past--I suspect it was a lady, though I never asked--it was evidently
forgotten now.

"My dear old fellow," burst out Sir Henry at last, "I thought you were
dead. I have been over Solomon's Mountains to find you. I had given up
all hope of ever seeing you again, and now I come across you perched
in the desert, like an old /assvogel/."[*]

[*] Vulture.

"I tried to cross Solomon's Mountains nearly two years ago," was the
answer, spoken in the hesitating voice of a man who has had little
recent opportunity of using his tongue, "but when I reached here a
boulder fell on my leg and crushed it, and I have been able to go
neither forward nor back."

Then I came up. "How do you do, Mr. Neville?" I said; "do you remember
me?"

"Why," he said, "isn't it Hunter Quatermain, eh, and Good too? Hold on
a minute, you fellows, I am getting dizzy again. It is all so very
strange, and, when a man has ceased to hope, so very happy!"

That evening, over the camp fire, George Curtis told us his story,
which, in its way, was almost as eventful as our own, and, put
shortly, amounted to this. A little less than two years before, he had
started from Sitanda's Kraal, to try to reach Suliman's Berg. As for
the note I had sent him by Jim, that worthy lost it, and he had never
heard of it till to-day. But, acting upon information he had received
from the natives, he headed not for Sheba's Breasts, but for the
ladder-like descent of the mountains down which we had just come,
which is clearly a better route than that marked out in old Dom
Silvestra's plan. In the desert he and Jim had suffered great
hardships, but finally they reached this oasis, where a terrible
accident befell George Curtis. On the day of their arrival he was
sitting by the stream, and Jim was extracting the honey from the nest
of a stingless bee which is to be found in the desert, on the top of a
bank immediately above him. In so doing he loosened a great boulder of
rock, which fell upon George Curtis's right leg, crushing it
frightfully. From that day he had been so lame that he found it
impossible to go either forward or back, and had preferred to take the
chances of dying in the oasis to the certainty of perishing in the
desert.

As for food, however, they got on pretty well, for they had a good
supply of ammunition, and the oasis was frequented, especially at
night, by large quantities of game, which came thither for water.
These they shot, or trapped in pitfalls, using the flesh for food,
and, after their clothes wore out, the hides for clothing.

"And so," George Curtis ended, "we have lived for nearly two years,
like a second Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, hoping against hope
that some natives might come here to help us away, but none have come.
Only last night we settled that Jim should leave me, and try to reach
Sitanda's Kraal to get assistance. He was to go to-morrow, but I had
little hope of ever seeing him back again. And now /you/, of all
people in the world, /you/, who, as I fancied, had long ago forgotten
all about me, and were living comfortably in old England, turn up in a
promiscuous way and find me where you least expected. It is the most
wonderful thing that I have ever heard of, and the most merciful too."

Then Sir Henry set to work, and told him the main facts of our
adventures, sitting till late into the night to do it.

"By Jove!" said George Curtis, when I showed him some of the diamonds:
"well, at least you have got something for your pains, besides my
worthless self."

Sir Henry laughed. "They belong to Quatermain and Good. It was a part
of the bargain that they should divide any spoils there might be."

This remark set me thinking, and having spoken to Good, I told Sir
Henry that it was our joint wish that he should take a third portion
of the diamonds, or, if he would not, that his share should be handed
to his brother, who had suffered even more than ourselves on the
chance of getting them. Finally, we prevailed upon him to consent to
this arrangement, but George Curtis did not know of it until some time
afterwards.

*****

Here, at this point, I think that I shall end my history. Our journey
across the desert back to Sitanda's Kraal was most arduous, especially
as we had to support George Curtis, whose right leg was very weak
indeed, and continually threw out splinters of bone. But we did
accomplish it somehow, and to give its details would only be to
reproduce much of what happened to us on the former occasion.

Six months from the date of our re-arrival at Sitanda's, where we
found our guns and other goods quite safe, though the old rascal in
charge was much disgusted at our surviving to claim them, saw us all
once more safe and sound at my little place on the Berea, near Durban,
where I am now writing. Thence I bid farewell to all who have
accompanied me through the strangest trip I ever made in the course of
a long and varied experience.

P.S.--Just as I had written the last word, a Kafir came up my avenue
of orange trees, carrying a letter in a cleft stick, which he had
brought from the post. It turned out to be from Sir Henry, and as it
speaks for itself I give it in full.

October 1, 1884.
Brayley Hall, Yorkshire.

  My Dear Quatermain,

  I send you a line a few mails back to say that the three of us,
  George, Good, and myself, fetched up all right in England. We got
  off the boat at Southampton, and went up to town. You should have
  seen what a swell Good turned out the very next day, beautifully
  shaved, frock coat fitting like a glove, brand new eye-glass,
  etc., etc. I went and walked in the park with him, where I met
  some people I know, and at once told them the story of his
  "beautiful white legs."

  He is furious, especially as some ill-natured person has printed
  it in a Society paper.

  To come to business, Good and I took the diamonds to Streeter's to
  be valued, as we arranged, and really I am afraid to tell you what
  they put them at, it seems so enormous. They say that of course it
  is more or less guess-work, as such stones have never to their
  knowledge been put on the market in anything like such quantities.
  It appears that (with the exception of one or two of the largest)
  they are of the finest water, and equal in every way to the best
  Brazilian stones. I asked them if they would buy them, but they
  said that it was beyond their power to do so, and recommended us
  to sell by degrees, over a period of years indeed, for fear lest
  we should flood the market. They offer, however, a hundred and
  eighty thousand for a very small portion of them.

  You must come home, Quatermain, and see about these things,
  especially if you insist upon making the magnificent present of
  the third share, which does /not/ belong to me, to my brother
  George. As for Good, he is /no good/. His time is too much
  occupied in shaving, and other matters connected with the vain
  adorning of the body. But I think he is still down on his luck
  about Foulata. He told me that since he had been home he hadn't
  seen a woman to touch her, either as regards her figure or the
  sweetness of her expression.

  I want you to come home, my dear old comrade, and to buy a house
  near here. You have done your day's work, and have lots of money
  now, and there is a place for sale quite close which would suit
  you admirably. Do come; the sooner the better; you can finish
  writing the story of our adventures on board ship. We have refused
  to tell the tale till it is written by you, for fear lest we shall
  not be believed. If you start on receipt of this you will reach
  here by Christmas, and I book you to stay with me for that. Good
  is coming, and George; and so, by the way, is your boy Harry
  (there's a bribe for you). I have had him down for a week's
  shooting, and like him. He is a cool young hand; he shot me in the
  leg, cut out the pellets, and then remarked upon the advantages of
  having a medical student with every shooting party!

  Good-bye, old boy; I can't say any more, but I know that you will
  come, if it is only to oblige

Your sincere friend,
Henry Curtis.

  P.S.--The tusks of the great bull that killed poor Khiva have now
  been put up in the hall here, over the pair of buffalo horns you
  gave me, and look magnificent; and the axe with which I chopped
  off Twala's head is fixed above my writing-table. I wish that we
  could have managed to bring away the coats of chain armour. Don't
  lose poor Foulata's basket in which you brought away the diamonds.
H.C.

To-day is Tuesday. There is a steamer going on Friday, and I really

think that I must take Quatermain at his word, and sail by her for
England, if it is only to see you, Harry, my boy, and to look after
the printing of this history, which is a task that I do not like to
trust to anybody else.

ALLAN QUATERMAIN.





End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of King Solomon's Mines, by Haggard

