Dickenson walked frowning away from the hospital hut, thinking of the
manner in which Roby had shifted the charge of cowardice from his
shoulders to Lennox's, and a sigh of misery escaped from his breast as
he made for the side of the bubbling stream.
"Poor fellow!" he said to himself. "I'm afraid that he's where being
called coward or brave man won't affect him."
He reached the beautiful, clear stream, lay down and drank like some
wild animal, and then began bathing his temples, the water setting him
thinking of Lennox's adventures by its source, and clearing his head so
much that when he rose at last and began to walk back to his quarters he
felt wonderfully refreshed.
This state of feeling increased to such a degree that when he once more
lay down after taking off his hot jacket, the heat from the roof, the
buzzing of the flies, and the noises out in the village square mingled
together into a whole that seemed slumber-inviting, and in less than ten
minutes he was plunged in a deep, heavy, restful sleep, which seemed to
him to have lasted about a quarter of a hour, when he was touched upon
the shoulder by a firm hand, and sprang up to gaze at the light of a
lantern and at nothing else.
"Close upon starting-time, sir," said the sergeant out of the darkness
behind the lamp.
For a few moments Dickenson was silent, and the sergeant spoke again.
"Time to rouse up, sir."
"Yes, of course," said the young officer, getting slowly upon his feet,
and having hard work to suppress a groan.
"Bit stiff, sir?"
"Yes; arm and back. I can hardly move. But it will soon go off."
"Oh yes, sir. It was that big stone nipping you after the blow-up."
"I expect so," said Dickenson, struggling into his jacket. "Ha! It's
getting better already. Where are the ponies?"
"Round by the tethering-line, sir; but you've got to have a bit of
supper first."
"Oh, I want no supper. I've no appetite now."
"Armoured train won't work, sir, without filling up the furnace," said
the sergeant sternly; "and the ponies are not quite ready."
"You promised to have them ready, sergeant."
"So I did, sir; but we want all we can out of them to-night. We may
have to ride for our lives; so I managed to beg a feed of mealies apiece
for them. There's a snack of hot meat ready in the mess hut, sir, and
the colonel would like to see you before you start."
"Yes," said Dickenson, finishing buckling on his sword, and slipping the
lanyard cord of his revolver about his neck.
He hurried then to the mess-room, where a piece of well-broiled steak,
freshly cut from one of the oxen, was brought by the cook, emitting an
aroma agreeable enough; but it did not tempt the young officer, whose
one idea was to mount and ride away for the kopje. Certainly it was not
only like fresh meat--very tough--but it possessed the toughness of
years piled-up by an ox whose life had been passed helping to drag a
tow-rope on trek. So half of it was left, and the young man sought the
colonel's quarters.
"Ha!" he said. "Ready to start, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I must leave all to your discretion, Dickenson," he said.
"Recollect you promised me that if there was any sign of the kopje being
still occupied you would stop at once and return."
"Yes; I have not forgotten, sir."
"That's enough, then. Keep your eyes well open for danger. I'd give
anything to recover Lennox, but I cannot afford to give the lives of
more of my men."
Dickenson frowned.
"You mean, sir, that you do not believe he is still alive."
"I don't know what to say, Dickenson," said the colonel, beginning to
walk up and down the hut. "You have heard this ugly report?"
"Yes, sir; and I don't believe it."
"I cannot believe it," said the colonel; "but Captain Roby keeps on
repeating it to the doctor and the major; while that man who was
wounded, too, endorses all his captain says. It sounds monstrous."
"Don't believe it, sir," cried Dickenson excitedly.
"I have told you that I cannot believe it," said the colonel; "but Mr
Lennox is missing, and it looks horribly corroborative of Roby's tale.
There, go and find him--if you can. We can't add that to our other
misfortunes; it would be a disgrace to us all."
"You mean, sir," said Dickenson coldly, "if Drew Lennox had--has--well,
I suppose I must say it--run away?"
"Exactly."
"Well, sir, I don't feel in the least afraid. He is either a prisoner,
lying badly wounded somewhere about the kopje, or--dead."
He said the last word in a husky tone, and then started violently.
"What is it, man?" cried the colonel excitedly, for the young officer
seemed as if he were suffering from some violent spasm. "Are you hurt?"
"Something seemed to hurt me, sir," said the young man; "but it was only
a thought."
"A thought?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply. "I was wondering whether it was possible."
"Whether what was possible?" said the colonel impatiently. "Don't speak
in riddles, man."
"No, sir. It came like a flash. Suppose the poor fellow was somewhere
near the spot where we exploded the ammunition?"
"Fancy," said the colonel coldly. "There must have been plenty of
places round about the part you attacked without Lennox being there.
There, lose no time; find him, and bring him back."
"He half believes that wretched story put about by Roby," said Dickenson
to himself as he walked stiffly away, depressed in mind as well as body,
and anything but fit for his journey, as he began to feel more and more.
But he made an effort, stepped out boldly in spite of a sharp, catching
pain, and answered briskly to the sentries' challenges as he passed into
the light shed by the lanterns here and there.
"Ready, sir?" said a voice suddenly.
"Yes; quite. The sooner we're off the better."
"The ponies are waiting, sir; and I've got the password, and know
exactly where the outposts are if I can hit them off in the dark, for
it's twice as black as it was last night."
"Then it will be a bad time for our search."
"Search, sir?" said the sergeant bluntly. "We're going to do no
searching to-night."
"What!" cried Dickenson.
"It's impossible, sir. All we can do is to get as close as we can to
the kopje and find out whether the enemy is still there. Then we must
wait for daylight. If the place is clear, it will be all easy going; if
the Boers are still there we must have a hasty ride round, if we can,
before we are discovered."
"Very well," said Dickenson slowly as they walked on to the lines where
the ponies were tethered, mounted, and went off at a walk, the sergeant
and Dickenson side by side and the two men close behind; while the
slight, cob-like Bechuana ponies upon which they were mounted seemed to
need no guiding, but kept to the track which brought them again upon
outposts, where their riders were challenged, gave the word, and then
went steadily on at a walk right away across the open veldt.
"Ponies know their way, sir," said the sergeant after they had ridden
about a mile. "I'll be bound to say, if we let them, they'll take us
right by that patch of scrub where the enemy had his surprise, and then
go straight away for the kopje."
"So much the better, sergeant," said Dickenson, who spoke unwillingly,
his body full of pain as his mind was of thought.
"Will you give the order for us to load?"
"Load?" said Dickenson in a tone expressing his surprise. "Oh! of
course;" and he gave the necessary command, taking the rifle handed to
him by one of the men as they rode on. "I was thinking of our chances
of finding the Boers out scouting. I suppose it is quite possible that
we may run against a patrol."
"More than likely, sir. They'll be eager enough to find out some way of
paying back what we gave them to-day."
"Of course, and--What does this mean?" whispered Dickenson, for his pony
stopped short, as did the others, the sergeant's mount uttering a sharp,
challenging neigh and beginning to fidget.
"Means danger, sir," whispered the sergeant. "We loaded none too soon."
There was nothing for it but to sit fast, peering into the wall of
darkness that surrounded them, trying vainly to make out the approaching
danger, every man listening intently. Fully ten minutes elapsed, and
not a sound was heard. The ponies, well-trained by the Boers to stand,
remained for a time perfectly motionless, till all at once, just as
Dickenson was about to whisper to the sergeant that their mounts had
probably only been startled by some wild animal of the desert, one of
them impatiently stretched out its neck (drawing the hand holding the
reins forward), snuffed at the earth, and began to crop at the stunted
brush through which they were passing. The others immediately followed
suit, and, letting them have their own way, the party sat once more
listening in vain.
Then came a surprise. All at once, from what Dickenson judged to be
some fifty feet away, there was the peculiar _ruff! ruff! ruff! ruff_!
of some one walking slowly through the low scrub, which there was not
unlike walking over a heather-covered track.
"Stand," cried the lieutenant sharply, "or we fire."
"No. Hold hard," cried a familiar voice. "Who goes there? Dickenson,
is that you?"
"Lennox! Thank Heaven!"
The steps quickened till he who made them came staggering up to the
lieutenant's pony, at which he caught, but reached short, stumbled, and
fell.
The sergeant was off his pony in a moment, handing the reins to a
companion, and helping the lost man to rise.
"Are you all right?" said Dickenson excitedly as he reached down, felt
for, and firmly grasped his friend's wet, cold hand.
"All right?" said Lennox bitterly. "Well, as all right as a man can be
who was about to lie down utterly exhausted, when he heard your pony."
"But are you wounded?"
"No; only been nearly strangled and torn to pieces. But don't ask me
questions. Water!" A water-bottle was handed to the poor fellow, and
they heard him drink with avidity. Then ceasing for a short space, he
said, "I was just going to lie down and give it up, for I was completely
lost." He began drinking again, and then, with a deep breath of relief:
"Whose is this?"
"Mine, sir," said the sergeant, and he took the bottle from the
trembling outstretched hand which offered it.
"Thankye, sergeant," sighed the exhausted man. "It does one good to
hear your voice again. Are we far from Groenfontein?"
"About three miles," said Dickenson.
"Ah!" said Lennox, with a groan. "Then I can't do it."
"Yes, you can," said Dickenson warmly. "Here, hold on by the nag's mane
while I dismount. We'll get you into the saddle, and walk the pony
home."
"Excuse me, sir; I'm dismounted," said the sergeant, "and I'd rather
walk, please."
"Thank you, James," said Dickenson. "I'll take your offer, for I'm
nearly done up myself."
"You keep still, then, sir.--Dismount, my lads, and help to get Mr
Lennox into the saddle.--Rest on me, sir; I've got you. Sure you're not
wounded, sir?"
There was no reply; but the sergeant, who had passed his arm round his
young officer's waist, felt him subside, and if the hold had not been
tightened he would have sunk to the ground.
"Got him?" cried Dickenson.
"Yes, sir; all right. Fainted."
"Fainted?"
"Yes, sir. Regular exhaustion, I suppose. We'll get him into the
saddle, and I think the best way will be for me to got up behind and
hold him on, for he's regularly given up now that he has fallen among
friends."
"But the pony: will it carry you both?"
"Oh yes, sir--at a walk. They're plucky little beasts, sir. But we've
got him, sir, and that's what I didn't expect. I suppose we mustn't
cheer?"
"Cheer? No," said Dickenson excitedly. "Look here, sergeant; I'm a bit
crippled, but I'll have him in front of me."
"But he's on my pony now, sir, with the lads holding him. Had we better
drag him down again? He's precious limp, sir; and I'm afraid he's hurt
worse than he said."
"Very well; keep as you are," said Dickenson hurriedly; and, almost
unseen, the sergeant mounted behind his charge and began to feel about
him for the best way of making the poor fellow as comfortable as
possible.
"He's got his sword all right, sir, but his revolver's gone. Stop a
moment," continued the sergeant, fumbling in the darkness; "there's the
lanyard, but his hat's gone too. There, I've got him nicely now.
Mount, my lads."
There was a rustling sound as the men sprang into their saddles again.
"Ready?" said Dickenson.
"Yes, sir."
"Stop a moment. How are we to find our way back?"
"We shall have to trust to the ponies, sir," said the sergeant. "Let's
see; we have turned their heads round over this job. We must leave it
to them; they'll find their way back, thinking they're going to get some
more mealies. Trust them for that."
"Forward at a walk!" said Dickenson. "Tut, tut, sergeant! It's as
black as pitch. If a breeze would only spring up."
"Dessay it will, sir, before long."
"How does Mr Lennox seem?"
"Head's resting on my clasped hands, sir, and he's sleeping like a
baby--regular fagged out."
It was a slow and toilsome march; but the party were in the highest of
spirits, and, in the hope of seeing the lights at Groenfontein at the
end of an hour or so, they kept on, only pausing now and again to listen
for danger and to rearrange Lennox, whose silence began to alarm his
friend. But the sergeant assured him that the poor fellow was sleeping
heavily, and they went on again with a dark mental cloud coming over
Dickenson's exhilaration as he thought of the unpleasant news that
awaited his friend.
"But a word from him will set that right," he said to himself. "Poor
fellow! He must be done up to sleep like that. Why, he never even
asked how we got on after the fight."