Just as he had thought, decided Elvesdon. Clearly the letter was from
some half--educated native, but how different its import to that which
he had expected. Was it a hoax, he wondered? Anyway its substance was
sufficiently disquieting. Surely so tried and trusted a chief as old
Tongwana could not be guilty of any such ghastly act of treachery as
that hinted at. His people, too, had paid up their taxes without a
murmur. The thing looked like a hoax.
It might be well to be on the safe side; to get his party away at once.
But then his official _prestige_ and influence would be irretrievably
wrecked. He would be showing distrust--fear--of those over whom he held
authority. But the sting of the whole communication lay in the
concluding words, "Remember Mr Hope."
These referred to a tragedy, which had befallen a little over a quarter
of a century back. The victim had been a magistrate in Pondoland, and
had been treacherously set upon and murdered, together with his two
clerks, while witnessing just such an entertainment as had been provided
here to-day.
Elvesdon was a boy at the time but he had since served in Pondoland--as
we heard him tell Thornhill--and there at that time the event was still
sufficiently fresh. But for those concluding words he would have felt
inclined to set the communication down as a practical joke.
Rapidly his clear mind reviewed the position. His camp was quite a mile
away; they had strolled that distance in order to gain the point whence
they could overlook the mimic attack upon the kraal. The horses were
knee-haltered, and grazing under the charge of his two boys, and they
were a little beyond, on the other side of the camp. The impi was
marching down the valley in a direction which should take it rather away
from the camp than towards it. Tongwana's kraal seemed deserted; even
the women had hurried out to see the sham fight.
"We may as well get back to camp now," he said carelessly. "The show's
about over, and we shan't be home much before dark as it is."
But there were two upon whom his carelessness did not altogether
impose--Edala and her father. The girl, naturally sharp-witted as she
was, had not failed to note the ever so slight involuntary start which
had escaped him on the perusal of the missive, while Thornhill took in
by instinct that something was wrong. Both, however, forebore to take
any outward notice of the fact: for which he was devoutly thankful, for
at all costs he must avoid alarming the weaker ones of the party. He
would have given much for an opportunity of taking Thornhill into
counsel, but this would have had the very effect he was anxious to
avoid.
"There's an official matter I want to get home and look into as soon as
I can," he explained carelessly. "Here, Parry. You can ride on and say
I'm coming."
He took the young Police trooper apart, as they walked.
"Look here," he said, "and attend carefully. Go down to the camp as
fast as you can walk--can _walk_, mind, not run--and get the horses
saddled up as soon as you possibly can; ours first, you understand, not
the boys': and see that the girths are tight enough. Then all of you
bring them out here to meet us; and every minute you save in doing it is
a minute gained. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"If anything happens use your own judgment, but we must have the horses
as soon as ever we can, yet you must not run or show any sign of hurry.
It'll mean good for you my lad, very good. Now go."
The young fellow saluted, and started off down the slope at a brisk
springy walk which represented nearly four and a half miles an hour. He
was radiant with pride. Naturally sharp, he had to a certain extent
grasped the situation, and here, after a few months in the force, he
found himself entrusted with a real and critical mission, with the
promise of the good word of his superior. Visions of unheard of
promotion floated upon his mental sight, as he paced downward to the
camp, with rapid, elastic step.
Elvesdon strove to talk cheerfully, as they took their way down at a
perforce slower pace than that of the young Police trooper--but it was
difficult. The ridge was well between them and the impi now, but the
latter might at any moment appear over it, or where it ended farther
down. Had he been alone, or alone with Thornhill, he would not have
felt overmuch concerned. He was as brave a man as ever lived, and
endowed with his full share of nerve. He would, if the worst came to
the worst, have chanced the moral effect of a display of the confidence
of authority and absolute fearlessness. But now, with these two women
dependent on them for protection, why it was dreadful. He reproached
himself bitterly for having brought them into this peril; for, in the
disturbed and simmering state of the native locations, who could be
trusted? More bitterly still, perhaps, did he reproach himself for his
neglect to open the communication handed to him by the old man. Then
there would have been time for them to have acted upon the warning
conveyed therein, and to have withdrawn while the attention of the
savages was engaged by the mimic surprise of the kraal. Now it was in
all probability too late.
Now he began to revolve in his mind what should be done in the event of
Parry being unable to fulfil his instructions in time. He had a fight
revolver in his pocket, and he suspected Thornhill was not unarmed. But
of what use were they against an overwhelming crowd, all heavily armed,
and right out in the open? They might shoot down a few, but would not
this exasperate the savages into murdering the girls as well? Of course
it would.
The wide landscape slept in the golden sunshine, the rolling plains
unfolding out into misty dimness, on the one hand; on the other the
outlines of distant heights softened against the clear blue. From
Tongwana's kraal, crowning the adjacent eminence, a smoke reek rose
lazily upon the still air. An idea suggested itself to Elvesdon. Why
not take the bull by the horns and go straight to Tongwana's kraal?
Surely there, under, figuratively speaking, the roof of the old chief,
they would be safe. But just then he could see his emissary in the act
of faithfully fulfilling the duty laid upon him. Down at the camp the
horses were being led in. They might find safety at Tongwana's kraal,
but the Police trooper, caught alone, would certainly be murdered, if
things were as desperate as the warning embodied in the letter seemed to
convey. But--if only Parry would hurry up!
Now some inkling of danger seemed to have come over the weaker side of
the party. Elvesdon's silence had told--it was impossible for him to
keep up his attempts at manufactured conversation under the weight of
responsibility which lay upon him. They, too, were reduced to silence,
and, he became aware, were looking at him curiously and furtively.
"I don't know that I want to see one of these native performances
again," said Evelyn Carden. "Don't think me unappreciative, Mr
Elvesdon, but really this has given me the creeps. It all seemed so
fearfully natural."
"Ah, well. It isn't musical comedy, you know," he answered with forced
lightness.
"Old Tongwana ought to have figured in a swallow-tailed coat and a top
hat and a _mutya_" said Thornhill. "That might have given a Gilbert and
Sullivan smack to it."
The laugh that greeted this was feeble. But now Elvesdon noted with
intense relief that the horses had been saddled up at last--they
themselves had more than halved the distance to the camp by that time,
and of coarse could see everything that was going on there all the way.
Too late.
A burst of voices on the right front, and then the impi appeared,
pouring over the ridge, forming a dense black line between them and the
camp and, of course the horses. Then, extending, the warriors executed
the surround manoeuvre and having thus completely hemmed in their
guests--or their victims--they recommenced the war-dance.
"Oh for Heaven's sake, Mr Elvesdon, tell them to stop and go away,"
said Evelyn Carden. "This is horrible, hateful."
Elvesdon called out to more than one whom he knew by name but if they
heard him they pretended not to. If the first performance had been
terrifying to the uninitiated this one was infinitely more so: the
roaring and the stamping, the sea of dreadful faces and gleaming bared
teeth, the forest of waving blades, and the animal-like musky odour--as
the frenzied circle tightened, its dense ranks drawing nearer and
nearer. It was of no use for both men to shout at the top of their
voices that they had had enough of the show, and that the ladies were
getting frightened. The roaring only increased and the foremost of the
frenzied performers shook their blades right in their faces. Elvesdon
was convinced that his last moment had come. This was exactly the Hope
programme repeated. It was hard to be butchered unresisting, but any
resistance would certainly involve the massacre of the girls as well.
A sort of gasp from Evelyn made him turn. She was sinking to the
ground.
"I feel rather faint," she murmured.
Elvesdon bent down to help her, and as he did so he was suddenly seized
from behind by several powerful hands, most effectively pinioning him.
At the same time half a dozen assegai blades were held against his
chest. And precisely the same thing had happened to Thornhill.
"Resist not, either of you," said an authoritative voice. "Any
resistance and all shall die--all, all of you."
"What does it mean?" asked Elvesdon, shortly.
"This, Ntwezi. For you two we have a use. For your women we have none.
They may go home. But, only if you make no resistance."
"We agree," said Thornhill. "But let us _see_ them--see them with our
own eyes, depart in safety. There are their horses."
Parry, although he was going into certain death, had ridden as near as
he could to the tumult. With some difficulty he was leading two horses,
and both of these were under side saddles.
"Kill him--kill him," began to be cried. "He is Only a common
policeman. He is of no use."
"But he is of use," shouted Elvesdon, who began now to see his way,
hearing this. "No common man is he. He is only playing at police."
This was effective. Three hostages were better than two. Parry's life
was saved--for the present, but he was ordered to dismount, and by the
advice of his superior he complied. His revolver was taken from him--
Thornhill and Elvesdon had been similarly disarmed--and he was
immediately hemmed in by a ring of blades.
"Now tell your women to go," said the man who appeared to be exercising
chief authority. "I will send men with them to see them safe to their
home."
"May I not bid my daughter farewell?" said Thornhill, with something of
a tremor in his voice, and instinctively taking a step forward.
Instantly a line of blades barred his way.
"Be content, be content," answered the chief. "You are still alive, and
your women are safe. Now walk."
"To Tongwana?"
No reply was made to this, but there was no help for it. Hemmed closely
in by the huge armed force, they were marched along over the very ground
which they had traversed so light-heartedly barely an hour before. No
indignity was offered them, but they knew that escape was as impossible
as though they had been bound with thongs--at any rate just then.
They had this consolation however. The chief had kept his word.
Looking backward just before they plunged over the ridge they could make
out the mounted figures of the two girls away over the plain, the armed
escort, keeping pace, distributed on either side--and they were making
for home, not for Kwabulazi.