Doppersdorp was some distance behind the two horsemen by the time the
sun shot up, a wheel of flame, into the cloudless beauty of the blue
vault, flooding the great plains and the iron-crowned mountain heights
with waves of gold; and the air, though warm, was on these high
tablelands marvellously pure and clear. It was the morning for
reflections of a dazzling nature to the man who could enjoy the rare
luxury of such; and to Roden Musgrave seemed a fitting continuation of
the strange, wondrous enchantment of the past night.
He had persisted with a purpose in this expedition, he had told Mona,
because he wanted to be out of reach of her for a brief while, to think.
And now that every hoofstroke was bearing him thus out of reach, the
strange prescription was indeed taking effect. Now he realised to the
full what she was to his life. He had often been for days without
seeing her. But then any day, any hour almost, he might have been at
her side. His retrospect went to the time when he had looked upon her
with something akin to dislike, even dread--dread lest the subtle power
of her influence should steal him from himself, should drown his hard
cold reason--the fruit of hard experience--in the sweet fumes of its
intoxicating spell. But even through all this had run the misgiving
that such dread was not ill-founded; for he knew that she possessed the
power to do this, did she but choose to exercise it--knew it from the
moment he had first looked into her eyes, and had gazed upon her
exquisite grace of form and movement. And she had exercised it, and
he--well, he had struggled with all the instinct of self-preservation,
yet had struggled in vain. He was bound, and the bonds were of a
captivity that was very, very sweet.
Yet, nothing lasts. This love of his latter-day life stirring up into a
volcanic blaze of activity feelings not only dead and buried, but which
he had been wont to scoff at as impossible of existence--how was it to
end? In the prosaic, hard-and-fast knot of a legal bond? That, then,
would be the beginning of the end. Nothing lasts. The prose, even the
vulgarity, of a commonplace tie would be the beginning of
disenchantment, disillusion. What then? Thus a sure and certain
foresight into the future ran through the glowing, lotus-eating dream of
the present, yet, with all its dark and neutral-tinted shades, only
seemed to throw out the warm sun-waves of the present into greater
contrast.
"I say, Musgrave, I can't congratulate myself on having the liveliest of
travelling companions," said Darrell, with a grin. "Do you know that
it's exactly forty-seven minutes since you've let fall a word? I've
been timing you."
Roden started.
"The deuce you have! Excuse me, Darrell, I sometimes get that way. I
believe you're right. Well, I'll make up for it now, anyway."
The other grinned again, but said no more on the subject, and the two
men pursued their way at a quick, easy pace, now halting to off-saddle
at some farmhouse, now in the veldt. But Roden afforded his companion
no further pretext for rallying him on account of his silence.
That night they slept at a Boer's farm on the border of the hostile
ground. The worthy Dutchman and his numerous progeny were in a high
state of alarm, for rumours had come through his native hands that whole
locations of Gaikas, hitherto peaceful, had risen in arms and joined
Sandili, who was now trying to break through the not very closely drawn
cordon of patrols, and take refuge in the dense forest fastnesses of the
Amatola. He and his were going to trek into laager at once, and when he
learned the destination of the two Englishmen, he stared at them as
though they were ghosts already.
"Nay what. You'll never get through," he said, as they took their
leave. "Your lives are not worth that," flinging away a grain of salt,
"if you try. Besides, it is very wrong. It is laughing in the face of
the good God. You will come to harm, and you will deserve it."
But Darrell's laugh was loud and irreverent as he bade the utterer of
this comforting prognostication farewell. He was a harum-scarum,
dare-devil sort of mortal, who was afraid of nothing, yet could be cool
enough when occasion arose.
Throughout the day they pursued their journey, passing now and then a
deserted farmhouse, whose empty kraals and smokeless chimneys, and
unreaped crops standing in the mealie lands, spoke eloquently to the
desolation that reigned. "The land was dead" indeed, as the native
idiom expressed it.
They had taken a straight line across the veldt, avoiding roads and
beaten tracks as likely to be watched by outlying parties of the enemy.
And now the farther and farther they advanced, the brighter the outlook
they kept.
"You'd better note the lay of the ground well, Musgrave, if you still
intend to carry out that lunatic idea of returning alone," said Darrell.
"That's the very thing I have been doing. It's easy country, this of
yours, to find one's way about in, Darrell. As for returning alone, I
shall have to do that, failing an escort. Can't stretch my rather
irregular leave to straining point."
It was late in the afternoon. They were riding along the side of a
slope which was irregularly sprinkled with clusters of thick bush.
Below ran a nearly dry river-bed, and beyond this rose a ragged ascent
covered with spekboem scrub. Suddenly both men looked at each other,
gently checking their steeds.
A sound was heard in front, at first faint, as of the displacement of a
stone, then nearer, till it resolved itself into a clink of shod hoofs
upon the stony veldt. Then the whistling of a popular air.
"Now what damned fool can this be kicking up all that shillaloo?"
exclaimed Darrell.
The horseman appeared round the corner of a cluster of scrub. On
finding himself thus unexpectedly confronted, he reined in
instinctively, with a startled movement. Then seeing that the others
were friends, he broke into a loud, jolly laugh.
He was a strongly built, broad-shouldered individual, bearded and
sunburnt. He was clad in a nondescript uniform coat, cord trousers, and
high boots, and on his head a pith helmet surmounted by a spike. He
bestrode a powerful chestnut horse with a white blaze. But--and this
was the first point that struck these two--he carried no firearm, not
even the inevitable revolver, unless it was in his pocket.
"Where's your gun?" said Darrell, with a grin, as soon as the first
greetings and explanations were over.
"Haven't got one."
"But haven't you got a revolver?"
"Devil a bit of a revolver. Look here, though, I've got a pipe,"
producing that comforting implement. "Give us a fill."
This was soon done. Then Darrell, whom the situation struck in its
wholly comic light, laid his head back and roared.
"You fellows must have swept this side quite clear of Kaffirs--patrolled
it within an inch of its life, I suppose--that you can afford to ride
about the veldt in dead war-time unarmed?" he said.
The other looked up quickly; an idea seemed to strike him.
"No; now you mention it, this is just the very side that hasn't been
much looked after. Let's off-saddle. I want to get to Cathcart before
dark."
"See there now, Musgrave," said Darrell. "Here you have a type of the
species of lunatic this country can produce. At least, I can't imagine
any other turning out a man who might be met with four hours from the
Main Camp in a country swarming with hostile Gaikas, armed with nothing
but a whip."
"And a pipe," laughed the stranger. "You've forgotten the pipe."
"Well, counting the pipe even. What do you say, Musgrave? Do you know
any other part of the world where they manufacture such lunatics?"
"I never heard of any," said Roden gravely.
The jolly stranger laughed, enjoying these comments as the best possible
of jokes. They had off-saddled together, and were foregathering after
the manner of casually met campaigners. Roden had a very substantial
flask which was not half emptied yet, and this was drawn upon for the
occasion. Their new acquaintance gave the other two all the latest
information. There had been a good deal of patrolling, and taking of
stock, and hustling the rebel Gaikas, but just lately not much in the
killing line. The Gaikas were rather fighting shy of coming to close
quarters, and when run too hard, would retreat across the Kei into
Kreli's country only to swarm back again when the coast was clear.
Thus they chatted until it became time to saddle up. But just as the
last strap was buckled there rang out the sharp crackle of dropping
shots. It came from about half a mile lower down the kloof.
"Hallo!" cried the stranger. "My fellows are having a row with
somebody."
"Your fellows? I thought you were alone," said Darrell.
"Pooh! they don't count. Only four chaps going back to their billets.
They've been volunteering and don't like it, so they're going back.
Store-clerks, or something of the kind. A poor lot, anyway. Why, I'm
doing escort to them rather than they to me, if anything. Let's go down
and see what's the row, anyhow."
As the three, now mounted, made their way down to the scene of strife,
the shots, which had ceased for a few moments, rang out again with
renewed vigour. From the sound, it was evident that two parties were
engaged. Darrell laughed aloud over the delightful prospect of a
certain battle, and the stranger, who was unarmed, seemed just as eager
to be there as the other two.
"Lend us one of your six-shooters," he said. "I don't suppose they'll
come close enough to be hurt by that. Still they might."
This remark was addressed about equally to either. Roden, however, was
not over anxious to respond. If this fool chose to ride about without
weapons, it was rather too much to expect those who were less idiotic to
partially disarm themselves for his benefit. He'd see the fellow hanged
before doing anything so feeble, he thought. Darrell, however, handed
over his revolver.
Now they came upon the combatants--the white ones, at any rate. In a
small ravine, which ran down at right angles to the river-bed, four men
were lying behind stones and bushes. Opposite, puffs of blue smoke were
issuing from the dense scrub, and the whizzing screech of potleg or slug
hummed viciously over the beleaguered four, and unpleasantly near their
newly arrived allies.
Clearly, as the stranger had said, his men were not up to much, for, as
they lay there behind their scant cover, they were pumping in shots at
large, with the whole dense forest-clad slope for a target. For of an
enemy, beyond the jetting smoke puffs, and the very unpleasant screech
of the missiles overhead, there was no outward and visible sign.
"Cease firing, men!" sang out the strange. "Do you want to use up all
your darned ammunition at nothing at all?"
They looked round, evidently relieved at this fresh accession to their
very slender fighting strength. And now the firing from the opposite
bank suddenly ceased.
The three had secured their horses behind a clump of euphorbia, where
they would be protected from stray shots as much as possible. The
steeds of the others stood saddled and bridled beside their riders, for
the men had been suddenly fired on while advancing along the hillside,
and, acting upon their first impulse, had flung themselves from the
saddle and rushed into cover. The place was about as bad for defensive
purposes as it could well be, for it was commanded at the rear by a
horseshoe-like range of rocks.
"A real rotten place to `stand off' a war-party from," muttered Roden.
Then louder: "Do you see that bare patch of riverbank, Darrell?"
pointing to a rocky shelving bit of shingle just visible where the slope
of the hill shut out farther view, some four hundred yards below the
left front. "Well, keep your eye brightly upon that, for I have an idea
that's where they'll try and cross. Ha! I thought so--" he broke off.
And with the words his piece was at his shoulder, and through the long
jagged stream of smoke and flame Darrell could see a dark form leap with
extended arms, and fall in a heap upon the spot indicated.
"_Maghtaag_! What a shot!" cried Darrell, amazed at the other's
quickness and accuracy of aim.
"That'll hold them back a little," went on Roden rapidly. "Now, you
watch all the approaches. I'm going up yonder," pointing to the
overhanging ridge. "That's where they'll try next, I know. This isn't
the first time I've been in this sort of thing." And before the other
could get in a word, he was gone.
Crawling, climbing with the agility of a cat, and the craft of the
savages against whom he was pitted, Roden was not long in gaining his
self-chosen position. Half-sunk in a cranny, his head hidden by three
or four large spiky aloes, he peered forth upon the whole plan of
battle. Just then the fire of the concealed Kaffirs broke out afresh,
their missiles humming among the rocks beneath.
"That means a change of plan," he said to himself. "They are going to
cross below, out of sight, and gain this ridge. Ah!"
Bound the slope of the hill, and invisible to the beleaguered ones, was
a drift, with something of a waggon track leading up from it. Into
this, dark forms were quickly plunging, one by one, then disappearing in
the thorn-brake which lined the river on this side. Quite a number had
crossed, and meanwhile the fire in front was being kept up hotter than
ever.
The thorn-brake ended about two hundred yards from the crest of the
ridge, and that distance of stony open ground had to be passed in order
to gain the latter. Lying there now, with his finger on the trigger,
Roden's glance was fixed upon this area, and there was a hard, set frown
upon his brows, as of a man who knew that he had a very stern
undertaking indeed upon his hands.
There was a stir on the edge of the thorn-brake; a bird or two dashed
out in wild alarm. Then there emerged a crouching shape, followed by
another and another. These beckoned backward, and soon others stepped
forth, till there must have been a score. Roden's heart beat quick.
This game of hide-and-seek was becoming interesting. It was exciting.
He gazed upon the advancing Kaffirs--brawny, athletic savages,
glistening with red ochre. The roll of their white eyeballs was plainly
visible to him as they glided forward a few paces, then halted to
listen, then glided on again. There was a gleam of triumph in their
cruel eyes, for they knew that, did they once gain that rocky ridge,
they would hold the little handful of whites below very much at their
mercy. And they were coming straight for it, little knowing the
reception that awaited them.
Drawing his breath hard, he still waited, letting them come on nearer
and nearer. He did not mean more than he could help of that score of
warriors to regain the cover of the thorn strip, and the nearer they
were to him, the longer they would take to reach it.
They were now just within a hundred yards. Carefully sighting the
foremost, so as to get two in line, he let go. The effect was
startling. Of the two warriors, one dropped on his face, stone dead;
the other lay kicking and struggling. The survivors sent up a wild yell
of dismay and alarm. Some halted for a moment irresolute, while others
dropped down flat, even behind mere pebbles, in their instinctive
seeking for cover. But immediately a second ball hummed into their
midst, drilling through the heart of another, and spinning him round to
the earth. Again from the roar on the smoke-crowned ridge came another
messenger of death, and at the same time, by way of keeping up the
illusion of numbers, though at too long range to take effect, Roden
poured his shot-barrel, loaded with a heavy charge of _loepers_, into
the disconcerted assailants. The latter waited no longer. Some leaping
and zigzagging to render themselves an uncertain mark, others, gliding
and crawling like snakes, they made their way back to the cover they had
left, just as fast as they could get there.
Even then they were not all to escape. For he who held that
rock-crowned ridge had learned the art of quick-loading, and that in a
hard and sharp school. In a twinkling the smoking shell was out of the
breech, and a fresh cartridge in its place; in less than a twinkling an
unerring sight was again taken, and an enemy fell. Two more were
dropped before the security of the thorns was gained, one dead, the
other badly wounded.
The crisis over, Roden's pulse began to beat with excitement. He had
driven back a score of enemies with the loss of a quarter of their
number, in something less than three minutes; he--single-handed. He had
saved the position, and, in all human probability, the lives of his
companions. No wonder he felt a little excited. And then immediately
he became deadly cool.
Was it instinct--second sight--what? Wheeling round, with lightning
rapidity, he discharged his piece almost without aiming. The
glistening, sinuous frame of a savage heaved itself up from a point of
rock not ten yards behind, and toppled heavily over into the hollow
beneath. Roden had turned only in the very nick of time. The Kaffir
was aiming full at his back, and at that distance could not have missed.
He was settled, anyhow; but what about the rest?
For contrary to expectation the savages had designed to seize this
position from both sides at once. While he had been playing such havoc
with one division the other had crept up to occupy the ridge on the side
he could command least--for it was a little above him--and indeed had
occupied it; for he could see a movement or two among the rocks in the
rear of the spot where he had dropped the last enemy.
And now he began to realise that he was in a hard, tight place. The
newly arrived force of Kaffirs was already beginning to fire down into
the hollow beneath. Those whom he had driven back into cover, on
learning that they had only one enemy to deal with, would soon find a
way of coming up.
And indeed this promised to be the case, for now the savages began to
shout and call to each other; and all the while the fire upon those in
the hollow beneath grew hotter and hotter. Ammunition was probably not
profusely plentiful with those four homeward-bound whites, and might
soon be exhausted.
Just then the enemy's fire suddenly ceased. What did it mean? Away
down the river bank, Roden from his elevated perch could see the
stirring of the bushes; and his quick practised eye, following the
movement, could see it was a _retreating_ one. Then against the now
declining sun something gleamed and shone forth again in many a sparkle
of glittering light. It was the gleam of arms.
Away across the plain, advancing at a hard canter, came a number of
mounted figures. A glance was enough. It was a patrol, and a strong
one. They were saved.
But only just in the nick of time.