By sundown Renshaw was in the heart of the mountains. And now, as his
steed's gait warned him, it was time to off-saddle again. The river lay
below, about a hundred yards from the road. Dismounting, he led his
horse down through the thick bush, and removing the saddle, but not the
bridle, which latter he held in his hand, allowed the animal to graze
and get somewhat cooler before drinking. Then, saddling up again, he
regained the road.
The latter was in most parts very bad, as it wound its rugged length
through a savage and desolate _poort_ or defile, which in itself was one
long ambuscade, for thick bush grew up to the very roadside, in places
overhanging it. The sun had set, but a lurid afterglow was still
reflected upon the iron face of a tall krantz, which, rising from the
steep forest-clad slope, cleft the sky. Great baboons, squatted on high
among the rocks, sent forth their deep-chested, far-sounding bark, in
half-startled, half-angry recognition of the presence of their natural
enemy--man; and, wheeling above the tree-tops, ascending higher and
higher in airy circles to their roost among the crags, floated a pair of
_lammervangers_ [A species of black eagle] whose raucous voices rang out
in croaking scream over the glooming depths of the lone defile like the
weird wailing of a demoniac.
Darkness fell, for there is no twilight to speak of beneath the Southern
Cross, and the dull, dead silence of the mighty solitude was unbroken,
save for the hoarse roar of the river surging through its rocky channel,
and the measured hoof-beats of the horse. And as he urged the animal on
through the gloom all Renshaw's apprehensions seemed to renew themselves
with tenfold intensity. The appalling details of the gruesome tragedy
chased each other through his mind in all their red horror, and his
overwrought brain would conjure up the most grisly forebodings. What if
he should arrive too late! Those unprotected women helpless at the
mercy of these fiends, red-handed from the scene of their last ruthless
crime, devils incarnate let loose upon the earth, their lives forfeit,
the noose ready for their necks, their only object to perpetrate as many
hideous infamies as possible before meeting the doom that would sooner
or later be theirs! No wonder the man's brain seemed on fire.
The road took a sudden trend downwards. The river must be crossed here.
The drift was a bad one in the daytime, at night a dangerous one. But
the latter consideration, far from daunting him, rather tended to brace
Renshaw's nerves. Warily he urged his horse on.
The water was up to the saddle-flaps--then a step deeper. The horse,
now almost swimming, snorted wildly as the roaring whirling flood
creamed around him in the starlight. But the rider kept him well by the
head, and in a trice he emerged panting and dripping on the other side.
Suddenly in front from the bush fringing the road there flashed forth a
faint spark, as of a man blowing on a burnt stick to light his pipe.
All Renshaw's coolness returned, and gathering up his reins, he prepared
to make a dash for it. Then the spark floated straight towards him,
and--he laughed at his fears. It was only a firefly. On still. He
would soon be there now. Another drift in the river--splash--splash--
out again--still onward.
Suddenly the horse pricked forward his ears and began to snort uneasily.
Now for it! Still it might be only a leopard or a snake. But all
doubt was speedily nipped in the bud by a harsh voice, in Dutch, calling
upon him to stop.
Peering forward into the darkness, he made out two figures--one tall,
the other short. They were about a dozen yards in front, and were
standing in the middle of the road as though to bar his passage. There
was no leaving the road, by reason of the bush which lined it on either
side in a dense, impenetrable thicket.
This was by no means Renshaw Fanning's first experience of more or less
deadly peril, as we have already shown, and his unswerving coolness
under such circumstances was never so consummately in hand as now, when
not merely his own life, but the lives of others dearer to him still,
were in the balance. His mind was made up in a flash.
"Clear out, or I'll shoot you dead," he answered, in the same language,
whipping out his pipe-case, and presenting it pistol fashion at the
shorter of the two men, who was advancing as if to seize his bridle.
The resolute attitude, the quick, decisive tone, above all perhaps the
click, strongly suggestive of cocking, which Renshaw managed to produce
from the spring of the implement, caused the fellow instinctively to
jump aside. At the same time came a flash and a stunning report.
Something hummed overhead, and most unpleasantly near. The other man
had deliberately fired at him.
Then Renshaw did the best thing he could under the circumstances. He
took the bull by the horns.
He put his horse straight at his assailant, at the same time wrenching
off his stirrup--no mean weapon at a push. But the fellow, losing
nerve, tried to dodge. In vain. The horse's shoulder hit him fair and
sent him floundering to earth; indeed, but for the fact that the animal,
frenzied with fright, swerved and tried to hang back, he would have been
trampled underfoot.
Again Renshaw did the best thing he could. Mastering a desire to turn
and brain the ruffian before he could rise, he rammed the spurs into his
horse's flanks and set off down the road at a hard gallop; not, however,
before he was able to recognise in his assailants a Hottentot and a
Bastard. Luckily, too, for three more flashes belched forth from the
hillside a little way above the scene of the conflict, but the bullets
came nowhere near him. Then upon the still silence of the night he
could hear other and deeper tones mingling with the harsh chatter of his
late assailants. There was no mistaking those tones. They issued from
Kafir lips. He had walked into the very midst of the cut-throat gang
itself--had come right through it.
Then the question arose in his mind, would they pursue him? He was
certain they had no horses, but he had still about four miles to go, and
his own steed was beginning to show signs of distress. The fleet-footed
barbarians could travel almost as fast on two legs as he could on four.
They might pursue him under cover of the bush and converge upon his line
of flight at any moment. And then his heart sank within him as he
thought of a certain steep and very stony hill which still lay between
him and his journey's end.
How his ears were strained; how every faculty was on the alert to almost
agonising pitch as, peering back into the silence of the gloom, he
strove to catch the faintest sound which should tell of pursuit.
"Up, old horse! Nearly home now!"
The dreaded hill was reached. Minutes seemed hours to the rider, till
at length its crest was gained. Then far below in front there twinkled
forth a light, and then another. The sight sent a surging rush of
relief through Renshaw's heart.
"Thanks be to God and all the blessed and glorious company of heaven,"
he murmured reverently, raising his hat.
For he knew that those lighted windows would not have shone so
peacefully had any red horrific tragedy been there enacted.
He was yet in time.