"ONWARD THEY PLY--IN DREADFUL RACE."
The Kafirs, with their spoil, had disappeared, and on the pursuers
gaining the ridge, there seemed, as Hoste had suggested, a pretty good
chance of losing them altogether; for the mere depression of the ground
down which they were racing, narrowed and deepened into a long, winding
valley, thickly overgrown with mimosa bushes and tall grass. The
marauders could now be seen straining every nerve to gain this--with
their booty, if possible--if not, without it. Every shouted summons to
them to stand or be shot seemed only to have the effect of causing them
to redouble their efforts--winding in and out among the grass and
thorn-bushes with the rapidity of serpents.
The pursuers were gaining. Rough and tangled as the ground now became,
the speed of horses was bound to tell in the race. A few moments more
and the spoil would be theirs. Suddenly, but very quietly, Eustace
said:
"I say, you fellows--don't look round, but--turn your horses' heads and
ride like the devil! _We are in a trap_!"
The amazed, the startled look that came upon the faces of those three
would have been entertaining in the extreme, but for the seriousness of
the occasion. However, they were men accustomed to critical situations.
Accordingly, they slackened, as directed, and suddenly headed round
their horses as if they had decided to abandon the pursuit.
Not a minute too soon had come Eustace's discovery and warning. Like
the passing movement of a sudden gust, the grass and bushes rustled and
waved, as a long line of ambushed savages sprang up on either side, and
with a wild and deafening yell charged forward upon the thoroughly
disconcerted and now sadly demoralised four.
The Kafirs had been lying hidden in horseshoe formation. Had our
friends advanced a hundred yards further their doom would have been
sealed. They would have been hemmed in completely. Happily, however,
when Eustace uttered his warning, they had not quite got between the
extremities of the "shoe."
As it stood, however, the situation was appalling to the last degree.
Terrified to madness, the horses became almost unmanageable, rearing and
plunging in a perfect frenzy, of fear, and it was all that their riders
could do to steer them through the bristling thorn-bushes, a single
plunge into one of which would, at the rate they were going, hurl both
steed and rider to the earth. And, again, the wild war-cry pealed
through the valley, and every bush and tussock of grass seemed to _grow_
enemies--seemed to swarm with dark, sinuous forms, to blaze with the
gleam of assegai blades and rolling eyeballs. The race for spoil had
become a race for life.
There had been barely a hundred yards between them and their assailants
when the latter first sprang up, and this distance had alarmingly
decreased, for the nature of the ground, rough and overgrown with long,
tangled grass, and the fact that they were being forced up-hill, tended
to neutralise whatever advantage might lie with the mounted men.
Moreover the horses, in no small degree blown after their recent spurt,
were not at their best, whereas the Kafir warriors, active, hard as
iron, had the advantage on that rough ground. On they pressed--their
lithe, sinuous, ochre-greased bodies flashing through the grass like
serpents--whooping, shouting, rending the air with their shrill,
ear-splitting war-whistles. Although many of them had guns, yet not a
shot was fired. Either those who led did not care to waste time in
stopping to aim, and those who were behind feared to injure their
friends in front; or for some reason of their own they were anxious to
capture the white men alive. On it sped, that fearful race, the
pursuers slowly but surely gaining. And now, from the swarming numbers
of the main body, "horns" began to spread out at an angle to the line of
flight as though to close up and intercept them further on, at some
point best known to themselves.
It was a case of every man for himself. Hoste and Payne had gained some
slight start, Eustace and Carhayes bringing up the rear. The latter,
gripping his revolver, was in the act of delivering a shot into the
thick of a mass of warriors who had raced up to within ten yards of
them, when his horse stumbled. The animal had put its foot into an
ant-bear hole concealed in the long grass. Down it came, plunging
heavily forward on its nose, and shooting its rider over its head.
A deafening roar of exultation went up from the pursuers as they flung
themselves upon Carhayes. Still, half-stunned as he was, the desperate
pluck of the unfortunate man caused him to make an effort to rise. Only
an effort though. As he rose to his knees he was beaten to the ground
in a moment beneath the savage blows of the kerries of his assailants.
Eustace heard the crash of the fall, and turning his head, in spite of
the deadly risk he ran in suffering his attention to wander from his own
course even for a second, he took in the whole scene--the crowd of
whooping, excited barbarians, clustering round the fallen man, assegais
and kerries waving in the air, then the dull, sickening sound of blows.
And even in that moment of deadly peril, his own fate as hopeless as
that of the slain man, a thrill of fierce exultation shot through him.
Fortune had once more played into his hands. Eanswyth was his. He had
got his second chance. This time it was out of his power to throw it
away even had he wished to do so. Still--the mockery of it! It had
come too late.
Meanwhile, Payne and Hoste, being the best mounted, had obtained some
little start, but even upon them the extended lines of the fierce
pursuers were beginning to close.
"Now, George--both together! Let 'em have it!" yelled Hoste, pointing
his revolver at the foremost of a mass of Kafirs who were charging in
upon them on his side. The ball sped. The savage, a tall, sinewy
warrior, naked as at his birth save for a collar of jackals' teeth and a
leather belt round his waist, leaped high in the air and fell stone
dead, shot through the heart. At the same time Payne's pistol spoke,
and another barbarian fell, his knee shattered by the bullet. Crack!
and down went another while in the act of poising his assegai for a
fling.
"Up-hill work, but nearly through!" cried Payne as he dropped another of
the pursuers in his tracks. The frightened steeds, with ears thrown
back and nostrils distended, tugged frantically at their bits as they
tore along, but the agile barbarians seemed to keep pace with them,
though they refrained from again attempting to close. But now they
began to throw their assegais. One of these grazed Payne's shoulder and
stuck fast in the ground in front, quivering nervously. Another scored
the flank of Hoste's horse, causing the poor animal to snort and bound
with the sharp pain. Another stuck into Payne's boot, while a fourth
hit Hoste fair between the shoulders, but having been hurled at long
range and being withal a somewhat blunt weapon, it failed to penetrate
the stout cord jacket.
"Devilish good shot, that," remarked the target. "But I say, George,
where are the other fellows?"
"Dunno! It's a case of every man for himself now, and all his work cut
out at that."
All this had been the work of but a few minutes, and now the brow of the
hill was reached. A furious and bitter curse burst from the pair.
For on the plain beneath, converging upon their line of flight in such
wise as to meet and utterly cut them off, extended two strong bodies of
the enemy. These had circled round the hill, while the fugitives had
been forced to the top of it, and now they would join hands before the
latter could hope to pass through the rapidly closing circle.
"Through them, George. It's our only show!" cried Hoste. And with the
reins gripped in his left hand and his revolver in his right, he sat
down to his saddle for the last and final charge. It was a wildly
exciting moment--the issues, life or death.
The lines were rapidly closing in. With maddened yells and assegais
uplifted, the Kafir warriors were straining every effort to complete
that fatal circle. A few yards more--twenty--ten! it was done. They
were hemmed in.
But the headlong, dashing valour of the two men stood them well. Not a
moment did they pause. With a wild shout Hoste put his horse straight
at a huge barbarian who strove to stop him--knocking the savage
sprawling, and through the opening thus breached the two horsemen shot
like an arrow from the bow, and having the advantage of a down-hill
course they left the fierce and yelling crowd behind in a trice. Far
from safe were they yet. A hole concealed in the grass--a strained
sinew--a hundred unforeseen circumstances--and they would be at the
mercy of their merciless foes.
And now the latter began to open fire upon them, and the crackle of the
volley behind mingled with the ugly hum of missiles overhead and around.
"_Allamaghtaag_! My horse is hit!" exclaimed Payne, feeling the animal
squirm under him in a manner there was no mistaking.
"So?" was the concerned reply. "He's got to go, though, as long as you
can keep him on his legs. If we can't reach the river, or at any rate
the thick bush along it, we're done for."
They turned their heads. Though beyond the reach of their missiles now,
they could see that the Kafirs had by no means relinquished the pursuit.
On they came--a dense, dark mass streaming across the plain--steady of
cruel purpose--pertinacious as a pack of bloodhounds. Hoste's steed was
beginning to show ominous signs of exhaustion, while that of his
companion, bleeding freely from a bullet hole in the flank, was liable
to drop at any moment. And the welcome bush was still a great way off--
so, too, was the hour of darkness.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile Eustace, spurring for dear life, realised to the bitter full
that the terrible event which, in spite of himself, he had so ardently
desired, could be of no benefit to him now. For he knew that he was
doomed. Nothing short of a miracle could save his life--which is to
say, nothing could. The very earth seemed to grow enemies. Behind,
around, in front, everywhere, those cat-like, sinuous forms sprang up as
if by magic. Suddenly his bridle was seized. A mass of warriors
pressed around him, assegais raised. Quick as thought he pointed his
revolver at the foremost, and pressed the trigger; but the plunging of
his horse nearly unseated him, and the ball whistled harmlessly over the
Kafir's shoulder. At the same time a blow on the wrist knocked the
weapon from his grasp. He saw the gleam of assegai points, the deadly
glare of hatred in the sea of rolling eyes closing in upon him. Then a
tall warrior, springing like a leopard, struck full at his heart with a
large, broad-bladed assegai.
It was done like lightning. The flash of the broad blade was in his
eyes. The blow, delivered with all the strength of a powerful, muscular
arm, descended. A hard, numbing knock on the chest, a sharp, crashing
pain in the head--Eustace swayed in his saddle, and toppled heavily to
the earth. And again the fierce death-shout pealed forth over the wild
_veldt_, and was taken up and echoed in tones of hellish exultation from
end to end of the excited barbarian host.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night has melted into dawn; the dawn into sunrise. The first rays
are just beginning to gild the tops of the great krantzes overhanging
the Hashi. At the foot of one of these krantzes lies the motionless
figure of a man. Dead? No, asleep. Slumbering as if he would never
wake again.
There is a faint rustle in the thick bush which grows right up to the
foot of the krantz--a rustle as of something or somebody forcing a way
through--cautiously, stealthily approaching the sleeper. The latter
snores on.
The bushes part, and a man steps forth. For a moment he stands,
noiselessly contemplating the prostrate figure. Then he emits a low,
sardonic chuckle.
At the sound the sleeper springs up. In a twinkling he draws his
revolver, then rubs his eyes, and bursts into a laugh.
"Don't make such a row, man," warns the new arrival. "The bush may be
full of niggers now, hunting for us. We are in a nice sort of a hole,
whichever way you look at it."
"Oh, we'll get out of it somehow," is Hoste's sanguine reply. "When we
got separated last night, I didn't know whether we should ever see each
other again, George. I suppose there's no chance for the other two
fellows?"
"Not a shadow of a chance. Both wiped out."
"H'm! Poor chaps," says Hoste seriously. "As for ourselves, here we
are, stranded without even a horse between us; right at the wrong end of
the country; hostile niggers all over the shop, and all our fellows gone
home. Bright look out, isn't it!"
"We are two fools," answers Payne sententiously.