"WHERE IS HE?"
Clare Vidal's beautiful eyes are strained upon the farthest limits of
vision in a certain direction, and, not for the first time, the thought
rather than the utterance, expressed by these three words, passes
through her mind--
"Where is he?"
The day is one of cloudless beauty. With the arrival--the timely
arrival--of the relieving force an hour or so ago, the mist had suddenly
rolled back; retreating as though still to curtain their flight,
simultaneously with the demoralised Matabele. The said relieving
force--which was made up of a company of Green's Scouts, and a number of
mounted men who had volunteered to patrol the Buluwayo road, and warn
and assist all who should be in danger--had forthwith started in hot
pursuit. They were going to keep that impi on the run, they declared,
even if it had to run to--well, a certain place that shall be nameless,
but which is popularly understood to lie within the torrid zone. With
them had gone Lamont. Clare was a little sore at heart, a little
reproachful, as she stood there outside the stockade, gazing wistfully
out over the roll of the veldt. Why had he left her just then? There
was no necessity for it. Had he not borne himself as a very hero in
that awful fight which seemed to have lasted a year, though in point of
actual time it lasted considerably less than an hour; what necessity
then could there be for him to give further evidence of his prowess?
They two had but been snatched back from the portal of Death, had even
felt his cold blast together--why then, could he not have remained by
her at such a moment? For the life of her she could not but feel
conscious of a certain soreness.
Since the relief Clare had been by no means idle; for, conquering her
natural repulsion towards wounds and death, she had been rendering the
surgeon very practical assistance, and incidentally, but all
unconsciously, had gone far towards implanting in poor Strange's system
a wound which only time might avail to heal. Her quick aptitude,
however, atoned for her lack of experience, to a quite astonishing
degree, and Strange expressed considerable scepticism as to her never
having undergone any training. Lucy Fullerton, utterly worn out with
the exhaustion of terror, had fallen sound asleep through the sheer
reaction of relief; which was as well, for it may be imagined that the
relics of such a struggle as this had been consisted largely of ghastly
and horrifying sights meeting the eye at every turn. These, however,
had been minimised, and the enemy's dead had been dragged off to a
sufficient distance as to be invisible.
Their own dead had been cared for, and the wounded made as comfortable
as the circumstances of the place would admit; this it turned out was
beyond what might have been expected, for the Kezane Store was
exceedingly well supplied with most necessaries; and fortunate indeed
that it was so, for there had been grave danger of ammunition giving out
during the battle. It must not be supposed, either, that the place was
left to take its chance, practically undefended, for over and above its
original defenders quite a number of the relieving force, whose horses
were not up to further calls upon speed and endurance, had remained
behind.
"You must have had the very devil of a scrap, Peters," one of these was
saying. "We could hear you banging away from the time you began, and
pushed our gees for all they'd carry; for we reckoned all that shooting
meant a big thing and no bally skirmish. The cream of the fun was when
we got in among the niggers in the mist. They didn't know we were there
till we got cracking away right in their faces, or mostly backs.
_Magtig_! didn't they skip. But--I say though--what old powder magazine
was it that you blew up just before we got here? Man! it nearly knocked
us all down."
The explanation of Grunberger's ingenious device raised a great laugh,
and many were the felicitations showered upon that estimable Teuton.
"I say, Wyndham," another was saying. "What on earth could have
possessed you and Fullerton to start tooling your team off into the very
teeth of hell let loose, in the confiding, childlike way you seem to
have done?"
"We didn't know hell _was_ let loose, that's the explanation. But
Lamont went for us on exactly the same terms."
"Lamont? Is he with you then?"
"I should say so. Why, he's been bossing up the whole show. If it
hadn't been for him we'd have gone under long before we got here."
"So? Then you've got a right good man, that's all. I was out with him
in '93. He's a tiger in a fight."
"Seems to be," said Wyndham drily. "You'd think he'd had enough of that
sort of thing day before yesterday, and this morning, to last him at any
rate for a day or two, and now instead of having a quiet smoke and a
cool drink, like a rational Christian, he must race off along with your
crowd to contract for some more knocks. Silly ass!"
"There's something in it when you put things that way. But--I say.
Who's the lady?"
"Where?" following his glance. "Oh, that's Miss Vidal, Fullerton's
sister-in-law."
"So! By Jove! what a fine-looking girl. Oh! oh!--Wyndham, you
deep-down dog! So that's where the little venture in charioteering came
in, eh? I see."
"Shut up, Selby, and don't be a silly ass," answered Wyndham shortly.
"I hate that sort of chaff, you know."
"Oh, all right, old man. Keep your shirt in," was the good-humoured
rejoinder.
"I think I'll go and talk to Miss Vidal now," said Wyndham, just a
trifle self-consciously. "By Jove! she has been plucky throughout all
this."
"So? Well, good luck, old man."
Clare had returned to her post of observation outside, but there was
still no sign of the returning pursuit: and now a dire heart-sinking
began to take the place of her former resentment. She looked at her
watch. They had been away an hour nearly. Surely the work of
completing the rout should have been over by that time. They should be
returning, and there was one whom she would scold--scold gently--for
having gone with them. No. She believed she would not scold him at
all. It would be all too sufficing to behold him once more safe and
sound.
"Taking a morning constitutional, Miss Vidal? Well, it has turned out a
lovely day, hasn't it?" And Wyndham, conscious of the banality of the
remark, felt rather foolish.
She turned, but she was hardly listening to him. Why did they not come
back? ran her thoughts. Had they, rendered reckless by success, pursued
the fleeing enemy too far? The force which had attacked them was a
strong one--strong and daring. What if it had recovered from its first
wild panic? What if it had rallied, and shown a sudden change of front
to its pursuers? What if the latter had straggled and been cut off in
detail by the vengeful savages; all of which reduced to detail meant:
What if one of them had?
"What do you think, Mr Wyndham?" she said suddenly. "Why are they so
long away?"
Wyndham was no fool, and apart from what he had heard hinted at--albeit
always in a kindly and good-natured way--would have had no difficulty in
putting two and two together.
"Don't you be anxious, Miss Vidal," he said. "Those men are a
hard-bitten lot, and not in the least likely to be led into any booby
trap."
"You think so?" she queried, speaking quickly.
"I'm sure of it. Ah--Look there. See? I was right. Here they come."
Her face lighted up in a way that cost poor Wyndham something of a pang.
It was even as he had said. Away over the nearly flat landscape
figures were moving--horsemen. As they drew nearer it could be seen
that they were split up in irregular groups, and were riding leisurely.
"Mr Wyndham, will you do me a very great favour?" she went on, speaking
quickly. "Do get me those binoculars some of you were looking through
yesterday."
"Certainly I will. Grunberger has a good pair."
He was back at her side in a minute. What horrible presentiment or
instinct was it that caused Clare's hands to tremble as she put the
glasses to her eyes, so that she could scarcely see anything through
them? With an effort she controlled her excitement. The horsemen were
much nearer now, and she could make out they were quite unconcerned, and
seemed to be chatting and laughing together. Clearly, then, nothing had
gone wrong, and there had been no casualties.
To that extent relieved she brought the glasses to bear upon group after
group, but still they failed to reveal--one.
"Where is he?" she repeated, speaking unconsciously half aloud.
"Let me look, Miss Vidal," said Wyndham, tactfully facing the situation.
Then, as she surrendered the glasses to him, a rapid, but careful
scrutiny convinced him that among those now approaching Lamont was not.
"Don't be anxious, Miss Vidal," he said. "There may be others coming on
behind. In fact, there are sure to be."
But as the mounted men drew near, the veldt between them and the
farthest line of vision spread undisturbed by other mounted figures--
no--nor did the widest scrutiny in any direction reveal any sight of
such. What did it mean?
"Keep yourself in hand, Miss Vidal, whatever you do," said Wyndham
concernedly, as he noted how ashy pale the beautiful face had grown.
"I'll find out about this."
In a very short time the whole troop had mustered. The men were in high
spirits. They had driven the enemy before them for miles, they
reported, and had made still greater holes in their numbers. They had
broken up that impi most effectually, and taught the rebels a lesson
they wouldn't forget for a long day to come. Lamont? Oh, he had last
been seen away on the right flank with about a dozen men riding down the
enemy for all they were worth. The mist was rather thick up where they
were, which was at the foot of a range of low hills. He'd turn up
directly, they held. Turn up! Rather! Of course he would, and report
a record bag, too. Lamont was an old campaigner and a knowing one.
There need be no anxiety about him. And then all hands, having attended
to their horses, turned to and assailed their well-earned refreshment
with a whole-heartedness that left nothing to be desired.
"There need be no anxiety about him." Thus the cheerful dictum! Need
there not? But to one there, at any rate, `anxiety about him' turned to
something like anguish, as the morning wore on, and still he did not
appear. It needed all of Clare Vidal's splendid pluck and self-command
to conceal her terrible anxiety. To those nearest to her, she could no
longer keep her secret by reason of it; no longer, indeed, did she care
to.
"Oh, it'll be all right, Clare," said Fullerton, cheerfully and
good-naturedly, when appealed to. "You've seen what Lamont's made of,
and you bet he won't enjoy being fussed after by women when he's got a
bit of sharpish work in hand." In despair she turned to Wyndham.
"Do help me," she pleaded. "If you won't I'll go alone. Get some of
the men who last saw him--them--and make a thorough search. Who knows
what may have happened. I will go with you. I can borrow Mrs
Grunberger's side-saddle."
"I'll do what I can, Miss Vidal, but only on condition that you remain
here."
"But--I can't. I can't."
"But you must," he answered firmly. "Just think. You'd be far more of
a hindrance than a help. And we can't do with hindrances."
She gave way, and Wyndham set to work to organise a search or a relief,
as the case might be. There was no lack of volunteers. The troop was
mustered, and it was found that besides Lamont there were seven men
missing. And now for the first time something like a feeling of blank
uneasiness spread through the whole force.
Was there ground for it? We shall see. Some three hours earlier Lamont
and a mere handful of men were pursuing a disorganised mass of the
fleeing Matabele. The latter were thoroughly demoralised;
panic-stricken beyond all thought--and seemingly, all power--of
resistance. They would allow themselves to be shot down as they ran,
sullenly, doggedly, not even begging for quarter; and little mercy had
the avengers on the murderers and mutilators of women and children. The
horses were getting blown, and then it occurred to Lamont that he was
allowing his excitement to outstrip his prudential instincts. Quietly
he conveyed the recommendation to retire--he could not give an order,
for none of these were his own men.
Some of them acted upon it, and some did not. And then as the former
reined in their panting steeds, an unpleasant discovery was made. In
the eagerness of the pursuit they had wandered afield. They made out,
as well as the mist would allow, that they had got among hills, and
assuredly, judging by the entire absence of sound, they had got right
away from the main body. In short they did not know where they were,
and until the mist should lift did not know whether to bear to the right
or the left. The situation was growing awkward.
And to render it more awkward still, they could hear the savages calling
to one another on either side of and rather above them. This looked as
though the weakness of the party had been discovered. And just then, a
curtain of mist rolled backward and upward, revealing granite-strewn
slopes, and along them, resting after their wild and headlong flight,
crouched masses of armed warriors. These, seeing the mere handful of
whites, sprang up immediately and came for them, uttering wild yells.
But not at once did they close. This might be but the advance party of
the force which had meted out to them such terrible punishment, and
might again whirl down upon them in the mist as it had done before. So
they kept a parallel course, as they ran in pursuit, loth to quit the
welcome refuge of rock and boulder in the event of surprise.
The party now realised that it was in a tight place. The horses were
far from fresh, and the fleet-footed savages could keep pace with them
on the upper slopes. Even then all might have turned out well, but the
mist, which had befriended them by concealing their weakness, now lifted
entirely, dispelled by a brilliant flash of sunlight. In a few moments
the whole situation stood revealed. They were in a sort of labyrinth
between low stony kopjes, and not one of the main body was in sight.
With a very roar of hate and exultation, the whole mass of savages,
realising their helplessness, swept down upon them from both sides.
"Spur up, boys. No time for shooting," cried Lamont, instinctively the
commander. "Spur up! It's our only chance."
They know this, and they do spur up. If the horses had got _anything_
left in them they have to travel now. Again, instinctively, Lamont
holds back to cover the rear, though he could easily have been among the
foremost.
For some minutes this terrible race continues--its prizes dear life; and
now as the ground becomes more level, the horsemen are gaining. Through
the fierce hissing and the thunder of the shouts of the pursuers nothing
else can be heard, and it is literally every man for himself.
In the wild din, we repeat, nothing can be heard, consequently the
residue of the refugees are totally unaware that one among their number
is down, lying pinned to the ground by his horse but otherwise
uninjured, awaiting the spears of hundreds of savages aroused to the
last degree of vengeful exasperation. But such is sadly the case--and
that man is Piers Lamont.