The police camp was still and silent in the early dawn, if dawn it could
be called, for a damp, dark mist wrapped the earth in thick folds. It
had been found necessary to go into camp, if only to rest the horses for
the next day's march, which would bring the escort to Esifeni. It was
deemed fairly safe too, in view of the defeat inflicted upon the enemy
the evening before. Besides, they had got into open country now, and
the close quarter surprise in the bush was no longer possible.
Was it not? Here was a worse enemy than thick bush. In the couple of
hours before dawn the mist had stolen down upon them, shrouding the
whole camp with a feeling of dazed helplessness. The vedettes thrown
out on four sides, three men strong apiece, might as well not have been
there now. Mist is a dreadfully formidable auxiliary to a wary,
determined foe, stealing in cautiously behind it.
Of course all had lain down, ready for the smallest call to arms. Most
were asleep; young men, fearless, healthily tired, are not likely to be
kept awake by such a trifle--all in the day's work--as a possible
attack. Not all so slept, however. Verna, pale, haggard, hollow-eyed
with grief, was carefully sponging out her rifle; eager now in her
fierce longing for some kind of vengeance, even though vicarious
vengeance, for another opportunity of using it to some purpose. No
compunction of any sort was in her mind now. The more of _his_ slayers
she could send to join him in the other world, the greater would be her
joy--the only joy left to her. She had declined Sub-Inspector Dering's
offer to clean the weapon for her on the ground that any sort of
occupation was better than none, and sleep was impossible.
By this time the whole Force was aware of the relationship existing
between her and the missing man, and all forbore or feared to intrude
upon her grief. Stony-eyed, silent, under this second blow, she stared
forth upon the enshrouding mist, as though to pierce its dark folds and
see--what? Her father was frankly snoring. It was characteristic of
that hardened up-country adventurer that nothing short of absolute
necessity should be allowed to interfere with the recuperating powers of
nature. The two officers in command, likewise the same number of
sergeants, were wide awake, and conversing in low tones.
It grew lighter and lighter, the mist notwithstanding. The sun must be
up. They thought of giving orders to saddle up. By the time the
process was accomplished, and Minton's miserable harness got into
working order by the agency of countless bits of string and _reimpje_,
it would be clear enough to march. But there was a guardian angel over
that camp after all.
Suddenly a shot rang out, then another. In an instant the whole camp
was astir. But no flurry, no fuss. As we have said, the whole escort
had slept under arms, and each trooper awoke in his place and ready.
Two more shots followed from the same quarter, but this time much
nearer, then a small volley from another vedette posted on the next face
of the camp.
A swirl of air cleft the mist. From the sides on which the shots were
fired the vedettes were now seen running in.
"Large impi close on us, sir," reported the first to arrive,
breathlessly. "Hardly six hundred yards now."
Inspector Bray issued but one short order. He had been prepared for
such a contingency, and everything had been prearranged on pitching
camp. Now, in a second, each man had built up what cover he could with
his saddle and blanket, and lay behind it, his rifle forward, alert and
ready. He had not long to wait.
Another swirl of air rolled back the mist, leaving a quarter of a mile
on that side exposed as by the raising of a curtain. It was as the
sentinels had said. In crescent formation the dense black cloud swept
on--in dead silence--a phalanx of shields, a perfect bristle of
assegais. A black impi--a naked impi--no dirty tattered shirts or
ragged store clothes among these. They were as the old-time warriors of
the king--with flowing war adornments and crested headgear and great
tufted shields. And they were no further off than four hundred yards.
A sharp word of command and the police rifles rang out. The oncoming
ranks were shaken, but with the second volley the whole advancing mass
had sunk like magic to the earth, and the discharge swept over them
harmlessly. At the same time a terrific volley swept over the camp
_from the rear of the assailants_. These, under cover of it, made a
nearer rush, and the same tactics were repeated.
"By God!" shouted Bray, taking in this, and excited by a couple of
bullets whizzing over, and very near to, his head. "There's tactics in
this. Covering their advance! Who the devil could have taught them
that move, eh, Halse?"
The latter said nothing at first, but he thought he knew.
"It's Sapazani's prime impi," he declared. "No clothes, and charging
in. We've got our job cut out. Not `shirt-tail' warriors these, but
quite after the real old style."
As the "covering tactic" was repeated the impi extended with
lightning-like rapidity, following out the old Zulu practice of throwing
out surrounding "horns." They could not have been less than a thousand
strong--rather over than under. And now for the first time arose from
that number of throats the roar of the war-shout--
"Usutu!"
The police horses were now thrown into confusion--several of them had
fallen in that overhead volley, standing high as they did, and were
kicking and struggling in all directions; indeed, it was all that those
told off to hold them could do to restrain them on the picket lines at
all. As yet, however, not a man had been hit.
"The chief!" ejaculated Ben Halse eagerly, touching Bray on the arm.
"Sapazani."
In the forefront of the impi, waving his great shield, Sapazani was now
conspicuous. His gigantic form, the towering black ostrich plumes stuck
within his head-ring would have marked him anywhere. But he seemed to
bear a charmed life. A bullet from Ben Halse clipped one of his plumes,
but he shook his head and laughed.
"Greeting, U' Ben! Thy hand and eye are failing," he roared; bounding,
leaping, like a wild beast, in the forefront of his followers, who were
now beginning to fall around him in rows. All sides of the camp were
busy now, and but for the quick and, literally, massacring fire poured
into the rush, would have been overwhelmed.
"The chief! The chief!" shouted the excited men. "Now, then, all at
him at once. We'll down the devil."
But they did not. Never still, Sapazani dodged the volley and laughed
exultantly. But even as he did so he leaped in the air and fell flat.
Those in her neighbourhood looked up at Verna Halse, who, pale as death,
with a red spot on each cheek and dull eyes, after one quick glance
began refilling her magazine.
"By God, Miss Halse, you've killed Sapazani!" ejaculated Sergeant
Dickinson. "You've killed the chief."
It was indeed so. While others had been concentrating their fire on
that whirling, bounding figure without result, Verna, her heart on fire
with burning longing for revenge, but her brain dangerously, deadly
cool, had been watching her opportunity, watching when a fraction of a
moment's stillness on the part of her quarry should give her the
opportunity she sought. It had comet and she had taken it.
A rousing, ringing cheer went up from the men. Already on the other
side the combat had become nearly hand to hand. Assegais now were
hurled into the camp, and more than one trooper was stricken. Minton,
the storekeeper, was raving and cursing with one sticking through his
leg, to the accompaniment of the howling of his progeny; but on the side
led by Sapazani the onslaught wavered. The dead and wounded lay
tremendously thick, and still the police bandoliers were not half empty,
and now amid freshly heartened cheers their contents still played upon
the roaring masses. Then, as the word mysteriously and quickly went
round that the chief was slain, the news instead of inspiring them with
the fury of exasperation had the contrary effect, and lo! as quickly as
they had come on they were now in full retreat. A rain of bullets
followed them, but no pursuit was allowed.
Verna had grounded her rifle, and stood looking after the retreating
enemy. Then she walked back to the trap and deposited the weapon,
speaking to nobody and ignoring the enthusiastic congratulations
showered upon her. The while the vanishing curtain of mist was hanging
in diminishing filminess over the hills, and the sun rose bright and
glorious into a vault of unclouded blue.
"If you'll take my advice," said Ben Halse to the Inspector, "you'll
have Sapazani verified dead without loss of time. They might rally and
rescue him. But look out carefully for the wounded. They may send more
than one man under before they go under themselves."
His advice was needed. In more than one instance some desperate savage,
mortally and otherwise disabled, gripped his assegai in a feigned death
grip to strike a last blow at any who should be unwary enough to
approach him. But Sapazani was found not to be dead, though his days
were numbered not by hours, but by minutes.
He, as they surrounded him, opened his eyes, but made no act of
aggression, although by an effort he might have reached his broad
assegai. Verna's bullet had drilled through his chest, narrowly missing
the heart, and, being a Dum-dum, had torn away a gaping and ghastly hole
beneath the shoulder where it had come out. As they propped him up
against the body of one of his slain followers the rush of blood was
enough to have ended the life of any one but a savage then and there.
"_Whau_!" he ejaculated feebly. "It is U' Ben. And we were friends."
"Were, yes," answered the trader shortly. "No one knows better than
Sapazani why we are so no longer."
This, of course, was "dark" talking to Bray and the police. However,
they supposed it referred to some trading transaction between these two.
And at the same time a very uncomfortable misgiving came into Ben
Halse's mind. What if the dying chief, out of sheer malignity, were to
"give away," for the benefit of the police, some very awkward, not to
say incriminating transactions in which he had been mixed up. But
Sapazani's next words were--
"Where is Izibu? for something tells me I died by her stroke. I would
fain see her again to say farewell."
Ben Halse's face hardened, knowing what he did and what the others did
not. He hesitated, but as he did so a clear, hard voice struck upon his
ear--upon the ears of all of them.
"Here is Izibu." And Verna, who had been approaching unseen, joined the
group.
"It is well," said the dying chief. "I am content. We have been
friends."
There was a world of pathetic dignity about the man as he sat there, his
large, powerful frame thrilling in every nerve with bodily anguish, his
fine face wet with the dews of death, as he turned his lustrous but
fading eyes upon one or the other of the group.
"Friends!" echoed Verna in biting scorn. "Friends? Where, then, is he
who was left behind yesterday, he who was our friend and therefore
yours?"
Sapazani looked puzzled, then a light seemed to dawn upon him.
"Is it the man who collects snakes and--other things, Izibu?"
She nodded.
"Then of him I know nothing. Nor did I know even that he had been left
behind, _impela_."
"You swear it?"
"U' Dingiswayo!" said the chief earnestly, invoking the name of the
ancestral head of his tribe. And then for the first time a ray of hope
came back into Verna's life.
Then the dying man's tone grew drowsy, and his head drooped forward. He
was muttering words of counsel, of quick command, as though to his
followers. Then he subsided to the ground. A sign or two and a groan.
Sapazani was dead.
"Poor devil!" said Inspector Bray. "He's a fine fellow when all's said
and done, and a plucky one."
"Whatever else he may be, Sapazani's a gentleman," said Ben Halse, fully
appreciative of the fact that the dead chief had observed the strictest
secrecy with regard to such former transactions as have been alluded to.
But Verna said nothing. She fed and fostered that ray of hope.