Yesterday's Promise by Linda Lee Chaikin

Author:Linda Lee Chaikin [Chaikin, Linda Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-72947-7
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2010-03-09T05:00:00+00:00

Rogan was sitting on a rock near the campfire the next morning, eating breakfast, when he heard the rapid thud of approaching hooves. He stood, holding his tin plate in one hand, leaving his right near his holster, even though the Ndebele owned no horses.

Peter rode swiftly into camp.

“Watch the dust,” Rogan shouted, disgusted, but Peter was down from the saddle in a moment and striding up to him.

His tanned face showed lines of weariness, as if he’d been up all night, but he wore a grin.

“Jameson’s done it, chap. He’s gotten the wily old savage to relent. We can build the road from Bulawayo.”

Rogan sat down on the rock and went on eating the thick slices of smoked bacon, ignoring a side dish of mealies.

“Well, Great Scott, man! Are you just going to sit there? I said Lobengula has agreed at last. We’ve gotten around the impasse.”

“I heard you the first time.” His casual tone appeared to frustrate Peter even more. Peter stared down at him with puckered brows.

Derwent, whose head was bandaged, came up, glancing uneasily from Rogan to Peter, then he reached over and filled another tin mug with coffee.

“What happened to you?” Peter scowled worriedly at Derwent’s bandage.

“Somebody hit me. They were trying to make off with Mr. Rogan’s saddlebags.”

Peter looked around for Captain Retford.

“He got away, sir,” Retford said. “I checked for tracks this morning, but there were none.”

Mornay grumbled and picked an insect out of his coffee. He held it up for inspection. “Locust. Bad omen, messieurs, very bad.” He turned his piercing ebony gaze toward the horizon at the first morning sun.

The sky was crimson and gold as the sun began its glorious rise.

“Better have this, Mr. Bartley,” said Derwent and handed Peter the tin mug.

Peter drank the coffee, glaring at Rogan, who sat there ignoring him.

Having lost his appetite, Rogan tossed the scraps into the fire and set down the tin plate.

Peter gripped the mug. “Very well, then. I gather you don’t agree with the means used to obtain the concession.”

His stilted tone caused Rogan to smile crookedly. He snatched his leather hat, first whacking off the dust before settling it on his head. He turned and looked at him.

“Now, why wouldn’t I agree? What are a few white lies told to the old savage when so much is at stake? It’s a small price to pay, considering we’d have to fight for the land, or see it pass to the ruddy Boers.”

The quiet sarcasm in Rogan’s voice brought a glitter to Peter’s eyes. His nerves seemed to snap after a long night at the kraal, and he threw the coffee aside. “Tastes like mud.” Turning on his heels, he marched in the direction of the water hole.

Mornay called out, “Monsieur Peter, let it be known to you that there is a fine fat hippo wallowing there. I do not think it will appreciate your company, yes?”

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