The township of Gandela was practically in a state of siege. Taught
tardy wisdom--providentially not too tardy--by recent happenings, its
authorities had caused a strong laager to be formed, and within this its
inhabitants gathered at night. To those of them who owned stands in
outlying parts of the township this was a considerable disadvantage, for
in the event of attack their property would inevitably be looted and
their houses burnt. Moreover, the accommodation within the laager was
of necessity cramped and comfortless, and involved a considerable amount
of promiscuous `herding,' But in those lurid days, when tale succeeded
tale of treacherous massacre and mutilation throughout the length and
breadth of the land,--unhappily, for the most part true,--when refugees,
singly or in groups, would come panting in with hair-breadth escapes to
narrate, unspeakably glad to have escaped with their bare lives,--when,
at any moment, the Matabele impis might swoop down upon them in such
force as to tax their uttermost resources--why, then, people were not
particular as to a little discomfort more or less.
And of this, in the Gandela laager at any rate, there was plenty.
Transport had been scanty and dear enough, in all conscience, before,
when it was not uncommon for a whole span of oxen to succumb on the road
to the fell rinderpest. Now, since the outbreak, when anything like
regular communication had been cut off--the roads only being kept open
by strong and well-armed patrols and then at the cost of fierce
fighting--the situation at outlying posts such as Gandela became more
than serious. The food supplies threatened to run short. There was not
much fear of any attack in the daytime, or at all events without ample
warning, for the surrounding country was carefully scouted on every
side; and such being the case those who dwelt on the outlying stands
occupied their houses until sundown, when they collected within the
laager. Among such were the Fullertons.
The worthy Dick grumbled terribly; not at the prevailing discomfort, but
that having womenkind to look after he was debarred from joining any
field force--at all events for the present--for the plan which we heard
formulated for the raising of such a force under the command of Lamont
was of necessity in abeyance by reason of the disappearance of the
latter.
Disappearance, indeed, was the word. The men who were with him when
flying for their lives had been utterly unable to tell when or where
they had lost sight of him. They had, however, been able to guide the
relief party under Peters and Wyndham to the place within the hills
where they had been first attacked. But--no trace of him whom they
sought. Farther on, they came upon the bodies of two others of the
stragglers--as usual, hacked and mutilated--those of their horses,
similarly treated, lying hard by. But of Lamont there was absolutely no
trace. He seemed to have disappeared, horse and man.
The situation contained one hopeful feature. If there was no trace of
him in life, equally was there no trace of his death; no blood marks,
such as would probably have been the case. The innumerable footprints
of the pursuing Matabele might have obliterated such, yet it was
improbable that to experienced spoor-readers--and there were several
here--some trace, however faint, should not be discernible; and herein
lay room for hope.
The missing man might be in close hiding among the kopjes. To this end,
Peters and his force spent a long time searching the wild and broken
ground, and, incidentally, shooting an odd Matabele or two engaged in
outlying scouting. But the search proved futile; moreover, a large
impi--far too large for them to engage unless they desired to court
disaster--appeared on their front, effectually barring further advance.
Sorrowfully they returned to the Kezane to report their failure.
That was a day destined to remain engraved in lurid letters on Clare
Vidal's memory as long as she should live. She would not have believed
the human mind to be capable of bearing so acute a stage of anguish as
that which filled hers when the party returned, without--him. But with
her it took no form of tears or hysteria. Pale, stony-eyed, she asked
her questions calmly, and with coolness and acumen. Had they really
searched exhaustively. Was it likely he had been taken prisoner? In a
word--was there any hope?
"There's life, you must remember, Miss Vidal," had answered the officer
in command of the Scouts. "The very fact of finding no trace of him
shows that he was not killed there, at any rate. If he has been
captured--well, prisoners have been known to escape. There have been
instances of such."
"But--not many?"
The other's heart smote him. He had known of cases wherein men had
blown their own brains out rather than accept the chances of life on
such odds. He could only repeat--
"Well, there have been such instances. Natives very rarely take
prisoners at all. The fact that they had not killed Lamont there and
then, and it is certain they had not, seems to show some powerful motive
for sparing his life for the present. And, while there is life--"
"--There is hope. Yes, I know. And now, what is going to be done to
try and save him?"
The other felt troubled, and looked it. His orders were to keep the
road open, and afford escort to such outlying whites as desired to reach
a place of safety. He did not see how he could take his troop off this
duty, to engage in an indefinite search for one man, who would almost
certainly have been murdered long before they should so much as hear of
him--even if they ever did.
"This is one thing that's going to be done, Miss Vidal," cut in Peters.
"I'm going to try and find him,--I for one. Wyndham I know will make
another, and it'll be strange if we don't find a good few more who'll
volunteer."
"I'll go with you," said Clare.
"Excuse me--no. That can't be done, Miss Vidal. It's quite impossible.
Not a man would volunteer on those terms."
She thought a moment. "You are right, Mr Peters. Yes. I see that.
For me there is nothing for it but to--wait. To wait!" she repeated
bitterly.
"And--hope," supplemented Peters. "If any man is going to find out
what's become of Lamont, I'm that man. He almost threw away his life
once to save mine, and now I'll either return with him if he's above
ground or I won't return at all."
This conversation had taken place within the living-room of Grunberger's
house, and now Clare's self-possession utterly gave way. She sank into
a chair, and sobbed.
"Cheer up, Miss Vidal, cheer up," said Peters briskly. "If it's in the
power of mortal man to find Lamont, I'm going to be that man. There's
more'n one could tell you I'm not easy put off a job I once make up my
mind to bring through. I'm not saying it to brag. Now I'm going to
collect as many as I can, and we'll start at dark."
"God will bless you," was all she could say, as she wrung the hard,
gnarled hand of the honest pioneer.
"This is a devilish sad, romantic sort of business," said the officer of
Scouts; for the circumstances of the engagement, thus tragically broken,
were pretty well known now all over the camp. "Lovely girl, too, by
Jove!" Peters nodded. "Good, too," he said. "Good and plucky. She's
the only girl I've ever clapped eyes on good enough for Lamont."
The other smiled half-heartedly. This was a piece of hero worship that
he, naturally, could not enthuse over.
Peters was as good as his word--and that night he, with over twenty men,
well-armed and rationed, started on their quest. The following morning
the Fullertons and Clare Vidal, and the men who had been wounded in the
fight, started in the other direction, that of Gandela to wit, under a
strong escort of Scouts. With them, too, went the storekeeper's family.
Grunberger himself refused to budge, and as it was decided that the
Kezane Store would form a very good base for supplies, and something of
a garrison was left there for the present, there was no need for him to
do so.
"_Ach! so_. We shall haf Zeederberg's coaches outspanning here again
before de month is out," he declared, as he bade them a hearty good-bye.
No obstacles met them on the return trek, but to one at least the scenes
of the former terror and strife were as holy ground as they passed
slowly over them. More than one ghastly trace of that grim running
fight met the eye, but to Clare's mind and to Clare's gaze, there was
only one sight--that of him who had hurried to their rescue, of him whom
she had watched with admiration, yes and love, she knew it now--so
skilfully and intrepidly handling his gallant little force. The horrors
of that day were all merged in this. And in those three short days she
had loved, and lost! No, it would not bear dwelling upon.
How the subsequent days were lived through Clare was never quite sure.
Over and above the poignancy of bereavement an awful depression would
come upon her, and in her dreams she would again see the horrors and
bloodshed she had witnessed--ay, and taken part in; and the savage faces
of those she herself had slain would rise to confront her, glaring
hideously with distorted features and threatening snarl. What was she
expiating, she would wonder, that no peace should be hers either by
night or by day?
If she suffered, it was in silence. Hers was far the stronger mind of
the two, and even to her sister she shrank from laying it entirely open.
Yet her reticence was seen through, and everybody was considerate and
sympathetic. Every scrap of news relating to what was going on in the
field was promptly conveyed to her, all but what she thirsted to hear,
and that was still lacking. Day followed upon day, and the whereabouts
of Peters and his following remained shrouded in a mystery as
impenetrable as that of him whom they sought.
Among those who strove to cheer her up was Driffield the Native
Commissioner, and he in a measure succeeded.
"Don't give up, yet, Miss Vidal," he said, "no, not by any means. I
wish I could bring you round to my belief, and that is that Lamont will
turn up again."
"I wish you could," she answered. "But--time goes on and we hear--
nothing."
"I'm not sure that's against it," returned Driffield. "Lamont was a
peculiar chap--in fact, a very peculiar sort of chap. He was friendly
with Zwabeka's people and with Zwabeka himself. Well, then, it's just
possible some of them may be hiding him away until it's safe to turn him
loose."
"Why do you think that, Mr Driffield?"
"I don't know. It occurs to me as quite within the possibilities. The
great thing is--we know he wasn't killed there, and we know that two
others were. Lamont understands natives thoroughly--I could see that--
and I fancy I know a little about them myself. Look, too, how he
engineered the old witch-doctor the day of the race meeting. That was a
great piece of nerve and gumption combined. By Jove! I shouldn't
wonder in the least if he were to make it worth their while to let him
skip. Somehow I'm almost certain he'll turn up again quite jolly."
"If only I could think so!" she would reply sadly.
Every day she would visit the wounded men, who were lying in a temporary
hospital within the precincts of the laager, and this she never missed.
They had been wounded in her defence, she declared, and anything she
could do to brighten the weariness and pain of their enforced detention
should be done. And brighten it she did, and her daily visit was looked
forward to with such eagerness that more than one poor fellow declared
that it almost made it worth while being knocked out. But Jim Steele
growled mightily.
"To think I should be logged up here, when Peters and the rest are
looking for the captain. These infernal sawboneses are no damn good at
all. Eh, Strange?"
"No? Only to save you by a miracle from having to part with your hoof,
Jim," answered the Buluwayo surgeon tranquilly. "That no good, eh?"
For the other had been shot in the ankle, and had just escaped the
necessity of amputation by something like a miracle, as the doctor had
said.
"Well, get it all right again sharp, that's what I want," growled the
big fellow, who was terribly hipped and impatient under his enforced
rest. "Get me out of this in ten days, Strange, and I'll double your
blooming fees--Dawson's too."
"If you were to multiply them by twenty or twenty hundred, Jim, it
couldn't be done," answered the surgeon tranquilly. "Moreover, not with
my consent, nor Dawson's either,"--the latter was the Gandela
medico,--"do you put that foot to the ground under six weeks. No, it's
no use cussing, none at all. Besides, here's Miss Vidal just coming in,
and she might hear you."
There was one who was variously affected by the disappearance of
Lamont--one of whom we have lost sight of for a little, and that one was
Ancram. When he awoke from his slumber of exhaustion to find the relief
party gone, at first he had affected great concern. Why had not someone
awakened him? Of course he would have joined it. As a matter of fact,
he was overjoyed that no one had, for he had no stomach for fighting,
and had spent the last three days heartily wishing he had taken Lamont's
advice and cleared out of the country in time. More than ever did he
congratulate himself on his escape, when the experiences of the relief
party became known, but it was with dismay that he learned the
disappearance of its leader. For Ancram was getting desperately hard
up, and would soon not know which way to turn. He was not much liked
among those into whose midst he had come. Lamont might have helped
him--probably would--not by reason of what he could tell--the prowess of
the missing man was too much in the air for that--but for old
acquaintance' sake; and now Lamont had disappeared.
The days of that disappearance had just grown into weeks. News would
filter through from outside--of battles fought, of rescues effected; of
losses inflicted upon the savage enemy: but of the missing man, and
those who sought him, came no word, and Clare Vidal, abandoning hope,
could only storm high Heaven with supplication for him, whether in life
or in death.