Returned To Johannesburg by A.E.W. Mason
Norris wanted a holiday. He stood in the marketplace looking
southwards to the chimney-stacks, and dilating upon the subject to three of
his friends. He was sick of the Stock Exchange, the men, the women, the
drinks, the dances — everything. He was as indifferent to the price of
shares as to the rise and fall of the quicksilver in his barometer; he
neither desired to go in on the ground floor nor to come out in the attics.
He simply wanted to get clean away. Besides he foresaw a slump, and he would
be actually saving money on the veld. At this point Teddy Isaacs strolled up
and interrupted the oration.
"Where are you off to, then?"
"Manicaland," answered Norris.
"Oh! You had better bring Barrington back."
Teddy Isaacs was a fresh comer to the Rand, and knew no better. Barrington
meant to him nothing more than the name of a man who had been lost twelve
months before on the eastern borders of Mashonaland. But he saw three pairs
of eyebrows lift simultaneously, and heard three simultaneous outbursts on
the latest Uitlander grievance. However, Norris answered him quietly
"Yes, if I come across Barrington, I'll bring him back." He nodded his
head once or twice and smiled. "You may make sure of that," he added, and
turned away from the group.
Isaacs gathered that there had been trouble between Barrington and Morris,
and applied to his companions for information. The commencement of the
trouble, he was told, dated back to the time when the two men were ostrich-
farming side by side, close to Port Elizabeth in the Cape Colony. Norris
owned a wife; Barrington did not. The story was sufficiently ugly as
Johannesburg was accustomed to relate it, but upon this occasion Teddy Isaacs
was allowed to infer the details. He was merely put in possession of the more
immediate facts. Barrington had left the Cape Colony in a hurry, and coming
north to the Transvaal when Johannesburg was as yet in its brief infancy, had
prospered exceedingly. Meanwhile, Norris, as the ostrich industry declined,
had gone from worse to worse, and finally he too drifted to Johannesburg with
the rest of the flotsam of South Africa. He came to the town alone, and met
Barrington one morning eye to eye on the Stock Exchange. A certain amount of
natural disappointment was expressed when the pair were seen to separate
without hostilities; but it was subsequently remarked that they were fighting
out their duel, though not in the conventional way. They fought with shares,
and Barrington won. He had the clearer head, and besides, Norris didn't need
much ruining; Barrington could see to that in his spare time. It was, in
fact, as though Norris stood up with a derringer to face a machine gun. His
turn, however, had come after Barrington's disappearance, and he was now able
to contemplate an expedition into Manicaland without reckoning up his pass-
He bought a buck-wagon with a tent covering over the hinder part,
provisions sufficient for six months, a span of oxen, a couple of horses
salted for the thickhead sickness, hired a Griqua lad as wagon-driver, and
half a dozen Matabele boys who were waiting for a chance to return, and
From Johannesburg he travelled to Makoni's town, near the Zimbabwe ruins,
and with half a dozen brass rings and an empty cartridge case hired a
Ma-ongwi boy, who had been up to the Mashonaland plateau before. The lad
guided him to the head waters of the Inyazuri, and there Norris fenced in his
camp, in a grass country fairly wooded, and studded with gigantic blocks of
The Ma-ongwi boy chose the site, fifty yards west of an ant-heap, and
about a quarter of a mile from a forest of machabel. He had camped on the
spot before, he said.
"When?" asked Norris.
"Twice," replied the boy. "Three years ago and last year."
"Last year?" Norris looked up with a start of surprise. "You were up here
For a moment or two Norris puffed at his pipe, then he asked slowly
"Mr. Barrington," the boy told him, and added, "It is his wagon-track
which we have been following."
Norris rose from the ground, and walked straight ahead for the distance of
a hundred yards until he reached a jasmine bush, which stood in a bee-line
with the opening of his camp fence. Thence he moved round in a semicircle
until he came upon a wagon-track in the rear of the camp, and, after pausing
there, he went forward again, and completed the circle. He returned to his
wagon chuckling. Barrington, he remembered, had been lost while travelling
northwards to the Zambesie; but the track stopped here. There was not a trace
of it to the north or the east or the west. It was evident that the boy had
chosen Barrington's last camping-ground as the site for his own, and he
discovered a comforting irony in the fact. He felt that he was standing in
That night, as he was smoking by the fire, he called out to the Ma-ongwi
boy. The lad came forward from his hut behind the wagon.
"Tell me how you lost him," said Norris.
"He rode that way alone after a sable antelope." The boy pointed an arm to
the southwest. "The beast was wounded, and we followed its blood-spoor. We
found Mr. Barrington's horse gored by the antelope's horns. He himself had
gone forward on foot. We tracked him to a little stream, but the opposite
bank was trampled, and we lost all sign of him." This is what the boy said
though his language is translated.
Norris remained upon this encampment for a fortnight. Blue wildebeests,
koodoos, elands, and gems-bok were plentiful, and once he got a shot at a
wart- hog boar. At the end of the fortnight he walked round the ant-heap
early one morning, and of a sudden plumped down full length in the grass.
Straight in front of him he saw a herd of buffaloes moving in his direction
down a glade of the forest a quarter of a mile away. Norris cast a glance
backwards; the camp was hidden from the herd by the intervening ant-heap. He
looked again towards the forest; the buffaloes advanced slowly, pasturing as
they moved. Norris crawled behind the ant-heap on his hands and knees, ran
thence into the camp, buckled on a belt of cartridges, snatched up a 450-bore
Metford rifle, and got back to his position just as the first of the herd
stepped into the open. It turned to the right along the edge of the wood, and
the others followed in file. Norris wriggled forward through the grass, and
selecting a fat bull in the centre of the line, aimed behind its shoulder and
fired. The herd stampeded into the forest, the bull fell in its tracks.
Norris sprang forward with a shout; but he had not run more than thirty
yards before the bull began to kick. It kneeled upon its forelegs, rose
thence on to its hind legs, and finally stood up. Norris guessed what had
happened. He had hit the bull in the neck instead of behind the shoulders,
and had broken no bones. He fired his second barrel as the brute streamed
away in an oblique line southeastwards from the wood, and missed. Then he ran
back to camp, slapped a bridle on to his swiftest horse, and without waiting
to saddle it, sprang on its back and galloped in pursuit. He rode as it were
along the base of a triangle, whereas the bull galloped from the apex, and
since his breakfast was getting hot behind him, he wished to make that
triangle an isosceles. So he jammed his heels into his horse's ribs, and was
fast drawing within easy range, when the buffalo got his wind and swerved on
the instant into a diagonal course due southwest.
The manoeuvre left Norris directly behind his quarry, and with a long,
stern chase in prospect. However, his blood was up, and he held on to wear
the beast down. He forgot his breakfast; he took no more than a casual notice
of the direction he was following; he simply braced his knees in a closer
grip, while the distorted shadows of himself and the horse lengthened and
thinned along the ground as the sun rose over his right shoulder.
Suddenly the buffalo disappeared in a dip of the veld, and a few moments
later came again into view a good hundred yards further to the south. Norris
pulled his left rein, and made for the exact spot at which the bull had
reappeared. He found himself on the edge of a tiny cliff which dropped twenty
feet in a sheer fall to a little stream, and he was compelled to ride along
the bank until he reached the incline which the buffalo had descended. He
forded the stream, galloped under the opposite bank across a patch of ground
which had been trampled into mud by the hoofs of beasts coming here to water,
and mounted again to the open. The bull had gained a quarter of a mile's
grace from his mistake, and was heading straight for a huge cone of
Norris recognised the cone. It towered up from the veld, its cliffs seamed
into gullies by the rain-wash of ages, and he had used it more than once as a
landmark during the last fortnight, for it rose due southwest of his
He watched the bull approach the cone and vanish into one of the gullies.
It did not reappear, and he rode forward, keeping a close eye upon the gully.
As he came opposite to it, however, he saw through the opening a vista of
green trees flashing in the sunlight. He turned his horse through the
passage, and reined up in a granite amphitheatre. The floor seemed about half
a mile in diameter; it was broken into hillocks, and strewn with patches of a
dense undergrowth, while here and there a big tree grew. The walls, which
converged slightly towards an open top, were robed from summit to base with
wild flowers, so that the whole circumference of the cone was one blaze of
Norris hitched forward and reloaded the rifle. Then he advanced slowly
between the bushes on the alert for a charge from the wounded bull; but
nothing stirred. No sound came to his ears except the soft padding noise of
his horse's hoofs upon the turf. There was not a crackle of the brushwood,
and the trees seemed carved out of metal. He rode through absolute silence in
a suspension of all movement. Once his horse trod upon a bough, and the
snapping of the twigs sounded like so many cracks of a pistol. At first the
silence struck Norris as merely curious, a little later as very lonesome.
Once or twice he stopped his horse with a sudden jerk of the reins, and sat
crouched forwards with his neck outstretched, listening. Once or twice he
cast a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder to make certain that no one
stood between himself and the entrance to the hollow. He forgot the buffalo;
he caught himself labouring his breath, and found it necessary to elaborately
explain the circumstance in his thoughts on the ground of heat.
The next moment he began to plead this heat not merely as an excuse for
his uneasiness, but as a reason for returning to camp. The heat was intense,
he argued. Above him the light of an African midday sun poured out of a
brassy sky into a sort of inverted funnel, and lay in blinding pools upon the
scattered slabs of rock. Within the hollow, every cup of the innumerable
flowers which tapestried the cliffs seemed a mouth breathing heat. He became
possessed with a parching thirst, and he felt his tongue heavy and fibrous
like a dried fig. There was, however, one obstacle which prevented him from
acting upon his impulse, and that obstacle was his sense of shame. It was not
so much that he thought it cowardly to give up the chase and quietly return,
but he knew that the second after he had given way, he would be galloping
madly towards the entrance in no child's panic of terror. He finally
compromised matters by dropping the reins upon his horse's neck in the
unformulated hope that the animal would turn of its own accord; but the horse
kept straight on.
As Norris drew towards the innermost wall of granite, there was a quick
rustle all across its face as though the screen of shrubs and flowers had
been fluttered by a draught of wind. Norris drew himself erect with a
distinct appearance of relief, loosened the clench of his fingers upon his
rifle, and began once more to search the bushes for the buffalo.
For a moment his attention was arrested by a queer object lying upon the
ground to his left. It was in shape something like a melon, but bigger, and
it seemed to be plastered over with a black mould. Norris rode by it, turned
a corner, and then with a gasp reined back his horse upon its haunches.
Straight in front of him a broken rifle lay across the path.
Norris stood still, and stared at it stupidly. Some vague recollection
floated elusively through his brain. He tried to grasp and fix it clearly in
his mind. It was a recollection of something which had happened a long while
ago, in England, when he was at school. Suddenly, he remembered. It was not
something which had happened, but something he had read under the great elm
trees in the close. It was that passage in Robinson Crusoe which tells
of the naked footprint in the sand.
Norris dismounted, and stooped to lift the rifle; but all at once he
straightened himself, and swung round with his arms guarding his head. There
was no one, however, behind him, and he gave a little quavering laugh, and
picked up the rifle. It was a heavy lo-bore Holland, a Holland with a single
barrel, and that barrel was twisted like a corkscrew. The lock had been
wrenched off, and there were marks upon the stock — marks of teeth, and
other queer, unintelligible marks as well.
Norris held the rifle in his hands, gazing vacantly straight ahead. He was
thinking of the direction in which he had come, southwest, and of the stream
which he had crossed, and of the patch of trampled mud, where track
obliterated track. He dropped the rifle. It rang upon a stone, and again the
screen of foliage shivered and rustled. Norris, however, paid no attention to
the movement, but ran back to that object which he had passed, and took it in
It was oval in shape, being slightly broader at one end than the other.
Norris drew his knife and cleaned the mould from one side of it. To the touch
of the blade it seemed softer than stone, and smoother than wood. "More like
bone," he said to himself. In the side which he had cleaned, there was a
little round hole filled up with mould. Norris dug his knife in and scraped
round the hole as one cleans a caked pipe. He drew out a little cube of mud.
There was a second corresponding hole on the other side. He turned the
narrower end of the thing upwards. It was hollow, he saw, but packed full of
mould, and more deliberately packed, for there were finger-marks in the
mould. "What an aimless trick!" he muttered vaguely.
He carried the thing back to the rifle, and, comparing them, understood
those queer marks upon the stock. They were the mark of fingers, of human
fingers, impressed faintly upon the wood with superhuman strength. He was
holding the rifle in his hands and looking down at it; but he saw below the
rifle, and he saw that his knees were shaking in a palsy.
On an instant he tossed the rifle away, and laughed to reassure himself
— laughed out boldly, once, twice; and then he stopped with his eyes
riveted upon the granite wall. At each laugh that he gave the shrubs and
flowers rippled, and shook the sunlight from their leaves. For the first time
he remarked the coincidence as something strange. He lifted up his face, but
not a breath of air fanned it; he looked across the hollow, the trees and
bushes stood immobile. He laughed a third time, louder than before, and all
at once his laughter got hold of him; he sent it pealing out hysterically,
burst after burst, until the hollow seemed brimming with the din of it. His
body began to twist; he beat time to his laughter with his feet, and then he
danced. He danced there alone in the African sunlight faster and faster, with
a mad tossing of his limbs, and with his laughter grown to a yell. And as
though to keep pace with him, each moment the shiver of the foliage
increased. Up and down, crosswise and breadthwise, the flowers were tossed
and flung, while their petals rained down the cliff's face in a purple storm.
It appeared, indeed, to Norris that the very granite walls were moving.
In the midst of his dance he kicked something and stumbled. He stopped
dead when he saw what that something was. It was the queer, mud-plastered
object which he had compared with the broken rifle, and the sight of it
recalled him to his wits. He tucked it hastily beneath his jacket, and looked
about him for his horse. The horse was standing behind him some distance
away, and nearer to the cliff. Norris snatched up his own rifle, and ran
towards it. His hand was on the horse's mane, when just above its head he
noticed a clean patch of granite, and across that space he saw a huge grey
baboon leap, and then another, and another. He turned about, and looked
across to the opposite wall, straining his eyes, and a second later to the
wall on his right. Then he understood; the twisted rifle, the finger marks,
this thing which he held under his coat, he understood them all. The walls of
the hollow were alive with baboons, and the baboons were making along the
cliffs for the entrance.
Norris sprang on to his horse, and kicked and beat it into a gallop. He
had only to traverse the length of a diameter, he told himself, the baboons
the circumference of a circle. He had covered three-quarters of the distance
when he heard a grunt, and from a bush fifty yards ahead the buffalo sprang
out and came charging down at him.
Norris gave one scream of terror, and with that his nerves steadied
themselves. He knew that it was no use firing at the front of a buffalo's
head when the beast was charging. He pulled a rein and swerved to the left;
the bull made a corresponding turn. A moment afterwards Norris swerved back
into his former course, and shot just past the bull's flanks. He made no
attempt to shoot them; he held his rifle ready in his hands, and looked
forwards. When he was fifty yards from the passage he saw the first baboon
perched upon a shoulder of rock above the entrance. He lifted his rifle, and
fired at a venture. He saw the brute's arms wave in the air, and heard a dull
thud on the ground behind him as he drove through the gully and out on to the
The next morning Norris broke up his camp, and started homewards for
Johannesburg. He went down to the Stock Exchange on the day of his arrival,
and chanced upon Teddy Isaacs.
"What's that?" asked Isaacs, touching a bulge of his coat.
"That?" replied Norris, unfastening the buttons. "I told you I would bring
back Barrington if I found him," and he trundled a scoured and polished skull
across the floor of the Stock Exchange.