Dead Man Riding by Gillian Linscott Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t think you might have warned me?’
    â€˜But I did, my boy. I sent you a telegram.’
    â€˜I thought it was some kind of joke.’
    â€˜The whole thing’s a bloody joke.’
    Nathan was sitting next to me and I could see him wincing at swearing in front of ladies. I signed to him not to worry.
    â€˜So it’s a joke, is it? It’s a joke that you nearly killed my oldest friend? It’s a joke that you’ve let me bring my friends here without letting me know you’ve managed to start another civil war with your neighbours?’
    â€˜Civil war, you say?’ In spite of Alan’s anger, the Old Man seemed quite complimented about that.
    â€˜It’s even spread to the town. Do you know they wouldn’t hire us a cab or even a cart to come out here? As soon as they knew where we were heading, the whole town was against us.’
    â€˜I’m sorry for that. I’d meant to have Robin waiting for you with the wagonette but we thought it was tomorrow you were coming.’
    â€˜They threw stones at us. Actually threw stones as we were hiking out of town. And when we get here at last, what do you do? You start blazing away at us as if we were a gang of poachers.’
    The Old Man looked hurt. ‘Oh no, my boy. I’d never open fire on poachers. Some of my best friends are poachers.’
    â€˜Well, thank you for that. You wouldn’t shoot poachers, but you’ve no scruples about shooting my friends.’
    â€˜My dear boy, please don’t be so angry. It was a misunderstanding. I told you I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
    â€˜So who did you think it was? You were out pretty quickly with that shotgun, weren’t you, and you’ve got warning bells rigged up on the gate. What’s happening?’
    The Old Man sighed, ‘Isn’t this discourteous to our guests? Shouldn’t you and I discuss it after we’ve all eaten?’
    Meredith said, quietly and politely, ‘I think we’d all be interested to know, sir.’
    It was the first time any of the rest of us had spoken since the introductions. The Old Man swivelled his head round towards Meredith, gave him a long look and nodded as if acknowledging that he had a right to an opinion.
    â€˜In that case, I’ll tell you. Alan, sit down for goodness’ sake. You’re not addressing a meeting.’
    Unwillingly, Alan sat down on a straight-backed chair by the sideboard and the Old Man settled himself into the armchair with the saddle and shotgun beside him, crossing his gaitered legs. The plump dog by the fire stirred and developed two heads, one at each end. As it got up I saw that what I’d taken for one fat dog was two thin ones, fine Afghans. They padded across the room to take up positions on either side of the Old Man, white head on his left knee, sand-coloured on his right. He sat very upright, like a tribal chieftain between bodyguards.
    â€˜It started with the Relief of Mafeking.’ The shortsighted eyes ranged round us as if that should tell us what we needed to know. To nudge him along I asked, ‘The celebrations?’
    His glare focused on me. ‘Celebrations! You think it’s something to celebrate – that we’re killing honest hard-working farmers because we think we know how to run their country better than they do? Shooting men off the backs of their own horses on their own land – is that something to put out the flags for and light bonfires for and get drunk and march round the town singing songs for?’
    I started saying that as a matter of fact I agreed with him, but he didn’t take any notice.
    â€˜I lived with the Boers for two years. I rode with them, worked with them, ate with them. They’re some of the straightest men on earth and this wretched government’s sending our young men out there to kill them. And when I dare to stand up and say it’s an abomination, I get ruffians