THE RESCUE.
Ronald, with Kreta and two of his men, now crept down to the very edge
of the bushes at a spot where they could command a view of the entrance
to the hut. For a long time female figures came in and out, and it was
not until long past midnight that they saw the last female figure
disappear inside and the skin drawn across the entrance.
"How long shall we give them, Kreta?"
"In an hour Kreta will go see," the chief said; "but better give two
hours for all to be fast asleep."
In about an hour Ronald, who had been half lying on the ground with his
head on his hands, looked round and found that the chief had stolen
away. He sat up and watched the hut intently. The fires were burning low
now, although many of the Kaffirs were sitting round them; but there was
still light enough for him, looking intently, to see a figure moving
along. Once or twice he fancied he saw a dark shadow on the ground close
to the hut, but he was not sure, and was still gazing intently when
there was a touch on his shoulder, and, looking round, he saw the chief
beside him.
"Two women watch," he said, "others all quiet. Give a little time
longer, to make sure that all are asleep, then we go on."
It seemed to Ronald fully two hours, although it was less than one,
before Kreta again touched him.
"Time to go, incos," he said. "You go down with me to the hut, but not
quite close. Kreta bring girl to you. You better not go. Kreta walk more
quietly than white man. Noise spoil everything, get all of us killed."
Ronald gave his consent, though reluctantly, but he felt it was right
that the Fingo, who was risking his life for his sake, should carry out
his plans in his own way. Kreta ordered one of his men to rejoin his
companions, and with the other advanced towards the village.
When within forty yards of the hut, he touched Ronald and whispered to
him to remain there. Then he and his companion lay down on the ground,
and, without the slightest sound that Ronald could detect, disappeared
in the darkness, while Ronald stood with his revolver in his hand,
ready at any moment to spring forward and throw himself upon the
Kaffirs.
Mary Armstrong lay awake, with every faculty upon the stretch. Where the
succour was to come from, or how, she could not imagine; but it was
evident, at least, that some white man was here, and was working for
her. She listened intently to every sound, with her eyes wide open,
staring at the two women, who were cooking mealies in the fire, and
keeping up a low, murmured talk. She had not even a hope that they would
sleep. She knew that the natives constantly sit up talking and feasting
until daylight is close at hand; and as they had extra motives for
vigilance, she was sure that they would keep awake.
Suddenly, so suddenly that she scarcely knew what had happened, the two
women disappeared from her sight. A hand had grasped each tightly by the
throat, another hand seized the hair, and, with a sharp jerk, pulled the
head on one side, breaking the neck in a moment--a common mode among the
Kaffirs of putting any one to death. The whole thing did not occupy a
moment, and as the women disappeared from her sight, two natives rose to
their feet and looked round. Convinced that this was the succour
promised her, she sat up. One of the natives put his finger upon his
lips to indicate the necessity of silence, and beckoned for her to rise
and come to him. When she did so he wrapped her in a dark blanket and
led her to the door. He pushed aside the hanging and went out.
Mary followed close behind him. He now put the blanket over her head and
lifted her in his arms. A momentary dread seized her lest this might be
an emissary of some other chief, who had sent him to carry off Macomo's
new captive, but the thought of the English words reassured her; and, at
any rate, even if it were so, her position could not possibly be worse
than on the return of Macomo the next morning. She was carried a short
distance, then she heard her bearer say in English: "Come along; I take
her a bit further. Too close to Kaffir still." She was carried on for
some distance. Then there was a stop, and she was placed on her feet;
the blanket was removed from her head, and a moment later a dark figure
seized her hand.
"Thank God, we have got you out, Miss Armstrong."
The revulsion of feeling at hearing her own tongue was so great that she
was not capable of speaking, and she would have fallen had she not been
clasped in the arms of the person who addressed her. Her surprise at
feeling that the arms that encircled her were bare, roused her.
"Who are you, sir?" she asked, trembling.
"I am Sergeant Blunt, Miss Armstrong. No wonder you did not know me. I
am got up in native fashion. You can trust yourself with me, you know."
"Oh, yes, yes," the girl sobbed. "I know I can, you saved my life once
before. How did you come here? And, oh, can you tell me any news about
my father?"
"He is hurt, Miss Armstrong, but I have every hope that he will recover.
Now you must be strong, for we must be miles from here before morning.
Can you walk?"
"Oh yes, I can walk any distance," the girl said. "Yesterday it seemed
to me that I could not walk an inch further were it to save my life, and
they had to carry me the last mile or two, but now I feel strong enough
to walk miles."
"She can walk at present, chief," Ronald said, "let us go forward at
once."
They were now on the pathway leading down to the kraal. The chief took
the lead, telling Mary Armstrong to take hold of his blanket and follow
close behind him, while Ronald followed on her heels, the other Fingoes
keeping in the rear. The darkness beneath the trees was dense, and it
was some time before Ronald could make out even the outline of the
figures before him. Before approaching a kraal a halt was always made,
and one of the Fingoes went on ahead to see if the fires were out and
all natives inside their huts. Several times, although all the human
beings were asleep, the scout returned, saying that they could not pass
through the kraal, for the dogs had scented him and growled fiercely,
and would set up such a barking when the party passed as to bring all
the village out to see what was the matter.
Then long detours, that would have been difficult through the thick bush
in daylight, but at night were almost impossible, had to be made. Each
time that this had to be done, Kreta lifted Mary Armstrong and carried
her, and she had now become so exhausted that she was unable even to
protest. Ronald would have carried her himself, but he felt that it
would be worse than useless to attempt to do so. Though unencumbered, he
had the greatest difficulty in making his way through the bushes, which
scratched and tore his flesh terribly; but the chief seemed to be
possessed of the eyes of a bat, and glided through them, scarcely moving
a twig as he passed. After going on for upwards of three hours, the
chief stopped.
"It will be getting light soon. We must hide her now. Cannot get further
until to-morrow night."
Although Ronald Mervyn, struggling along in the darkness, had not
noticed it, the party had for the last hour turned off from the line
they had before been following. They stopped by a little stream, running
down the valley. Here a native refilled the gourds, and Mary Armstrong
felt better after a drink of water.
"I think," Ronald said to her, "that if you were to bathe your face and
hands it would refresh you. There is a rock here just at the edge of
the stream, I am sure your feet must be sore and blistered. It will be
half an hour before there is a gleam of light, and I should recommend
you to take off your shoes and stockings and paddle your feet in the
water."
"That would be refreshing," the girl said. "My feet are aching
dreadfully. Now please tell me all that has happened, and how you came
to be here."
Sitting beside her, Ronald told her what had been done from the time
when his party arrived and beat off the natives attacking the waggons.
"How can I thank you enough?" she said, when he had finished. "To think
that you have done all this for me."
"Never mind about thanks, Miss Armstrong; we are not out of the wood
yet, our dangers are only half over, and if it were not that I trust to
the cunning of our good friend Kreta and his Fingoes I should have very
little hope of getting out of this mess. I think it is just beginning to
get light, for I can make out the outlines of the trunks of the trees,
which is more than I could do before. I will go and ask Kreta what he is
going to do, and by the time I come back perhaps you had better get your
shoes on again, and be ready for a start. I don't suppose we shall go
far, but no doubt he will find some sort of hiding-place." Kreta, in
fact, was just giving instructions to his men.
"We are going out to find some good place to hide away in to-day," he
said. "In the morning they search all about the woods. We must get into
shelter before it light enough for the men on hill tops to see down
through trees. You stop here quiet. In half an hour we come back again.
There is plenty time; they no find out yet that woman gone."
In a few minutes Mary Armstrong joined Ronald.
"How do you feel now?" he asked.
"All the fresher and better for the wash," she said; "but I really don't
think I could walk very far, my feet are very much blistered. I don't
see why they should be so bad; we have only gone about twenty-four miles
each day, and I always considered that I could walk twenty miles without
difficulty."
"It makes all the difference how you walk, Miss Armstrong. No doubt, if
you had been in good spirits, and with a pleasant party, you could have
walked fifty miles in two days, although that is certainly a long
distance for a woman; but depressed and almost despairing, as you were,
it told upon you generally, and doubtless you rather dragged your feet
along than walked."
"I don't want to think about it," the girl said, with a shudder. "It
seems to have been an awful dream. Some day I will tell you about it;
but I cannot now."
"Here are some mealies and some cold meat. We each brought a week's
supply with us when we left the waggons. I am sure that you will be all
the better for eating something."
"I do feel very hungry, now I think of it," the girl assented; "I have
hardly eaten a mouthful since that morning."
"I am hungry myself," Ronald said "I was too anxious yesterday to do
justice to my food."
"I feel very much better now," the girl said when she had finished. "I
believe I was faint from want of food before, although I did not think
of it. I am sure I could go on walking now. It was not the pain that
stopped me, but simply because I didn't feel as if I could lift my foot
from the ground. And there is one thing I want to say: I wish you would
not call me Miss Armstrong, it seems so formal and stiff, when you are
running such terrible risks to save me. Please call me Mary, and I will
call you Harry. I think I heard you tell my father your name was Harry
Blunt."
"That is the name I enlisted under, it is not my own name; men very
seldom enlist under their own names."
"Why not?" she asked in surprise.
"Partly, I suppose, because a good many of us get into scrapes before we
enlist, and don't care for our friends to be able to trace us."
"I am sure you never got into a scrape," the girl said, looking up into
Ronald's face.
"I got into a very bad scrape," Ronald answered, "a scrape that has
spoilt my whole life; but we will not talk about that. But I would
rather, if you don't mind, that you should call me by my own name now we
are together. If we get out of this I shall be Sergeant Blunt again, but
I should like you to call me Ronald now."
"Ronald," the girl said, "that sounds Scottish."
"I am not Scotch, nor so far as I know is there any Scotch blood in my
veins, but the name has been in the family a good many years; how it got
there I do not know."
"I almost wish it was dark again," the girl said, with a little laugh;
"in the dark you seem to me the Sergeant Blunt who came just in time to
save us that day the farm was attacked; but now I can see you I cannot
recognise you at all; even your eyes look quite different in that black
skin."
"I flatter myself that my get up is very good," Ronald laughed. "I have
had some difficulty in keeping up the colour. Each day before starting
we have gone to our fires and got fresh charcoal and mixed it with some
grease we brought with us and rubbed it in afresh."
"Your hair is your weak point, Ronald; but, of course, no European could
make his hair like a native's. Still, as it is cut so close, it would
not be noticed a little way off."
Two or three of the Fingoes had by this time returned, and in a few
minutes all had gathered at the spot. Kreta listened to the reports of
each of his men, and they held a short consultation. Then he came up to
Ronald.
"One of my men has found a place that will do well," he said. "It is
time we were going."
One of the Fingoes now took the lead; the others followed. A quarter of
an hour's walk up the hill, which grew steeper and steeper every step,
brought them to a spot where some masses of rock had fallen from above.
They were half covered with the thick growth of brushwood. The native
pushed one of the bushes aside, and showed a sort of cave formed by a
great slab of rock that had fallen over the others. Kreta uttered an
expression of approval. Two of the natives crept in with their assegais
in their hands. In two or three minutes one of them returned with the
bodies of two puff adders they had killed. These were dropped in among
some rocks.
"You can go in now," Kreta said. "There are no more of them."
Ronald crawled in first, and helped Mary Armstrong in after him; the
natives followed. Kreta came in last, carefully examining the bush
before he did so, to see that no twig was broken or disarranged. He
managed as he entered to place two or three rocks over the entrance.
"Good place," he said, looking round as he joined the others. It was
indeed of ample size to contain the party, and was some four feet in
height. Light came in in several places between the rocks on which the
upper slab rested.
"It could not be better, Kreta, even if it had been made on purpose. It
was lucky indeed your fellow found it."
"We found two or three others," the chief said, "but this best."
"It is lucky those men came in first and found the snakes," Mary
Armstrong said, "for we have not got here the stuff we always use in the
colony as an antidote, and their bite is almost always fatal unless that
can be used in time." Ronald was aware of this, and had, indeed, during
the night's march, had snakes constantly in his mind, for he knew that
they abounded in the hills.
One of the Fingoes had taken his station at the entrance, having moved
one of the stones the chief had placed there, so that he could sit with
his head out of the opening. Half an hour after they had entered the
cave he turned round and spoke to the chief.
"The Kaffirs are hunting," Kreta said. Listening at the opening they
could hear distant shouts. These were answered from many points, some of
them comparatively close.
"The news is being passed from kraal to kraal," Ronald said; "they will
be up like a swarm of bees now, but search as they will they are not
likely to find us here. Do you think they will trace us at all, chief?"
"They will find where we stopped close to kraal," Kreta said; "the dead
leaves were stirred by our feet; after that not find, too many people
gone along path; ground very hard; may find, sometime, mark of the white
woman's shoe; but we leave path many times, and after I carry no find at
all. Mountains very big, much bush; never find here."
The chief now told his follower to replace the stone and join the
others, and ordered all to be silent. Sitting with his ear at one of the
openings he listened to the sounds in the woods; once or twice he
whispered that Kaffirs were passing close, searching among the bushes;
and one party came so near that their words could be plainly heard in
the cave. They were discussing the manner in which the fugitive had
escaped, and were unanimous in the belief that she had been carried off
by the followers of some other chief, for that an enemy should have
penetrated into the heart of the Amatolas did not strike them as
possible.
The argument was only as to which of the other chiefs would have
ventured to rob Macomo, and the opinion inclined to the fact that it
must have been Sandilli himself, who would doubtless have heard, from
the messenger sent over on the previous afternoon to inform Macomo, of
the return of the band with a pretty young white woman as a captive.
Macomo had of course been drunk, and Sandilli might have determined to
have the prize carried off for himself.
Mary Armstrong shuddered as she listened to the talk, but when they had
gone on Kreta said:
"Good thing the Kaffirs have that thought, not search so much here.
Search in Sandilli's country. Perhaps make great quarrel between Macomo
and Sandilli. Good thing that."
As the day went on the spirits of the Fingoes rose, and in low tones
they expressed their delight at having outwitted the Kaffirs.
No footsteps had been heard in their neighbourhood for some time, and
they felt sure that the search had been abandoned in that quarter.
Towards sunset all ate a hearty meal, and as soon as it became dark the
stones at the entrance were removed and the party crept out. Mary
Armstrong had slept the greater part of the day, and Ronald and the
Fingoes had also passed a portion of their time in sleep. They started,
therefore, refreshed and strong.
It took them many hours of patient work before they arrived at the edge
of the forest on the last swell of the Amatolas. They had been obliged
to make many detours to avoid kraals, and to surmount the precipices
that often barred their way. They had started about eight in the
evening, and it was, as they knew from the stars, fully three o'clock
in the morning when they emerged from the forest.
Mary Armstrong had kept on well with the rest; her feet were extremely
painful, but she was now strong and hopeful, and no word of complaint
escaped her. Ronald and the chief kept by her side, helping her up or
down difficult places, and assisting her to pass through the thorny
bushes, which caught her dress, and would have rendered it almost
impossible for her to get through unaided. Once out of the bush, the
party hurried down the grassy slope, and then kept on a mile further.
The chief now gave a loud call. It was answered faintly from the
distance; in five minutes the sound of a horse's hoofs were heard, and
in a short time the Fingo who had been left in charge of it, galloped up
with Ronald's horse. Mary Armstrong was sitting on the ground, for she
was now so utterly exhausted she could no longer keep her feet, and had,
since they left the bush, been supported and half carried by Ronald and
Kreta. She made an effort to rise as the horse came up.
"Please wait a moment; I will not be above two minutes," Ronald said;
"but I really cannot ride into Williamstown like this."
He unstrapped his valise, took the jack-boots that were hanging from the
saddle, and moved away in the darkness. In two or three minutes he
returned in his uniform.
"I feel a civilised being again," he said, laughing; "a handful of sand
at the first stream we come to will get most of this black off my face.
I have left my blanket as a legacy to any Kaffir who may light upon it.
Now I will shift the saddle a few inches further back. I think you had
better ride before me, for you are completely worn out, and I can hold
you there better than you could hold yourself if you were to sit behind
me." He strapped on his valise, shifted his saddle, lifted Mary up, and
sprang up behind her.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
"Quite comfortable," she said, a little shyly, and then they started.
The light was just beginning to break in the east as they rode out from
the clump of trees. They were not out of danger yet, for parties of
Kaffirs might be met with at any time until they arrived within musket
shot of King Williamstown. The Fingoes ran at a pace that kept the horse
at a sharp trot. It was very pleasant to Ronald Mervyn to feel Mary
Armstrong in his arms, and to know, as he did, how safe and confident
she felt there; but he did not press her more closely than was necessary
to enable her to retain her seat, or permit himself to speak in a softer
or tenderer tone than usual.
"If we should come across any of these scoundrels, Mary," he said,
presently, "do you take the reins. Do you think you can sit steady
without my holding you firmly?"
"Yes," the girl said, "if I put one foot on yours I could certainly hold
on. I could twist one of my hands in the horse's mane."
"Can you use a pistol?"
"Of course I can," she replied. "I was as good a shot as my father."
"That is all right, then. I will give you one of my pistols; then I can
hold you with my right arm, for the horse may plunge if a spear strikes
him. I will use my pistol in my left hand. I will see that no one
catches the bridle on that side; do you attend to the right. I hope it
won't come to that, still there's never any saying, and we shall have
one or two nasty places to pass through on our way down. We have the
advantage that should there be any Kaffirs there they will not be
keeping a watch this way, and we may hope to get pretty well through
them before they see us."
"Will you promise me one thing, Ronald?" she asked. "Will you shoot me
if you find that we cannot get past?"
Ronald nodded.
"I am not at all afraid of death," she said; "death would be nothing to
that. I would rather die a thousand times than fall into the hands of
the Kaffirs again."
"I promise you, Mary, my last shot but one shall be for you, my last for
myself; but if I am struck off the horse by a bullet or assegai you must
trust to your own pistol."
"I will do that, Ronald; I have been perfectly happy since you took me
out of the hut, and have not seemed to feel any fear of being
recaptured, for I felt that if they overtook us I could always escape
so. On the way there, if I could have got hold of an assegai I should
have stabbed myself."
"Thank God you didn't," said Ronald, earnestly, "though I could not have
blamed you."
They paused at the entrance to each kloof through which they had to
pass, and the Fingoes went cautiously ahead searching through the
bushes. It was not until he heard their call on the other side that
Ronald galloped after them.
"I begin to hope that we shall get through now," Ronald said, after
emerging from one of these kloofs; "we have only one more bad place to
pass, but, of course, the danger is greatest there, as from that the
Kaffirs will probably be watching against any advance of the troops from
the town."
The Fingoes were evidently of the same opinion, for as they approached
it Kreta stopped to speak to Ronald.
"Kaffir sure to be here," he said, "but me and my men can creep through;
but we must not call to you, incos; the Kaffirs would hear us and be on
the watch. Safest plan for us to go through first, not go along paths,
but through bush; then for you to gallop straight through; even if they
close to path, you get past before they time to stop you. I think that
best way."
"I think so too, Kreta. If they hear the horse's hoofs coming from
behind they will suppose it is a mounted messenger from the hills.
Anyhow, I think that a dash for it is our best chance."
"I think so, incos. I think you get through safe if go fast."
"How long will you be getting through, Kreta?"
"Quarter of an hour," the chief said; "must go slow. Your ride four,
five minutes."
Kreta stood thoughtfully for a minute or two.
"Me don't like it, incos. Me tell you what we do. We keep over to left,
and then when we get just through the bush we fire our guns. Then the
Kaffirs very much surprised and all run that way, and you ride straight
through."
"But they might overtake you, Kreta."
"They no overtake," the chief said, confidently. "We run fast and get
good start. Williamstown only one hour's walk; run less than half hour.
They no catch us."
When the Fingoes had been gone about ten minutes, Ronald, assured that
the Kaffirs would be gathered at the far side of the kloof, went forward
at a walk. Presently he heard six shots fired in rapid succession. This
was followed by an outburst of yells and cries in front, and he set
spurs to his horse and dashed forward at a gallop. He was nearly through
the kloof when a body of Kaffirs, who were running through the wood from
the right, burst suddenly from the bushes into the path. So astonished
were they at seeing a white man within a few yards of them that for a
moment they did not think of using their weapons, and Ronald dashed
through them, scattering them to right and left. But others sprang from
the bushes. Ronald shot down two men who sprang at the horse's bridle,
and he heard Mary Armstrong's pistol on the other side. He had drawn his
sword before setting off at a gallop. "Hold tight, Mary," he said, as he
relaxed his hold of her and cut down a native who was springing upon him
from the bushes. Another fell from a bullet from her pistol, and then he
was through them. "Stoop down, Mary," he said, pressing her forward on
the horse's neck and bending down over her. He felt his horse give a
sudden spring, and knew that it was hit with an assegai; while almost at
the same instant he felt a sensation as of a hot iron running from his
belt to his shoulder, as a spear ripped up cloth and flesh and then
glanced along over him.
A moment later and they were out of the kloof, and riding at full speed
across the open. Looking over his shoulder he saw that the Kaffirs gave
up pursuit after following for a hundred yards. Over on the left he
heard dropping shots, and presently caught a glimpse in that direction
of the Fingoes running in a close body, pursued at the distance of a
hundred yards or so by a large number of Kaffirs. But others had heard
the sound of firing, for in a minute or two he saw a body of horsemen
riding at full speed from Williamstown in the direction of the firing.
He at once checked the speed of his horse.
"We are safe now, Mary; that is a troop of our corps. Are you hit?"
"No, I am not touched. Are you hurt, Ronald? I thought I felt you
start."
"I have got a bit of a scratch on the back, but it's nothing serious. I
will get off in a moment, Mary; the horse has an assegai in his
quarters, and I must get it out."
"Take me down, too, please; I feel giddy now it is all over."
Ronald lifted her down, and then pulled the assegai from the horse's
back.
"I don't think much harm is done," he said; "a fortnight in the stable
and he will be all right again."
"You are bleeding dreadfully," the girl exclaimed, as she caught sight
of his back. "It's a terrible wound to look at."
"Then it looks worse than it is," he laughed. "The spear only glanced
along on the ribs. It's lucky I was stooping so much. After going
through what we have we may think ourselves well off indeed that we have
escaped with such a scratch as this between us."
"It's not a scratch at all," the girl said, indignantly; "it's a very
deep bad cut."
"Perhaps it is a bad cut," Ronald smiled, "but a cut is of no
consequence one way or the other. Now let us join the others. Ah, here
they come, with Kreta showing them the way."
The troopers had chased the Kaffirs back to the bush, and, led by the
Fingo, were now coming up at a gallop to the spot where Ronald and Mary
Armstrong were standing by the horse.
"Ah, it is you, sergeant," Lieutenant Daniels exclaimed, for it was a
portion of Ronald's own troop that had ridden up. "I never expected to
see you again, for we heard the day before yesterday from the officer
who came in with the ammunition waggons that you had gone off to try to
rescue three ladies who had been carried off by the Kaffirs. It was a
mad business, but you have partly succeeded, I am glad to see," and he
lifted his cap to Mary Armstrong.
"Partly, sir," Ronald said. "The wretches killed the other two the day
they carried them off. This is Miss Armstrong. I think you stopped at
her father's house one day when we were out on the Kabousie."
"Yes, of course," the lieutenant said, alighting. "Excuse me for not
recognising you, Miss Armstrong; but, in fact----"
"In fact, I look very pale, and ragged, and tattered."
"I am not surprised at that, Miss Armstrong. You must have gone through
a terrible time, and I heartily congratulate Sergeant Blunt on the
success of his gallant attempt to rescue you."
"Have you heard from my father? How is he?"
"Your father, Miss Armstrong! I have heard nothing about him since I
heard from Sergeant Blunt that you had all got safely away after that
attack."
"He was in the waggon, sir," Ronald explained; "he was hurt in the fight
with the Kaffirs, and Mr. Nolan brought him back in the waggons."
"Oh, I heard he had brought a wounded man with him; but I did not hear
the name. Nolan said he had been badly wounded, but the surgeon told me
he thought he might get round. I have no doubt that the sight of Miss
Armstrong will do him good."
"Perhaps, sir," Ronald said, faintly, "you will let one of the troop
ride on with Miss Armstrong at once. I think I must wait for a bit."
"Why, what is it, sergeant?" the lieutenant asked, catching him by the
arm, for he saw that he was on the point of falling. "You are wounded, I
see; and here am I talking about other things and not thinking of you."
Two of the troop leapt from their horses and laid Ronald down, for he
had fainted, overcome partly by the pain and loss of blood, but more by
the sudden termination of the heavy strain of the last four days.
"It is only a flesh wound, Miss Armstrong. There is no occasion for
fear. He has fainted from loss of blood, and I have no doubt but he will
soon be all right again. Johnson, hand your horse over to Miss
Armstrong, and do you, Williams, ride over with her to the hospital. We
will have Sergeant Blunt in the hospital half an hour after you get
there, Miss Armstrong."
"It seems very unkind to leave him," the girl said, "after all he has
done for me."
"He will understand it, my dear young lady, and you can see him in the
hospital directly you get there."
Mary reluctantly allowed herself to be lifted into the saddle, and rode
off with the trooper.
"Now take his jacket and shirt off," the lieutenant said, "it's a nasty
rip that he has got. I suppose he was leaning forward in the saddle when
the spear touched him. It's lucky it glanced up instead of going through
him."
The soldiers removed Ronald's coat. There was no shirt underneath, for
he had not waited to put one on when he mounted. The troopers had heard
from their comrades, on the return of the escort, that the sergeant had,
before starting, got himself up as a native; and they were not therefore
surprised, as they otherwise would have been, at his black skin.
"Put your hand into the left holster of my saddle," the lieutenant said.
"You will find two or three bandages and some lint there; they are
things that come in handy for this work. Lay the lint in the gash.
That's right. Press it down a little, and put some more in. Now lift him
up a bit, while I pass these bandages round his body. There; I think he
will do now; but there's no doubt it is a nasty wound. It has cut right
through the muscles of the back. Now turn him over, and give me my flask
from the holster."
Some brandy and water was poured between Ronald's lips, and he soon
opened his eyes.
"Don't move, sergeant, or you will set your wound off bleeding again. We
will soon get you comfortably into hospital. Ah, that is the very thing;
good men," he broke off, as Kreta and the Fingoes brought up a litter
which they had been busy in constructing. "Miss Armstrong has ridden on
to the hospital to see her father. She wanted to stop, but I sent her
on, so that we could bandage you comfortably."
"I think I can sit a horse now," Ronald said, trying to rise.
"I don't know whether you can or not, sergeant; but you are not going to
try. Now, lads, lift him on to the litter."
Kreta and the two troopers lifted him carefully on to the litter; then
four of the Fingoes raised it to their shoulders. Another took Ronald's
horse, which now limped stiffly, and led it along behind the litter; and
with the troop bringing up the rear, the party started for King
Williamstown.