"Magtig!" exclaimed Revell, "I swear I smell something roasting."
"S-s-s-h!" warned Brian, crouching low on his horse's neck. "Dismount,
every one."
A few hundred yards beneath we now saw a kraal. It lay in a deep
natural basin, walled in with rugged rocks and thick bush; but so shut
in was it on all sides that this seemed the only way in or out. A curl
of smoke rose into the still evening air, and the sound of several deep
voices in conversation was plainly audible; and with it, the strong
smell of roasting meat confirmed us in the certainty that we had at
length reached the object of our quest; for Kafirs very rarely kill
their own cattle, and this circumstance combined with the freshness of
the spoor, left no further doubt in our minds.
And now, before we could formulate a plan, we heard a sound of
trampling, and a number of oxen emerged from the thick bush beyond the
kraal, urged forward by a single Kafir, who was driving them down to the
gate of the thorn enclosure. There was no mistaking the large fine
animals, white, but speckled all over with bluish black. It was
Septimus Matterson's fine span.
"Wait--wait--wait!" whispered Brian, his voice in a tremble with
excitement. "Let the devils bring them in--they are driving them right
into our hands--and when I give the word, up and at them. We must
charge right bang into them if there are five or five hundred. Down--
keep down, Trask; they'll see your hat, man."
With straining eyes we watched the savages--for three or four more had
joined the single driver--as they urged the stolen beasts down to the
gate and stood on each side to pass them in. The animals having been
driven fast and far that day, were disposed to give no trouble, but
entered the enclosure quietly, one with another.
"Fifteen! They've killed one--and, by Jove! they are going to kill
another," whispered Brian, as the Kafirs, shutting the kraal gate behind
them, advanced towards one of the largest oxen with _reims_ in their
hands. "Now, are you all ready. We'll capture the fellows inside.
Don't shout or anything but--up and at them!"
With a headlong rush we charged down upon the kraal, but the Kafirs had
seen us. A loud warning cry, and several lithe dark forms bounded like
cats over the fence, and half-running, half-creeping, made for the bush
as fast as ever they could pelt, while three more who were seated round
a fire, each with a beef bone in his fist, gnawing the meat off, flung
it down among a heap of other relics of the feast, and started up to
fly. Evidently they were unaware of the smallness of our force, or
perhaps took us for a posse of Mounted Police.
"Look at that! Only look at that!" cried Revell, pointing to the fire,
beside which lay the head and a remnant of the carcase of one of the
stolen animals. And throwing all prudence to the winds, he up with his
piece and let fly at one of the fleeing forms.
"Steady, steady!" warned Brian. "No shooting, mind! Trask, _do_ you
hear!"
Too late. Trask had already pressed the trigger, and more fortunate--or
unfortunate--than Revell, who had missed, owing to the fidgeting of his
horse, one of the fleeing Kafirs was seen to stumble and fall, then,
rising with an effort, dragged himself into the welcome cover of the
bush.
"First bird!" cried Trask, wild with excitement. "He's dead. I saw him
`tower.'"
"No, you didn't. You didn't see anything," returned Brian meaningly.
"None of us saw anything of the sort, see! You only shot to scare, and
I told you not to do that unless you were driven to it."
"That's so," said Revell, "we only shot to scare. Don't be an idiot,
Trask."
"But--" began that obtuse worthy. "Oh--ah--um--yes, I see!" he broke
off as the idea at last found lodgment in his thick skull.
Now all this had befallen in a very twinkling. The thieves had vanished
as though into thin air--certainly into thick bush--and here we were,
with fifteen out of the sixteen oxen composing the stolen span: better
luck than might have fallen to our lot. But what about the stolen
horses? And just then, as though in reply to my thoughts, I, who was
taking no part in the foregoing wrangle, suddenly beheld two mounted
figures dart away from some hiding place just the other side of the
kraal. In a moment they were under cover of the bush and safe out of
shot, but in that moment I had recognised the steed bestridden by the
hindermost one. It was Meerkat--Beryl's own particular and favourite
horse--and it I had pledged myself to recover.
Shouting my discovery to the others, I was off on the track of the
fugitives, like a whirlwind. In that moment I recognised that none
followed me. I heard, moreover, Brian's voice peremptorily ordering me
back, but to it I turned a deaf ear, for still clearer seemed to sound
Beryl's voice urging me forward. "Bring back Meerkat," had been her
parting words to me. And now there the horse was--not so very far in
front of me. Brian might shout himself voiceless: this time I would pay
no attention to him. A mad gallop, a short exhilarating pursuit, I
would knock off its back the greasy rascal who was riding it, and would
bring back the horse--Beryl's horse--in triumph. The idea was more than
exhilarating.
Yes, but behind that lay its realisation, and this was not quite so
easy. For the way was literally "dark and slippery." Over
staircase-like rocks, and rolling, slipping stones, it ran, now beneath
the gloom of trees, now through lower scrub, whose boughs, flying back,
more than once nearly swept me from the saddle. Listening intently, I
could just catch the faint click of hoofs away in front, and with a
sinking of heart I recognised that this sound seemed to be growing even
more faint. The consciousness maddened me, and I spurred my faithful
steed along that rugged way, plunging, floundering, but getting along
somehow, in a manner not to be contemplated in cold blood.
If the path was damnable, the ascent was easy, luckily, though rugged.
I gave no thought as to whether any of my comrades were following, or if
I did it was only a jealous misgiving lest I should not be, the first to
come up with the quarry. The thieves might escape, for all I cared; the
other horse might not be recovered, but recapture Beryl's I would. Then
I awoke to the unpleasing realisation that dusk was giving way to
darkness, the downright sheer darkness of night.
All the more reason for bringing the undertaking to a swift conclusion:
wherefore I pommelled and spurred my hapless steed along with a
ruthlessness of which at any other time I should be heartily ashamed.
But here the end justified the means, and soon I was rewarded, for I
heard the click of hoofs much nearer ahead now, and with it the
smothered tone of a voice or two.
Of course it should have occurred to me, had I not been transformed into
a born idiot for the time being, that I was acting the part of one. For
here I was, a man who had been little more than a month in the country,
about to rush into the midst of unknown odds, to attack single-handed
how many I knew not of fierce and savage desperadoes, right in their own
especial haunt, in the thick of their own wild fastnesses; for it was
highly probable that those whom I pursued had joined, or been joined by,
others in front. Yet if I gave the matter a thought it was only a
passing one.
Now my steed pricked up its ears and began to whinny, recognising the
close propinquity of its friends, and there sure enough, as the bush
thinned out somewhat, I could see the two runaways barely that number of
hundred yards ahead. Putting on a spurt I had halved the distance, when
they halted. He who bestrode Beryl's steed was an evil-looking savage
with a string of blue beads about his neck, and an expression of
contemptuous ferocity on his countenance as he faced round and awaited
me, trying to conceal a long tapering assegai which he held ready to
cast. But I rode straight for him, and when within thirty yards he
launched the spear. Heavens! I could feel the draught created by the
thing as it whizzed by my ear with almost the velocity of a bullet, and
then I was upon him. But the fellow, who was quite a good horseman for
a Kafir, managed to get hold of my bridle rein and, jerking it partly
from my hand, hung back with it in such wise as to prevent my steed from
ranging alongside of his. A mad, murderous temptation flashed through
my mind to empty my shot barrel into his abominable carcase, but Brian's
emphatic warning still in my memory availed to stay my hand.
I hardly know what happened then, or how. Whether it was that my horse,
violently tugging backwards, succeeded in jerking the rein free, or my
adversary, seeing his opportunity, had purposely let go, but the sudden
recoil caused my fool of an animal to lose his balance and go clean
over, taking me with him, and lo! I was rolling ignominiously upon the
ground, though, fortunately, not under him. I saw the grin on the face
of my late enemy, heard his jeering guffaw, and then--something swooped
down over my head and shoulders shutting out sight and air in a most
horrible and nauseous suffocation, pinning my arms to my sides, which
several hands securely bound there. A babel of deep jeering voices
filled my ears, muffled as they were, and I was seized and violently
hustled forward at a great pace over a rough and stony way, the vicious
dig of an assegai in my thigh emphasising a volley of injunctions which
I could not understand. What I could understand, however, was that was
expected to walk, and to walk smartly, too, guided by the very ungentle
hands which urged me forward.