signed paper twice,” he explained. “Him want four barrels of rum now.”
“He shall swim in it, Sam,” he said; “he shall float down to hell upon it.”
Oom Sam explained to the King that, owing to the sentiments of affection and admiration with which the white men regarded him, the three barrels should be made into four, whereupon his Majesty bluntly pronounced the audience at an end and waddled off into his Imperial abode.
The two Englishmen walked slowly back to the hut. Between them there had sprung up from the first moment a strong and mutual antipathy. The blunt savagery of Trent, his apparently heartless treatment of his weaker partner, and his avowed unscrupulousness, offended the newcomer much in the same manner as in many ways he himself was obnoxious to Trent. His immaculate fatigue-uniform, his calm superciliousness, his obvious air of belonging to a superior class, were galling to Trent beyond measure. He himself felt the difference--he realised his ignorance, his unkempt and uncared-for appearance. Perhaps, as the two men walked side by side, some faint foreshadowing of the future showed to Trent another and a larger world where they two would once more walk side by side, the outward differences between them lessened, the smouldering irritation of the present leaping up into the red-hot flame of hatred. Perhaps it was just as well for John Francis that the man who walked so sullenly by his side had not the eyes of a seer, for it was a wild country and Trent himself had drunk deep of its lawlessness. A little accident with a knife, a carelessly handled revolver, and the man who was destined to stand more than once in his way would pass out of his life for ever. But in those days Trent knew nothing of what was to come--which was just as well for John Francis.