Skerry Hill was the absurdly-named trading store of a man named Minton,
and at present it was in a state of siege. Ben Halse was there, and
Verna and Denham, and half-a-dozen or so of prospectors and miners,
including Harry Stride and Robson. The place was laagered up with
waggons and carts, old packing-cases, tins--anything that came in. A
strand or two of barbed wire had been rummaged out, and ringed in with
this additional defence the inmates, numbering about a dozen rifles,
felt fairly secure, at any rate until relief should come.
For mighty events had been maturing. Babatyana had raised the tribes in
the north of Natal, then crossing the border had put the torch to those
in the south of Zululand. It was war, pure and simple, and a large
force had been mobilised to quell it. But what touched them here more
nearly was the report, well confirmed, that Sapazani had defied and
threatened his magistrate, had come within an ace of murdering him and
massacring the whole township of Esifeni, and had then taken to the bush
with his whole tribe in order to effect a junction with the rebels in
the south. All the sparse white population of the district had either
fled or gone into laager.
Now all this scare would not have troubled Ben Halse overmuch, but for
the revelation which Verna had made to him. He was very angry, but he
kept his head. He questioned her minutely as to the reason of
Sapazani's sudden change of front, but beyond that he had been suddenly
called away and had not appeared again she was in the dark. He,
however, took a serious view of it. Such a thing as any native acting
in this manner was absolutely unheard of, absolutely without precedent.
It was so preposterous even as to look like a practical joke, but
natives of this one's age and standing are not given to such. It was
certainly time to get out of Sapazani's country, even apart from the
existing state of things. So he had buried everything that it was
possible thus to hide, and incontinently trekked.
Denham was left in the dark as to the real reason of his brief
captivity. To him Verna felt a natural shrinking and repulsion even
from mentioning a loathsome matter of the kind. So they got up some
story of the times being troubled, and that his capture was probably
done with the object of holding him as a hostage.
They had not been long upon the road before they met with some Zulus who
were well-known to them. These warned them not to follow the way they
were going. It skirted the Lumisana forest for hours, and Sapazani's
tribe was ambushing the whole of that road. So Ben Halse decided to
alter his plans, and turning off to Skerry Hill, join the laager there
for the present. Needless to say, the acquisition of a man of his
record and resource was enthusiastically hailed by the occupants. And
Denham, too. Another "rifle," and the more of such the better.
Minton was a rough and tumble sort of man, of no particular
characteristic except that when he had had a couple of glasses too many
he became a quite phenomenal bore; when he had had three, he wanted to
fight, but as no one thought it worthwhile taking him seriously he went
to sleep instead. He had a limp wife and several small children, all
given to howling vehemently on any or no provocation.
"Hello, Ben," cried Minton. "What's the news up your way? Must be hot
if _you've_ decided to clear. Well, Miss Verna, hope you've brought
your .303. We may want it. And you, sir; glad to meet you. Had heard
of you being with our friends here. Come in; I've still got a boy left
who can look after your horses."
Verna did not like the allusion to her shooting powers. She had never
quite thrown off that misgiving she had lest in Denham's sight she
should always be the fighting, hunting Amazon. Minton's
well-intentioned jocularity grated upon her ears. But it need not have.
Then the limp wife and the children came forward, and were duly made
acquainted with Denham, who won golden opinions from the minor parent of
the latter on the spots by stroking their sticky little paws within his,
and insisting upon making them stickier still with the contents of
certain glass bottles of bull's-eyes which stood upon one of the shelves
within the store.
"What's yours, Mr Denham?" said Minton, going, in business-like
fashion, behind the bar end of the store counter. "Ben's form of poison
never varies. It's square face in this country, and `dop' down in
Natal--when he can get it. Cheer, oh!"
Now the prospectors dropped in. All knew Ben Halse; then they were
introduced to Denham, and of course another round was set up.
"Hello, Robson," sung out Minton, when this was accomplished. "Where's
your pal?"
"Don't know. He says it's too hot."
"Too hot?" rejoined Minton derisively. "I like that. He's hot stuff
himself. Bring him in. It's my round."
Thus Harry Stride and Denham met again. The latter showed no trace of
resentment with regard to their last meeting. He greeted Stride with an
open, pleasant cordiality that rather astonished that youth. But Stride
was not responsive. He avoided showing his antipathy, and was conscious
of feeling galled that his partner, Robson, was behind the secret of it.
Yet he need not have been, for the tactful North-countryman never by
word or wink let drop that he possessed the slightest knowledge of the
same even to him.
The accommodation was somewhat crowded, of necessity. Verna declined an
invitation to use one of the rooms within the house. The perpetual
yowling of the Minton nursery, heard through partitions of paper-like
thinness, might as well have been in the same room. So she elected to
sleep in the spider, on the ground that it was cooler. The men sat
smoking in a group, with an occasional adjournment to the bar, then
turned in anywhere and at any time as they felt sleepy. The horses were
all brought within the enclosure and securely made fast.
"What have you been doing about sentry-go, Minton, up till now?" said
Ben Halse, after every one was pretty well asleep.
"Oh, I don't know we've thought much about it," was the devil-may-care
answer. "I've got a couple of pups here--them rough-haired curs you see
yonder at the back. They'll raise Cain enough before any one's within
two miles of us, you bet. Come and have a last nightcap--what d'you
say, Mr Denham?"
"Oh, I don't know. Done well enough already. However, one more."
Both Denham and his host were hard-headed men, moreover, they knew that
the said "one more" wouldn't hurt them, in view of the scheme which each
and both were mutually, though tacitly, hatching.
"This is a pretty silly way of running a laager, Denham," said Ben
Halse, with infinite contempt, when the two were alone together. "Why,
on the tack these boobies are going the whole of this show is in
Sapazani's hand, and _we_ don't want that, eh?" significantly,
forgetting for the moment that the owner was outside what he and Verna
were not. "I propose that we take a turn at watching outside, one each
side of the _scherm_."
"I was thinking just about the same thing myself," was the answer.
Hour followed hour. Both men, wide enough awake, had taken up their
positions. Occasionally they would meet, and exchange a word or two.
In the strong starlight the loom of the hills and the dark hang of
forest were distinguishable, then towards morning a pale fragment of
moon rose. Denham, sitting among the low thorn-bushes, the magazine of
his .303 fully charged, enjoyed the silent beauty of the night, and his
naturalist ear took in every cry of beast or bird away out on the
otherwise silent waste. Intertwined, too, were thoughts of Verna and of
his own position. As to the latter, in a way, the outbreak of war had
been distinctly advantageous. No one, least of all the police, would
have time to bother about the remains of some unknown Jew, or as to how
he came to grief, now quite some time ago. Then the moon came over the
distant ridge of forest, and it grew lighter and lighter. Even beneath
his heavy overcoat Denham shivered.
Suddenly he grasped his rifle. No, it was only Ben Halse.
"Come round here," whispered the latter. "Something's moving."
Denham's nerves tingled. In a moment they were round at the point
indicated. Several plover were circling overhead, uttering shrill
cries.
"Look here," whispered Halse earnestly. "When I fire there'll likely be
a rush. If there is, don't be content with one shot. Pump about six
into them one after another, as quick as ever you can. It'll stop the
lot for the moment, and rouse up those boozy idiots inside the fence.
Then we'll run like hell, but--look out for the barbed wire."
Denham nodded. He was cool as ever man was, but the thrill of battle
was in his veins, and, like the mythical knights of old, he was spurred
by the thought that he was fighting for a lady-love. Intently he
watched his companion. The latter raised his piece suddenly, then
dropped it again; then up it went as quickly, and the flame and roar of
the report spurted forth, followed immediately by another detonation.
Simultaneously there rose from the grass a mass of dark forms, but no
sound was uttered. They would be in upon the laager and surprise it
asleep, having first made mincemeat of the unfortunate sentry. But--
would they? Acting upon Ben Halse's instructions, Denham, half
concealed by a broad, flat-topped thorn-bush, poured his magazine fire
into the thick of them, cartridge after cartridge, and aiming low. He
could hear Ben Halse doing the same, and knew he was missing nothing and
nobody. He himself knew he was missing nobody. It was just as Ben
Halse had predicted. The attacking line was thoroughly demoralised, and
reckoning, as it might well have reckoned, that there were about twenty
more men here than was really the case, dropped flat to the earth, a
manoeuvre of which the two daring watchers took advantage to sprint away
to the laager, keeping as much under cover of the bushes as possible.
"Steady, boys; it's only ourselves," sung out Ben Halse, as several
rifles went up ominously to greet them. "Good Lord! I don't know where
you'd all be if it wasn't for our same selves. Now, then, let's get
into position. We'll want it directly."
They did. Broad shields showed through the misty dawn, their bearers
advancing at a sort of creeping run behind them, then the gleam of
assegais. A few shots were fired, but hummed high overhead, doing no
harm. But the men within, now thoroughly aroused, were all the cool and
daring pioneers of civilisation such men almost invariably are. Each
instinctively sought out the most useful post, and their rifles crashed
into the advancing rush, pouring in shot after shot from the magazines.
"Here, you mustn't be here. Go back into the house. You'll be hit."