"What--will happen to--them?"
It was Evelyn who jerked this forth. For some time the two had ridden
in silence, neither daring to trust herself to speak. Perhaps the same
thought was in both their minds; they must not break down and display
weakness before these savages. Certainly it was in that of Edala--who,
raised among them, fully recognised the advisability of keeping-up a
show of dignity towards an inferior race.
"They will not be harmed," she answered, with a confidence she was far
from feeling. There might be some among their escort who understood
English, and it would never do to let an impression get abroad that such
a thing as offering harm to such men as Thornhill and the magistrate,
could even come within the bounds of possibility. "Who would dare to
lift a hand against them? Why it would mean the hanging of every chief
concerned, and a good many of the people as well."
"Then you think they are safe--you who know these people so well?"
The question was put in a quick eager tone. Edala's brows wrinkled.
"Don't talk so loud, Evelyn," she said, speaking quickly and, of design
rather indistinctly. "There may be some here who understand. Better
not talk about it at all, perhaps, until we're alone. Oh, hang it--we
must keep up," she broke off roughly, as she felt her eyes brimming.
"Can't give away the show. D'you hear? We _must_ keep up."
The other murmured assent. The escort, stepping along at a quick walk
so as to keep pace with the horses, was somewhat puzzled at the
demeanour of the pair, and the warriors were talking among themselves in
rapid undertones, as is the way of natives when they wish to disguise
their conversation. Edala was adapting their method to English.
"I can't make it out, Evelyn," she said, purposely talking through
closed teeth so as to be the more unintelligible to outside listeners.
"None of these here are our people. In fact I hardly saw one, during
the dancing, that was. I believe these are from--beyond the border."
"What? Real Zulus?"
"Don't mention names. That's what I think they are," purposely avoiding
even the enunciation of the word `yes,' for reasons given above. "For
instance, look at those two ringed men. Their rings are differently
sewn on to those on this side. You wouldn't notice it but I do. That
looks as if this was going to be a big affair, and had been carefully
planned. Oh, you think I'm taking it all remarkably coolly, Evelyn--"
she broke off, in the gusty voice she used in moments of excitement.
"But--we must keep up--we must keep up."
"Yes--yes," came the quick answer.
"There's just this I go upon," went on Edala. "If there are two men in
the world who could be reckoned on to keep their wits about them and do
the right thing at the right time, those two are father and Mr
Elvesdon. See my meaning?"
The other nodded.
"So we must hope for the best."
One thing that troubled Edala was that she could get no explanation
whatever from their escort. The head-ringed men had kept carefully on
the outskirts of the same, and when applied to to come over and talk had
ignored the appeal. After this she would not question the common or
unringed `boy,' so was obliged to practise patience and await
developments.
By the time they arrived at Sipazi it was nearly dark. Edala had more
than half-expected to find the homestead a mass of smouldering ruins--
but no. There it stood, yet there was a something that suggested the
unusual. There was no sign of life about the place for instance--no
smoke rising either from the kitchen chimney or from the huts of the
native servants. Could it be that the latter--together with the Indian
cook--had all been murdered? Edala drew rein, and addressed the escort.
"There is our home and now we are safe. If you would return you have
fulfilled your mission. If you would rest, there is food and drink
yonder."
They looked at each other and laughed queerly.
"Ride on, Nkosazana," said one of the ringed men.
Now there was sign of life with a vengeance, for the four great dogs
came charging down upon the new arrivals, open-mouthed, barking and
snarling savagely.
"Don't kill them, _amadoda_," said Edala, as assegais were detached, and
held with suggestive readiness. "They will not hurt."
But the savages were not going to be done out of their fun. A number of
them rushed forward. Assegais showered through the air, and the
unfortunate beasts lay transfixed by several of them, apiece, kicking
feebly in their death throes.
"I--jji! I--jji!" went up the death hiss from their slayers, together
with great hoarse shouts of laughter.
"The cruel wretches," murmured Evelyn, in shuddering disgust. Edala's
lips tightened, but she restrained herself. Their own lives were none
too secure, and this she knew.
Meanwhile the savages having tasted blood, even though only that of
animals, began questing inside the deserted huts, but found no one. No
cattle was in the kraals, either, or anything about the house, except a
few fowls, which they promptly assegaied.
Edala said nothing now. To have offered them hospitality after this
outrage would have been to have shown that she feared them. The two
girls slid from their saddles, and entered the house. Both were sick
with apprehension. It was growing dusk now, and here they were at the
mercy of these barbarians. Edala went to her room, and seizing her
revolver slipped it into her blouse. But no one followed. Through the
window they could see that the side saddles had been flung from the
horses, to be replaced by a couple of ordinary ones which had been found
in in the stable. Then two of the ringed men having mounted, the whole
crowd moved off without another word.
The two girls looked after them, then at each other.
"No--no," said Edala, shaking a warning finger, as she saw the other on
the verge of a breakdown--her own eyes were dimming suspiciously. "We
haven't got to do that, you know. We've got to prove to ourselves that
the old libel--only it isn't a libel--that the first thing women do in a
difficulty is to howl, has its exceptions."
"Yes--yes. You are wonderful, Edala. I could not have believed that
any girl could show the coolness and pluck you have shown. What's the
next thing to do?"
"Do? Anything--everything rather than sit still and think. To-morrow
early, we'll start for Kwabulazi."
"Yes. Let's. But now--do you think any of those horrible brutes will
come here again to-night?"
"No--I don't. Those weren't our own people, you know, Evelyn, as I told
you. I'm not sure, quite, what to do. If we weren't safe at Tongwana's
I don't know where we shall be. So well start early so as to get there
before it's hot. But--I forgot. Can you walk? It's thirteen miles
every inch, and all our horses are gone."
"Yes. I think I can. At any rate I shall have to."
"Well we'll shut the shutters so that no light will leak out if there
are any wandering gangs about. Come along and help me, Evelyn. We
can't walk thirteen miles--we two feeble females--on nothing, you know."
The other saw the drift. Both were to be kept busy. There must be no
time for thinking. It may be that each saw into the other's mind.
Soon a fire was started in the kitchen, and coffee brewed.
"I wonder what has become of Ramasam," said Edala, when they sat down to
their meal. "He's an awful coward, and must have bolted with the
others. Yet, I wonder how they first got the alarm. If it wasn't that
old Patolo is as reliable as death I should have thought that he had
cleared out all the cattle and goats, for decidedly someone has."
Evelyn had not noticed this little detail in the excitement and
apprehension attendant on their strange home-coming. More and more she
wondered at the other's strength, her almost awful coolness.
But in spite of their efforts real cheerfulness would not prevail.
Neither cared to open her heart to the other.
"I think we'd better get some sleep," said Edala presently. "We shall
have to start soon after midnight."
"Hark! What's that?" The speaker's face had gone white, and under the
circumstances, with her nerves all strung to high tension, even Edala
had started.
A low, indescribably hideous, moaning noise had arisen. It came from
the back of the house.
"Oh, it's nothing," she answered. "Come and see."
They went to the kitchen window, which looked out on the back. The moon
had risen, and the ghostly light revealed the form of a large bull. He
stood stamping and pawing the ground, uttering the while his hideous
uncanny moanings.
"Oh, I'll soon scoot him," said Edala, returning to the passage to take
down a raw-hide whip. "Only it's not much use. The brute'll be sure to
come back."
"Edala! You're never going out to face that dreadful beast!" cried
Evelyn, laying a detaining hand on her arm. Edala laughed shortly.
"You'll see him run directly."
But before she could reach the door the animal was seen suddenly to run
forward, and disappear behind the cattle-kraal, where his moaning, in
various keys, recommenced. Then he trotted back, tail in the air,
emitting a shrill, half terrified bellow. To one, at any rate, of those
who witnessed this performance the effect was indescribably weird.
"What does it mean?" she said.
"Nothing. The cattle often come round and make that row around the
place where the goats are killed. It's the blood, you know."
Then she suddenly stopped, for it flashed upon her that the spot at
which the moaning of the bull was at its highest and most excited pitch
was not that whereon the goats were killed.
"Anyhow, I'll just go out and scoot him. You stop here."
Evelyn watched her go outside. At sight of her the bull paused in his
stamping and scrapings and threw up his head, snuffing the air. Edala
swirled the whip-lash as she advanced towards him--she would not crack
it, for fear the sound might reach other ears. Then the beast lowered
his head as if to charge her--backed a few paces--then thought better of
it, and, turning, galloped madly away, uttering that--as it sounded in
the silent and ghostly moonlight--shrill unearthly bellow.
Edala looked after the retreating beast. Her weaker instincts were all
to return inside and bolt and bar the door. But some stronger motive to
investigate took hold upon her--leading her steps to the spot where the
beast had been most moved to his weird and mysterious rumblings.
As she turned the corner of the cattle-kraal her heart beat quicker, and
her hand stole by sheer mechanical instinct to the butt of the revolver
inside her blouse, not that it would be of any use against that which
she expected to see and--did see.
There, in the moonlight, just out from the fence, lay a form--a human
form; and it did not require two glances to determine that it was a dead
human form. Mastering her overpowering horror the girl advanced. The
body was ripped right open, and in the dead face, its sightless eyeballs
upturned to the moon, she recognised that of the faithful old
cattle-herd Patolo.
What was this? Old Patolo! Dear old Patolo, who had known her from her
childhood! Never a time that she could not remember old Patolo. And
now here he lay, barbarously murdered! A rush of tears came to her
eyes, and with a fierce longing for revenge upon his brutal slayers, she
unconsciously gripped the butt of her revolver, and perhaps it was as
well, or the shock of the awful sight might have had disastrous effects.
"Oh--hh!"
Edala turned quickly, at the shuddering exclamation, uttered as it was
in accents of the most indescribable horror. Evelyn, dreading to be
alone, even for a moment, had followed her out.
"Go back!" she cried. "You need not see this."
But Evelyn had seen it. Her face wore a set, stony stare.
"Come in. Come in," said Edala, in her most brusque commanding tone,
taking the other by the arm. And then that hideous moaning sound arose
just behind them, together with the stamp of feet. The great bull had
returned, and stood, not ten yards from them, his massive head, grim and
formidable looking to the last degree in the moonlight. Evelyn
collapsed. She slid to the ground in a dead faint.