CHAPTER VIII

Traveling to and from the diamond fields in the days immediately

following the first rush was not an unmixed joy. Express wagons drawn

by eight horses or mules and running from Cape Town to Klipdrift once a

week charged passengers sixty dollars a head, the journey across the

plains taking about eight days. Travelers whose business was so urgent

that they could not wait for the regular stage had to hire a team of

their own at a much higher expense.

Kenneth did not mind the cost, if only he was able to make good time.

The trip to the mines had been accomplished without mishap. Everything

had gone as well as could be desired. He had been successful in

securing valuable land options for the company, and at last the two

precious stones were in his possession. That it was a big

responsibility, he fully realized. The very knowledge that he had on

his person gems worth over a million dollars, and this in a wild,

uncivilized country where at any moment he might be followed, ambushed

and killed, and no one the wiser, was not calculated to calm his

nerves. But Kenneth Traynor had never known the meaning of the word

fear. He was ready for any emergency and he went about unarmed, cool

and unruffled. From his demeanor at least no one could guess that he

ever gave a thought to the valuable consignment of which he was the

guardian. Of course, it had been impossible to keep the thing secret.

Everybody at the mines knew he had come out for the purpose of taking

the big stones to America. Even his drivers knew, and so did François.

The news was public property and was eagerly discussed over every camp

fire as one of the sensations of the day. All this publicity did not

tend to lessen the risk, and that was why he was so anxious to reach

Cape Town without the least possible delay. He had timed his departure

from the mines so as to just catch the steamer for England, and now,

after all his trouble and careful calculation, the fool mule drivers

had gone and lost the trail. It was most exasperating.

The wagon had come to a halt the night before under shelter of a

fair-sized kopjie. The mules, tormented by the deadly _tetse_ fly,

stood whisking their tails and biting savagely at their hereditary

enemy; the drivers, indifferent and stolid, sat on the ground smoking

their pipes, while Kenneth, fuming at this unlooked for mishap which

threatened an even more serious delay, strode up and down the _veldt_,

swearing at the mules, the stolid drivers and everything else in sight.

François, who had left camp for assistance long before sunrise, had not

yet returned. Unless help came soon they'd be held there another

night. There was no use trying to proceed without a guide, for they

might find themselves going round and round in a circle. There was

nothing to do but wait until help came.

Sitting down on the stump of a tree near the fire, he tried to possess

his soul in patience while one of the teamsters, who also officiated as

cook, busied himself getting breakfast. It was now broad daylight; the

weather clear and cold. As he sat there idly and smoked reflectively,

his thoughts wandered homeward, four thousand miles across the seas.

He wondered what Helen was doing, if little Dorothy was well, if

everything was all right. Only now he realized what the word home

meant to him, and a chill ran through him as he thought of all the

things that could happen. Yet how foolish it was to worry. What could

happen? Helen had her sister constantly with her, and she was well

looked after by Mr. Parker and Wilbur Steell. It was absurd to have

any anxiety on that score. Besides, if anything had gone wrong, they

would certainly have called him. He had had several letters from

Helen, all of them saying she and baby were well and waiting eagerly

for his return. Yes, he would soon be home now. In another two days

he would reach Cape Town. From there to Southampton was only a

fortnight's sail, and in another week he would be in New York.

These and kindred thoughts of home ran through his mind as he sat

before the camp fire and tranquilly smoked his pipe. The drivers were

busying themselves cleaning the harness, the mules were docilely

browsing, the air was filled by a fragrant odor of coffee. His

memories went back to his boyhood days. He recalled what the old nurse

had told him about a twin brother. How strange it would be if he ever

turned up. Such things were possible, of course, but hardly probable.

No, the chances were that he was dead. If he had lived, how different

everything might have been. He would have inherited half their

father's money. What had been enough to start one so well in life

would only have been a meagre provision for two. Yet it might have

been an advantage, forced him to still greater effort. He might have

got even farther than he had--who knows?

At that moment his reflections were interrupted by the sound of voices

in the distance. He heard some one running. One of the teamsters came

up hurriedly and exclaimed breathlessly:

"He's found some one, sir; he's got two men with him. They're coming

now."

Kenneth jumped up and, shading his eyes, looked out across the yellow

waste of stones and gravel. About a mile away he saw François,

accompanied by two strangers, who looked like miners. They were

tattered and miserable looking, as if down on their luck. One of them

was limping as if lame; the other, much taller, although ragged and

forlorn, had a soldierly bearing and the appearance of a gentleman.

The valet, who had been walking faster than his companions, came up at

that instant.

"Who have you got there?" demanded Kenneth.

"Two miners, monsieur. I found zem several miles away on ze _veldt_.

They have tramped for days without food; they are starving."

"Do they know the trail?"

"Yes, monsieur. Ze big man knows ze trail. He will show ze way--for a

consideration."

"Good! First give them some breakfast and then we'll go."

He waved his hand in the direction of the cook's mess, where the coffee

was already steaming on the fire, and, turning away, began to gather

his things together, preparatory to departure. There was no reason why

he should have anything to say to the strangers. In fact, it would be

better if they did not see him, or know who he was. It was possible

that they had been at the mines when he arrived, in which case they

would instantly recognize him as the American who had come to take the

big diamonds to New York. Besides, they were not particularly

attractive objects. What did their adventures and mishaps matter to

him? He had troubles of his own. François could look after their

wants. The main thing was to find the trail and get started back

toward Cape Town as soon as possible. When the strangers had been fed

they would set out, and, the trail once found, he would give them a

lift on their way and a few sovereigns into the bargain. That would

more than compensate them for all their trouble.

Meanwhile he thought he would take a quiet walk. His legs were stiff

from sitting so long. A little exercise would do him the world of

good. So, without a word to anybody, he slipped out of camp unobserved

and started off at a brisk gait.

The region where they had halted seemed to be the center of Nowhere, a

land where had reigned for all time the abomination of desolation

spoken of by all the prophets. Knocking about the world, as he had

done for a lifetime, Kenneth had seen some queer spots in the world,

but never had he come across so savagely repellent a spot as this. It

was Nature in her harshest mood--not a vestige in any direction of

human or animal life. There was not a farm, not a Boer or Kaffir, not

even a tree to be seen. Nothing in every direction but a monotonous

waste of yellow sand, rough stones and stunted grass. An unnatural

stillness filled the air, making the silence oppressive, and uncanny.

The soil was so poor that cultivation was impossible. The ground,

strewn with broken rocks and sharp stones which cut the shoes and hurt

the feet, suggested that in prehistoric times the plateau had been

swept by a volcanic tempest. The slopes of the few scattered kopjies

were sparsely covered with verdure and as he strode along, he passed

here and there clumps of trees, veritable oases in the desert, or deep

water holes under overhanging rocks where under cover of night, strange

beasts came to drink. Apart from these few oases, it was a dreary

monotonous waste of rock and sand, where neither beast or man could

find food or shelter.

He had walked about three miles and was just passing a kopjie where a

group of stunted trees offered a little shelter from the glare of the

sun on the yellow gravel when he began to feel tired. Sitting down on

a decayed tree stump, he took out his pipe, removed his helmet, and

laying lazily back, closed his eyes, a favorite trick of his when he

wished to concentrate his thoughts.

The trip, tiresome as it was, had certainly been worth while. His

ambitious dreams had been more than realized. He could scarcely wait

for his arrival to tell Helen the good news. He had secured signatures

to a plan of consolidation of practically all the mining companies

operating in South Africa. Until now, these companies had been engaged

in a fierce and disastrous competition, which cut into each other's

profits and cheapened the market price of stones. He had suggested a

scheme of amalgamation which would put all the mines under one

management, and fix arbitrary prices for diamonds which henceforth

could not be sold under a certain figure agreed upon by the Syndicate.

This plan, which had the general approval of the mining companies,

practically gave Kenneth Traynor control of the diamond industry of the

world, an industry which in South Africa alone had already produced

100,000,000 carats estimated to be worth $750,000,000. Overnight,

Kenneth found himself many times a millionaire.

It had come at last--what he waited for all these years. This new

consolidation deal meant great wealth to its promoters. What would he

do with it? Most men need only enough for their actual needs, but he

had higher aims. An ardent socialist he would use his money for the

cause. Not, however, in the way others did, but to buy influence,

power. He would fight Capitalism, in his own way. He would go into

politics, run for public office, try and remedy some of the economic

abuses from which people of the United States were now suffering. He

would wage warfare on the high cost of living, on Greed and Graft. He

would attack the Plutocracy in its stronghold, lay bare the inner

workings of the System, the concentration of the wealth of the entire

country in the hands of a few, by which the rich each year were

becoming richer and the poor each year poorer. It would not be the

first time a multi-millionaire had espoused the cause of the

proletariat, but he would carry on the fight more vigorously than

anyone had done. He would force an issue, make Greed disgorge its

ill-gotten gains and accord to Labor its rightful place in the sun, its

proper share of the world's production of wealth. His sympathies in

the bitter struggle between the capitalists and the wage earners were

wholly with the people who under the present wage system, had little

chance to raise themselves from the mire. But he was intelligent

enough to realize that the faults were not all on the side of Capital.

Labor, too, needed the curb at times. Too ready to listen to the

reckless harangues of irresponsible professional demagogues, wage

earners were often as tyrannical as capitalists, insisting on

impossible demands, rejecting sober compromise which, in the end, must

be the basis of all amicable relations between employer and employed.

For some time he sat there, giving free rein to his imagination, when

suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of heavy footsteps crunching on

the hard sand. Raising his head he looked quickly round but seeing no

one, concluded he was mistaken. Looking at his watch, he was amazed to

find that he had been away from camp a whole hour. There was no time

to be lost. The men had certainly finished eating by now; they could

start at once. Jumping up he turned round to retrace his steps the

same way he had come, when, suddenly, a shadow fell between him and the

white road. Looking up, he was startled to see himself reflected as in

a mirror against the green background of the kopjie.

At first he thought he must be ill. The walk, the sun, the exposure

had no doubt overstimulated him and made him excited and feverish. He

was seeing things. His success with the diamond deal had affected his

brain. Of course, it was only an hallucination. The next time he

looked this fantastic creation of his disordered mind would be gone.

Again he glanced up in the direction of the kopjie. The apparition was

still there, a horrible, monstrous, distortion of himself, standing

still, speechless, staring at him. That it was only a mirage there

could be no doubt. He had heard of such mirages at sea and also in the

Sahara where wandering Arabs have beheld long caravans journeying in

the skies. But he had never heard of a mirage lasting as long as this

one. Would it never disappear? It must be a nightmare which still

obsessed him. That was it. He had fallen asleep on the tree and was

not yet awake. With an effort he made a step forward and tried to

articulate, but the words stuck in his throat. Suddenly the spell was

broken by the apparition itself, which moved and spoke. He recognized

who it was now--one of the strangers brought in by François--but that

astonishing likeness of himself--

Judging by the astonished expression on his face, Handsome was just as

much surprised as Kenneth at the encounter. After satisfying his

hunger he, too, had strayed away from the camp, unable to control his

impatience while the teamsters were harnessing the mule team. He had

left Hickey to gorge still more while he strutted on by himself,

cogitating on what the valet had told him in regard to the diamonds.

This sudden meeting with the very man who had been uppermost in his

thoughts was surprising enough, and instantly he, also, was struck with

the extraordinary resemblance between them.

"Who the devil are you?" he demanded in surly tones.

Thus rudely aroused to the reality, and seeing that it was really a

creature of flesh and blood he had to deal with and not a creature of

another world, Kenneth answered haughtily:

"I'm not accustomed to being addressed in that manner."

Handsome laughed mockingly. With affected politeness he retorted:

"Your lordship's servant! What is his lordship's pleasure?"

Kenneth did not hear the taunting reply or heed the sneer. He was

still staring at this counterpart of himself, this very image yet who

was not himself, but a human derelict, a wretched, sodden outcast. All

at once, an overwhelming, horrible suggestion rushed across his brain.

Could it be, was it--his long lost twin brother? Almost gasping, he

demanded:

"Who are you?"

Handsome chuckled.

"I don't know."

"What is your name?"

The man chuckled.

"They call me Handsome. That's because I'm a good looker. I have had

a good many other names, but I've forgotten what they are. The police

know. It's all in the records."

"My God--a police record!"

"What of it?" Bitterly he added: "We can't all be fine gentlemen and

millionaires."

"Where are you from?"

"Nowhere."

"Who were your parents?"

"Never had any that I know of."

Kenneth started forward and, seizing the man's left hand, closely

examined it. Yes, there was the scar on the index finger of the left

hand. No further doubt was possible. This was his brother. Handsome,

meantime, had been watching the other's agitation with mingled interest

and amusement.

Hoarsely, Kenneth cried:

"Where have you been all these years?"

Handsome stared as if he thought his interlocutor had gone crazy.

Almost angrily he retorted:

"What d----d business is it of yours?"

Paying no heed to the miner's offensive attitude, and anxious only to

learn something of his history, Kenneth approached him and held out his

hand.

"I wish to be your friend."

Handsome drew back suspiciously. Always associated with evil himself,

he looked for only evil from others. Bitterly he retorted:

"My friend--what do your kind care for poor devils like me?"

For answer, Kenneth removed his helmet, suddenly revealing the solitary

lock of white hair. Handsome fell back in surprise. For the first

time he realized the extraordinary resemblance. He had noticed a

marked likeness before, but now the diamond promoter's helmet was off,

it was positively startling. Hoarsely he exclaimed:

"The devil! Who are you? You look just like----"

Kenneth looked at him keenly for a moment. Then he said calmly:

"Yes--I look just like you. No wonder. You are--my brother!"

[Illustration: "Yes, you are my brother. We are twins."]

"Your brother?"

"Yes--my brother. We are twins. You were kidnapped by gypsies

thirty-two years ago. Our old nurse told me the story for the first

time the day before I sailed from New York. She also told me about

that scar on your hand. You cut it badly when you were a year old and

the scar has remained ever since. Everybody believed you dead. Where

have you been all these years?"

Handsome made no answer but fell back a few steps, and passed his hand

over his brow as if bewildered. This astonishing revelation had been

made so suddenly that it had left him dazed. A wild, improbable tale,

it seemed, yet perhaps there was some truth in it. He had never known

who his parents were and it had always seemed to him that he came of

better stock than those with whom he associated. Then again, there was

the ridiculous likeness. One had only to look at them both--it was the

same face.

Slowly, gradually, as he looked more closely at Kenneth the conviction

grew stronger that this, indeed, was his brother, his own flesh and

blood, yet it aroused within him no emotion and left him entirely cold.

No impulse seized him to throw himself into this man's arms and embrace

him. His heart was steeled against the world. Human affection and

sympathy had dried up in his breast years ago. What he saw was not a

kinsman, a brother, but a man who had succeeded in life where he had

failed, a man who was rich and happy while he was poor and miserable, a

man who had everything while he had nothing. And if the tale were

true, if indeed, he were this rich man's brother, it only made matters

worse, for he had been robbed of his rightful inheritance. This rich

man was enjoying wealth half of which rightfully belonged to him.

Again Kenneth demanded:

"Where have you been all these years?"

"Here, there, everywhere," was the sullen answer. "London, Paris,

Brussels, Vienna, New York, Boston, Chicago, Havana, Buenos Ayres. I

know them all and they know me--perhaps too well. My earliest

recollection is of the Italian quarter in New York, a long narrow

always dirty street, bordered on either side by dilapidated greasy

tenements, ricketty fire escapes filled with biddy and garbage. Pietro

lived there and kept his organ in the basement cellar. When Pietro

went out with the organ he took me along to excite sympathy. Until I

was fifteen years old I begged to support Pietro. One day he beat me

and I ran away and shipped as cabin boy on a sailing vessel bound for

Liverpool. I reached London and found employment as stable boy at

Ascot. There I learned the fatal fascination of gambling. With what I

saved from my wages I bet on the horses. I won and won again. I went

back to London and frequented the gambling houses. I won, always won.

One day there was a row. Someone complained I had cheated. The police

arrested me. When I left jail I went to the continent and began

gambling again. I have gambled ever since." Pointing in the direction

of the mines he added bitterly:

"That was my last gamble and I lost. That's all I have to tell."

Kenneth listened with keen interest. When the other stopped speaking

he asked:

"And now--what will you do?"

Handsome shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. Kenneth went on:

"You can't keep up the old life--that is impossible. You owe something

to the blood that's running in your veins. There is only one thing for

you to do. You must break off with the past for good, and come home

with me. Are you known in New York?"

Handsome shook his head.

"No, I never returned there since I was a child."

"Your operations in America were confined to San Francisco, Chicago and

St. Louis----"

"Yes."

Kenneth breathed more freely.

"That makes matters easier. No one in New York, therefore, has

anything against you. There it will be possible to live down your

past. You will cease being an outcast, a wanderer on the face of the

earth. You will take the place in society for which Nature intended

you."

Handsome smiled cynically. Grimly he replied:

"I guess Nature never expected much of me."

"You never can tell," said Kenneth quickly. "Your environments no

doubt were responsible for your downfall. You have been a victim of

circumstances."

Handsome was silent. This free roving life had come second nature to

him. He looked with suspicion on any other. After a pause, he asked:

"What can I do in New York?"

"I will dress and house you like a gentleman. For a time you can make

your home with us. If we find we can't agree, well--we'll part. I

will find you employment----"

Handsome laughed. Mockingly he said:

"Then I am to be dependent on you----"

"No--not on me----. On your own efforts. There is no reason why, if

given a chance, you will not make a success in the world. You are

still young and energetic. I will give you a start in any line you

wish to enter. I will make you a present of $10,000. It should be

enough capital to start in any business."

Handsome shrugged his shoulders.

"Charity?" he exclaimed.

"No--not charity--brotherly affection."

His brother laughed mockingly. Bitterly he exclaimed:

"Maybe it's conscience money."

"What do you mean?"

"You inherited from our father, didn't you?"

"Yes--but I've increased it a hundred-fold by my own efforts."

"How much did he leave you?"

"Twenty thousand dollars."

"Why didn't he leave me some?"

"He believed you dead. The sum I offer you is the sum you would have

inherited from our father had he known you were living. Do you accept?"

Handsome was silent. His brain was working fast. What this man

offered him was the merest pittance. Put out at interest, it would

give him the princely income of $10 a week. What did he care for the

good opinion of the world? He had knocked about so long, roughing it

everywhere, that he might as well end as he had begun--an adventurer.

Suddenly there flashed across his brain a wild, audacious idea--a

scheme so fantastic, so fraught with adventure and peril that the very

thought gave him a thrill. It involved violence, possibly a crime.

Well, what of it? He was not the kind to be deterred by trifles. This

man was nothing to him. Brotherly love, family ties--these were simply

phrases to one who had never known them. He knew and obeyed only one

instinct--the fight for life, the survival of the fittest. Society had

waged war on him; he would be merciless in his war on society. This

man--this alleged brother, threw him a sop, insulted him by offering

him charity. Why should he hesitate? It was his life or another's.

There was a big prize to be won. Life was sweet when one has millions

to enjoy it with. This man had now on his person diamonds worth over a

million and he had more millions at home. Suppose something happened

to this man here in South Africa and he went home in his stead to take

his place in his household and enjoy his millions? Who would know the

difference?

Impatient at the other's silence Kenneth demanded somewhat sharply:

"Well--what do you say? Do you accept?"

He looked straight at his _vis-à-vis_, but Handsome avoided his direct

gaze. He was silent for another moment as if reflecting. Then,

slowly, he said:

"Yes, I accept."