"But--this is surely not the way to Gandela," whispered Ancram, when
they had got over about three miles.
"Quite right. It isn't," answered Peters. "We'll get there kind of
roundabout. You see, if by any chance our trap should miss fire, and
they come after us, they'd head along the straight road to Gandela.
Where'd we be then?"
"But," objected Ancram, looking dubiously at the black line in front,
just discernible in its loom against the stars, "isn't this the line of
forest where we heard the lions that evening? We are not going into
that--at night, too--surely?"
"Right again--as to the first. For the second--wrong. We are."
"But--the lions?"
"We must chance them."
"I told you the great god Chance counted for a lot up-country, eh,
Ancram?" cut in Lamont.
The other made no reply. What with those beastly Matabele behind, with
their beastly assegai blades, keen and bright and hungering for his
vitals, and a ramping and a roaring lion--or perhaps several--ready to
spring out on him from those black depths, his heart was in his boots.
He would have given something now to have taken Lamont's advice and to
have cleared right out of this infernal country. Let them but come
through this safely, and then how blithely would he bid good-bye to
Matabeleland, and all its abominable conditions of life, for ever.
They seemed to be following a game path as they threaded the black
depths of the forest. Peters led the way, and it was a marvel to Ancram
how he kept the track. Peters might be a bit too patronising and
familiar under ordinary circumstances, but under such as these Peters
had his uses--by Jove, he had!
"Look out for snakes, Ancram," said Lamont, who was bringing up the
rear. "They often lie out in a path like this at night."
Ancram started, instinctively stopping, with the result that the other
cannoned into him. His nerves all unstrung he came near emitting a
shout.
"Good Lord! Oh, it's you, Lamont!" he ejaculated, the perspiration
pouring from him. "I say, though, how the deuce am I to look out for
snakes, or any damned thing else, when I can't see an inch beyond the
end of my nose? Eh?"
"Of course. I thought I'd warn you, that's all."
It amused Lamont to play upon his fears. This fellow had thrust himself
upon him all unbidden, and had requited his hospitality first of all by
trying to blackmail him, and then by disseminating slanders about him;
slanders relating to his cowardice. And the fellow himself was an
arrant coward. Assuredly he deserved punishment, and now he was getting
it. The process of administering it was rather a congenial amusement.
Suddenly there broke forth upon the night a loud booming roar. The very
air seemed to vibrate with it.
"Good God! What's that?" gasped Ancram. A smothered chuckle on the
part of his companions was the first answer.
"The rats are in the trap," said Lamont. "_Were_, rather, because now
they're nowhere; no, nor the trap either."
"Rats? Trap? I don't quite follow, Lamont," said Ancram helplessly,
"Don't you remember wondering what sort of booby trap I was setting?
Well I was rehearsing then with a dummy. After you two had cleared, I
rigged up the real thing, and it consisted of I shouldn't like to say
how many pounds of dynamite. It seems to have answered finely. Only,
Ancram, I shan't be able to entertain you again under my more or less
inhospitable roof for a good long time to come, because my poor old
shack has just been blown off the face of the earth, and with it.
Heaven knows how many Matabele."
"D'you mean to say you've blown up your own house, Lamont?"
"Not me--but the confiding savage who'd called to cut our three throats
while we were asleep--as he thought. We knew he would, and--he did."
"By Jove, what a sell for them! Why, you're a genius, Lamont!"
pronounced Ancram admiringly.
"Anyhow," said Peters, "it's been the saving of our lives so far, for
otherwise, directly they found we weren't in the place, they'd have
started out to look for us. Now they won't, because there'll be few
enough left to do it, and those'll be more'n sick of us by this time."
"It'll be the saving of the lives of a good many white men, when the
news spreads, as it soon will," appended Lamont. "It'll make 'em think
twice before they meddle with houses in future--too much _tagati_ about
the job--and so our fellows will get a show."
He was thinking, too, of the stories he had filled up old Qubani with,
on the Gandela race-course, as to how the ground immediately around the
township was extensively mined; and now this last manoeuvre of his would
go to confirm it. The savage has a holy horror of unseen danger. He
might, indirectly, have been the means of again saving Gandela, at a
very perilous and critical time. Then he fell to wondering whether
Clare Vidal was already away and safe at Buluwayo.
Day broke upon an expanse of wild, hilly country, moderately bushed.
Huge baboons barked at them from their fastnesses among the piles of
craggy boulders which heaved up here and there against a drear and
lowering sky, and which seemed a perfect rookery of predatory birds--
falcons and buzzards and kites--soaring and circling aloft. And now a
halt was called.
"About time too," groaned Ancram. "I don't believe I could have gone a
step farther."
The other two made no comment upon this, but both were thinking the same
thought. A chain is no stronger than its weakest link, and that link in
this chain spelt Ancram. He was dead tired already, he declared, and
his boots were wearing holes in his feet into the bargain. And the
situation was serious enough in itself. They had no doubt but that the
whole native population was up in arms, and here they were, only three,
and afoot at that, in the heart of the hostile ground. True they were
well-armed, and two of them, at any rate, resolute and full of resource;
but even that wouldn't count for much with an entire population against
them.
"Well, see how you feel after a feed, Ancram," said Lamont. "We can
rest here a bit too. In fact, it's none too safe travelling in the
daytime at all."
They were out of the forest belt now, and the spot marked out for their
halt was on the side of a great granite kopje, with long tambuti grass
and acacia growing right up around its base. Hence they could see, and
not be seen. Lamont and Peters took turn about to watch, while the
other two slept. A friendly squabble took place between them as to who
should take first watch, and, as usual in such a case, Peters had to
`obey orders.'
It was a wretched day. The dreary cloudiness had turned to drizzle.
Under ordinary circumstances the prospect of rain would have been heart
rejoicing. Now, with his homestead blown to bits, and no prospect of
returning to his farm, possibly for months, or doing any good with it
when he got there, the watcher was wishing the longed-for rain somewhere
else. In spite of the night's exertions he felt no desire for sleep,
and as he sat there, while the other two snored, gazing forth on the
drear wildness of the scene before him, why was it that his thoughts
should revert so persistently to Clare Vidal? Yet they did. He
recalled that scene on the race-course, and somehow he could remember
every word she had said, and how she had said it. Then that last visit
he had made at Fullerton's, and entirely at her request--what a strange,
witching enchantment had hung around her all the time! She had made
much of him, but in such an insidious and tactful way--what did it all
mean? He had always been a bit of a misogynist, and had looked upon
women and their fascinations with a kind of contemptuous aloofness, only
broken through when he knew and became engaged to Violet Courtland. And
now at last he could dwell upon that day at Courtland Mere without a
stirring of the mind, unless it were a stirring of relief. But--why?
The day wore on, and it was not until late in the afternoon that the
sleepers awoke.
"What's this?" said Peters sharply, sitting upright. "Lamont--what the
devil's this? Here it's nearly time to start again, and you never
turned me out to take my watch. How about your own snooze, eh?"
"Don't want one. You do. So that's all right."
"You needn't kick up such an infernal row, Peters," snapped Ancram,
irritable with fatigue and discomfort, as he rolled over on the other
side and snored afresh.
"Oh, let the wretched devil snooze," said Lamont. "I don't want to. I
couldn't close a peeper if I were paid to."
That night they travelled on again, using extra caution, for they had
got into populated country where there were kraals about. One of these
they came right upon in the darkness, and the deep-toned voices of its
inhabitants came quite clearly to them. Then the furious barking of
dogs, who had heard or scented them, made a lively moment; however,
thanks to the merciful darkness, they were able to withdraw.
At daybreak the following morning they were even more perilously
situated, for the land was flat and sparsely bushed, and it was only by
keeping the cover of an overhung and nearly dry river-bed that they
could find any concealment at all. Moreover, a smoke here and there at
no great distance located a kraal.
"We seem to have got into a beastly dangerous corner," grumbled Ancram.
"When are we going to get to Gandela."
"We'd have got there to-day, only we've come out of our way to warn
Tewson. We'll strike his place directly."
Then Ancram broke forth. So they had come out of their way, and run
their heads into this perilous hobble when by now they might have been
safe and sound at Gandela--and all for this! What had they got to do
with warning other people! Hadn't they enough to do to save their own
lives! Who was this Tewson, when all was said and done? Some beastly
cad, he supposed.
"He's a white man," answered Lamont, "and he's got womenkind and
children at his place."
But Peters was boiling over.
"You infernal, selfish, cowardly swine," he began. "Let me tell you
that we help each other in this country. And if it wasn't that we were
in the hobble we are, I'd have pleasure in punching that silly, selfish,
rattletrap noddle of yours till your own mother wouldn't know it from a
rotten pumpkin."
Let it not be supposed this was all Peters said, but then his remarks
were not for publication--_in toto_, whereas the record of the same--_in
parte_--is.
The fierce tone and threatening attitude cowed Ancram, and he shrunk
back, staring apprehensively.
"Ease off, Peters. Ease off," muttered Lamont. "He doesn't know what
he's talking about. He's half off his chump with tire and scare."
This was no more than the truth. Ancram was almost used up. Totally
unaccustomed to roughing it or swift emergency, physically in the
poorest possible training, his experiences of the last two days--the
sight of bloodshed, the forced marches afoot over rough ground, perils
real or imaginary dogging every step, had about done for him, and had
brought out all the worst that was in him. Peters growled like a savage
dog baffled of a bone, and relapsed into sullen silence.
At no great distance now they made out a homestead, right above the high
river bank. Still and peaceful it looked in the early morning, too
still it seemed to two out of the three, who with a quickening of the
pulses wondered if they were too late. No sign of life was there about
the place. No smoke rose from the chimney, and the native huts behind
the house had a deserted look. Well, the family might have received
warning, and escaped.
But, as they reached the house, any such hope quickly died. A horrible
object met their gaze--the body of a man, a white man, stripped and
frightfully hacked and gashed. Right in front of the door it lay, the
position telling its own tale. The unfortunate man had been attacked by
his treacherous murderers, as all unsuspecting he had stepped forth,
probably to confer with them.
"That's Tewson," pronounced Peters shortly.
A groan drew their attention to Ancram, who was staring at the horrible
sight with a kind of fell fascination. His gaze was livid, and his
hands were working convulsively. There was a glare almost of mania in
his eyes.
"Buck up, Ancram," said Lamont, not unkindly. "You must pull yourself
together, you know. This is the first, but I'm afraid not the last
sight of the kind we shall see before we are through with this tangle.
Here, have some of this," producing his flask.
Peters and Lamont were looking at each other, and again the same thought
was in both their minds. Here lay the poor remains of Tewson himself,
but his household consisted of his wife, her sister, and three or four
children. What lay behind that door?
It had to be done. As the door was opened, both men instinctively
started back, then, rallying, they entered. In less than a minute they
returned to the open air, almost reeling, and from the faces of these
two strong, resourceful, resolute men every vestige of colour had faded.
They had looked upon bloodshed and death before, as we know, had grown
inured to horrible sights; but that of white women and children,
literally cut into pieces, had been reserved for them until now.
"No, you'd better not see it, Ancram," warned Lamont, putting forth a
restraining hand. "There's no necessity for you to. Peters, one of us
must go in there again. The time's important--the time it occurred, you
know. We might find some clue."
Peters nodded, and they entered together. There was a clue. On a
side-table was the beginning of a letter, which looked as if one of the
wretched women had been interrupted while writing. It was spattered
with blood.
"It's dated the day before yesterday," said Lamont; "the day we were
attacked. Good Lord! I wish when we set our trap then we had put
enough stuff to blow every one of those Matabele devils to his own
place, instead of a dozen or so."
"Amen," said Peters.
It never occurred to either of them that their wish had been very nearly
fulfilled.
"Well, we'd better get into Gandela as soon as we can and give the
alarm. They won't laugh this time, unfortunately. After that I, for
one, am going where I can shoot as many of these devils as it is
possible to shoot."
"Same here," said Peters. "No quarter, either."
These two men, you see, were changed now. Far from cruel or merciless
by disposition, they had looked upon a sight which should render them
both, as similar sights did many another in the early days of that
wholly unprepared-for outbreak.