HOTLY PURSUED
HARDLY knowing how he did it, Colin regained his feet. His rifle lay
close at hand. He picked it up and, with his face to the foe,
prepared to resist to the last.
It seemed incredible to him that during the brief interval between
the dash through the line of warriors and the collapse of his horse
that Sinclair had covered nearly a quarter of a mile. He had lost
all sense of time and distance until he found himself standing
alone, with Brimstone kicking and struggling on the ground, with
three assegais deeply embedded in the animal's flank.
Sibenga's warriors were approaching rapidly, yelling shouts of
triumph. The nearmost was now barely a hundred and fifty yards away,
while right and left the natives were converging upon the dismounted
lad.
Raising his rifle, Colin fired thrice in quick succession. In his
excitement he aimed wildly, and the bullets failed to find a billet
other than the earth.
Again he ejected an empty cartridge and thrust home the bolt. Taking
steadier aim, he pressed the trigger. A faint click was the only
response. He had fired the last cartridge in the magazine and the
rest of the ammunition was in a leather pouch fastened to
Brimstone's saddle.
Resisting the temptation to turn and run--the swift-footed natives
would have overtaken him in a very few minutes--Colin stood with his
face to his foes and his feet planted firmly and his clubbed rifle
held ready to make a desperate fight for life.
Sibenga's men were now so close that he could distinctly see the
whites of their eyes. Realising that the lad was out of ammunition,
they came on unhesitatingly. The rifle was now no better, and
probably less efficacious, than their own keen-edged weapons.
The thud of a horse's hoofs diverted Colin's attention. Glancing
over his shoulder he saw, to his great surprise, that Desmond had
ridden back to him. He felt a wave of resentment; it seemed an
absurd act on Tiny's part to barge in and face a peril from which he
could have escaped. At the same time, he was grateful to his chum
for his whole-hearted devotion.
Making no attempt to dismount, Tiny wheeled his horse and reined in
the now-tractable animal.
"Jump up, old man!" he shouted.
Sinclair lost no time in accepting the invitation. Now that he had
his face turned from the warriors he was in a "blue funk." Almost
mechanically slinging his rifle across his back, he grasped Tiny's
saddle and flung himself over Treacle's back.
"Right-o!" he shouted.
Desmond set spurs. The wiry animal responded nobly, while his twin
burden, bending low as half a dozen assegais whizzed perilously
close to them, were in no happy state of mind with the possibility
of feeling sharp steel spear-heads plunging into their backs.
In a few minutes Treacle drew out of throwing range, or else the
warriors thought it an unnecessary act to hurl their assegais, as
they stood an excellent chance of overtaking the doubly-laden horse.
"We're doing all right!" exclaimed Tiny breathlessly. "Only about
four miles more."
Colin, glancing at the bronze-coloured natives, did not feel so sure
about it. Their pursuers were bunching together. Those on the
extreme tips of the "horn" had already relinquished pursuit, but
about thirty were covering the ground at a pace only slightly less
than that of the horse. They could keep that up for miles. The
question was whether Treacle could be relied upon to maintain his
speed, hampered as he was by an additional rider.
Sinclair during his stand at bay, had thought of the swastika; but
he had great doubts whether the highly-excited warriors would pay
heed to the symbol that had so greatly impressed Sibenga himself.
It seemed hardly likely; and on that account Colin decided that an
amulet was a sorry defence against the cruel, stabbing assegais. So
he had declined the experiment, preferring to face his foes as
bravely as he knew how, rather than to seek a doubtful mercy through
the medium of a barbaric charm.
Happening to glance at his right shoulder, he was surprised to see
that his shirt was torn and that the swastika was exposed. In the
excitement the amulet which he wore round his neck must have
slipped. In its present position it had turned the point of an
assegai, the blade of the weapon inflicting a slight scratch that
Colin hardly noticed until he saw the blood staining his
shirt-sleeve.
For the next five minutes the relative position of pursuers and
pursued underwent no appreciable change. Treacle was running
splendidly and showing no sign of distress.
The two chums were congratulating themselves on the fact, when the
animal began to slow down.
Very reluctantly Treacle was being vanquished. The heavy burden, the
hard ground and the blazing sun, and the thundery weather all went
against him; and although his spirit was equal to the task, his
bodily strength was failing him.
In vain Desmond coaxed the jaded animal. His pace fell away to such
an extent that both Colin and Tiny saw with considerable
apprehension that the warriors were gaining rapidly.
Of the original pursuers several had fallen out, leaving about
fifteen or eighteen athletic warriors to enjoy the pleasurable task
of overtaking and assegaiing the two white men.
"Any ammunition handy?" asked Colin. "Mine's finished."
"Take half a dozen cartridges from my belt, old man," replied Tiny.
"We'll give the beggars a run for their money. Poor old Treacle!"
With a stupendous effort the horse staggered another twenty yards;
his hind legs gave way; he stopped, neighing pitifully.
Without hesitation Colin slipped to the ground. Relieved of the
additional weight, Treacle started forward again, Sinclair running
and holding on to Desmond's stirrup.
But this attempt to carry on was unavailing. The animal was done. It
was a final spurt, and Treacle could do no more. First his front
legs, and then his hind, collapsed. He rolled on his side on the
hard ground, kicking in agony.
Desmond had slipped out of his saddle in time. His first act was to
put the animal out of his pain, which he did by shooting him in the
forehead. Then, thrusting another cartridge into the breech of his
rifle, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his chum and prepared to
put up a fight to a finish.
The two nearmost warriors were now but twenty paces off. Crouching
behind their hide shields and thinking themselves thereby immune,
they stopped and awaited the others to come up.
"Take the one on your right, Tiny," exclaimed Colin, bringing his
rifle to his shoulder.
But before either lad could fire, two reports rang out almost
simultaneously from a belt of scrub barely eighty yards away, and
three of the natives staggered and fell face downwards.
The chums accounted for two more, and then the mysterious but
friendly rifles began firing rapidly.
The pursuit was stayed. Of the men in the forefront of the chase
only seven remained standing, and these took to their heels and fled
towards the main body of Sibenga's warriors.
Colin and Desmond were not left long in doubt as to the identity of
their rescuers, for above the reeds appeared the grinning faces of
Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly.