Sunset at Sheba by John Harris Read Free Book Online

lonely and went looking for a bit of fun.’
    She stopped dead, her voice wistful. ‘And now I’ve had enough fun,’ she said slowly. ‘I want to go to Kimberley.’ Her voice rose on a plaintive note, her eyes gentle and pleading with him. ‘I’m sick of dust. I’m sick of men. I’m sick of the only shops being the ones that sell saddles and mining machinery. I want some pretty clothes. I’ve never had any pretty clothes. Not real ones - from a smart shop like the ones they have in Commissioner Street and Adderley Street in Cape Town. Clothes that make me look nice. I’ve got a good start and it’s a pity to waste it.’ She smoothed her blouse across her breast. ‘That’s real, y’know,’ she pointed out. ‘Not whalebone, like some folks’.’
    She stared at him for a moment, as if she expected him to dispute it, then her eyes became wistful again. ‘All I’ve ever had,’ she said, ‘is just a lot of rough blokes, who think they’re gents, all staring at me when I danced and pawing me when I didn’t. And dust. All the time, just dust and sunshine. That’s all you get round here. No wonder I’ve got a skin like old boots.’
    ‘Your skin’s all right,’ Sammy said quietly.
    She looked at him with an oddly tender expression on her face for a moment. ‘Thanks, Sammy boy. Nice of you to say so. Only I know it isn’t true. I read a book once,’ she went on. ‘Women in Cape Town and Durban, they’ve got parasols. They use ‘em all the time. Yet they laugh themselves sick up here when I use one to keep from getting all burned up. They’ve got pretty clothes, too - and nice gardens, with flowers in -- and trees. I wouldn’t mind having a garden with flowers and trees.’
    ‘Who’s going to look after you down there?’
    She looked up accusingly. ‘Who’s going to look after me up here?’ she asked calmly.
    ‘I would.’
    ‘You never shaped much as if you wanted to,’ she pointed out calmly. ‘Riding round enjoying yourself, bangin’ off your gun like billy-o all over the veld, killing things, when you should have been home.’
    Sammy started whittling again. It was an old dispute which had been going on between them for years and it would never be settled.
    ‘I’ll drop you at the Sidings as we go through,’ he said flatly.
    He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, with a trace of caution, as though he expected her to develop her theme but she was regarding him anxiously now, seeming younger and less certain of herself and of him.
    ‘Where are you going, Sammy?’ she asked.
    ‘South-west,’ he said. ‘Out Namaqualand way.’
    ‘That’s close by them Germans. They’ve been having fighting that way. They nobbled Grant out that way.’ She paused, her kind heart awed by the thought of war and wounds and pain. ‘Besides’ - she studied him, concern in her eyes - ‘there’s nothing out there, Sammy. There’s nothing west of the railway track at Plummerton Sidings - only the Wilderness. Nothing till you get to Upington. And then not much. It’s bare out there. I’ve heard Pa say so, when he had the cart and used to sell things. No people. He’d never go there.’
    ‘Your Pa was after trade.’ He grinned. ‘It’s not for trade they’re sending me there.’
    She was silent and he gestured with his knife towards the railway track.
    ‘It’s Plummer country over there,’ he went on shrewdly. ‘It has been ever since he annexed Dhanziland. He’s always had the say-so round here and west of the track. Besides, there’s nobody to talk to. Nobody to know I ever knew Willie Plummer. No Fabricius to find me and get me to spin the sort of yarn they don’t want me to spin. Nice safe country.’
    Her eyes were worried now. ‘You must have been barmy,’ she said glumly.
    ‘I didn’t know a lot of silly fatheads would take it into their heads to start a rebellion,’ he defended himself. ‘I only did a carrying job for Willie Plummer. That’s what I did. I took