"Do you really wish me to?"
"Certainly I do."
Then she complied without another word.
"Cheer up, Lucy, we are safe now," she said to her sister. "Mr Lamont
has come up just in the nick of time."
"The nick of time indeed," was the shuddering answer. "If he hadn't we
should have been dead by now." And she shivered again.
"A miss is as good as a mile, Mrs Fullerton," said Wyndham cheerily.
"That was a near thing, but our time hasn't come yet. Gee-yup!"
He had managed to knock a sort of jaded amble out of the dispirited
mules. The relieving force, divided into two, was advancing through the
bush and long grass on either side of the waggon--in open skirmishing
order: Peters, by tacit consent, being in virtual command of one. Every
man was keenly on the alert, and the faintest movement in the grass or
bush would bring rifle or pistol to the ready.
"Lamont," said Fullerton gravely, as they thus moved forward, "I don't
want to go through such another experience. That's the very closest
thing I've ever been in or ever expect to be. It'd have been bad
enough, but the consciousness that the wife and Clare were in for it
too--eugh! it was awful! And _you_ got us out."
Lamont frowned.
"You'll excuse my saying so, Fullerton, but how you could be such a
bedevilled idiot as to start across country at this time of day, with
two helpless women and a handful of police, bangs me I own."
"Helpless women!" echoed Fullerton. "Not much of the `helpless' woman
about Clare, I can tell you. Why, she accounted for more niggers than I
did, with that pistol you gave her. But why didn't you warn us if you
were in the know?"
"I did, and nobody more than half believed me--some not even that."
"I know now what you did on the day of the race meeting, Lamont," said
Fullerton gravely. "I consider we all owe our lives to you, and I, for
one, want to apologise sincerely for having misunderstood you--"
But his words were cut short. Lamont had risen in his stirrups and,
swift as thought, discharged his revolver. Fullerton had a quick
glancing vision of the head and shoulders of a savage twenty yards
distant above the tall grass, and of the flinging aloft of black hands,
and the upturned roll of white eyeballs, as, struck full and fair in the
chest, the warrior fell backward with a crash. At the same time the hum
of missiles overhead, and the report of firearms--but--not those of the
force.
"This is a fresh crowd," he cried. "Those who tackled us first hadn't a
gun among them."
Then, from among the grass and bushes, dark forms arose, and the spurt
of smoke and the `whigge' of great clumsy missiles accompanied the
appearance of each. But there were cool heads and fine shots among
those white men, and the dusky barbarian found in a surprisingly short
space of time that even momentary exposure meant almost certain death.
Moreover, from the hurry and flurry of it, all untrained to quick
shooting as he was, he could take no aim, and sent his bullet humming
away harmlessly to high heaven. Fortunately, too, the outfit had got
beyond the valley, and here in the open ground there was no elevated
point of vantage whence it could be raked.
Yet the situation was becoming serious. Heartened by their
reinforcement, and the moral effect of knowing that they, too, were
returning the fire of the Amakiwa, though as yet harmlessly, the
original attacking force was pressing forward under cover of the firing
and confusion, swarming up stealthily in the bush and long grass,
preparing for a final and decisive rush. But somehow that rush never
quite came off. The fire of those cool, experienced whites was too
determined, too hot, too deadly. Moving with judgment and rapidity, the
mounted men would dart right up to any massing of the dark crowd, and
pouring their fire literally into their faces would break up any attempt
at an organised charge. But they did not come off unscathed. Three
were wounded at close quarters, two had their horses stabbed right under
them, but with unfailing cool-headedness and magnificent valour these
were kept from falling into the hands of the savages.
For half an hour this continued, and indeed it seemed as though some
supernatural power was aiding that mere handful of men against swarming
odds, as with brain dizzy and the whole world seeming to grow glistening
leaping bodies and gleaming blades and great waving shields, the air to
buzz with the vibrating war-hiss--that handful fought its way step by
step.
The red sun had just touched the far skyline when the assailants
slackened, then drew off, and there--not half a mile distant--rose the
substantial stockade of the Kezane Store. A ringing cheer went up, and
even the played-out mules snuffed the air and pricked up their ears, and
pulled forward with a will.
The long, hard, running fight--valiantly fought--was over, and there in
front lay rest and safety--for a time.