A Veldt Official Part 21

"You'd better note the lay of the ground well, Musgrave, if you still intend to carry out that lunatic idea of returning alone," said Darrell.

"That's the very thing I have been doing. It's easy country, this of yours, to find one's way about in, Darrell. As for returning alone, I shall have to do that, failing an escort. Can't stretch my rather irregular leave to straining point."

It was late in the afternoon. They were riding along the side of a slope which was irregularly sprinkled with cl.u.s.ters of thick bush.

Below ran a nearly dry river-bed, and beyond this rose a ragged ascent covered with spekboem scrub. Suddenly both men looked at each other, gently checking their steeds.

A sound was heard in front, at first faint, as of the displacement of a stone, then nearer, till it resolved itself into a clink of shod hoofs upon the stony veldt. Then the whistling of a popular air.

"Now what d.a.m.ned fool can this be kicking up all that shillaloo?"

exclaimed Darrell.

The horseman appeared round the corner of a cl.u.s.ter of scrub. On finding himself thus unexpectedly confronted, he reined in instinctively, with a startled movement. Then seeing that the others were friends, he broke into a loud, jolly laugh.

He was a strongly built, broad-shouldered individual, bearded and sunburnt. He was clad in a nondescript uniform coat, cord trousers, and high boots, and on his head a pith helmet surmounted by a spike. He bestrode a powerful chestnut horse with a white blaze. But--and this was the first point that struck these two--he carried no firearm, not even the inevitable revolver, unless it was in his pocket.

"Where's your gun?" said Darrell, with a grin, as soon as the first greetings and explanations were over.

"Haven't got one."

"But haven't you got a revolver?"

"Devil a bit of a revolver. Look here, though, I've got a pipe,"

producing that comforting implement. "Give us a fill."

This was soon done. Then Darrell, whom the situation struck in its wholly comic light, laid his head back and roared.

"You fellows must have swept this side quite clear of Kaffirs--patrolled it within an inch of its life, I suppose--that you can afford to ride about the veldt in dead war-time unarmed?" he said.

The other looked up quickly; an idea seemed to strike him.

"No; now you mention it, this is just the very side that hasn't been much looked after. Let's off-saddle. I want to get to Cathcart before dark."

"See there now, Musgrave," said Darrell. "Here you have a type of the species of lunatic this country can produce. At least, I can't imagine any other turning out a man who might be met with four hours from the Main Camp in a country swarming with hostile Gaikas, armed with nothing but a whip."

"And a pipe," laughed the stranger. "You've forgotten the pipe."

"Well, counting the pipe even. What do you say, Musgrave? Do you know any other part of the world where they manufacture such lunatics?"

"I never heard of any," said Roden gravely.

The jolly stranger laughed, enjoying these comments as the best possible of jokes. They had off-saddled together, and were foregathering after the manner of casually met campaigners. Roden had a very substantial flask which was not half emptied yet, and this was drawn upon for the occasion. Their new acquaintance gave the other two all the latest information. There had been a good deal of patrolling, and taking of stock, and hustling the rebel Gaikas, but just lately not much in the killing line. The Gaikas were rather fighting shy of coming to close quarters, and when run too hard, would retreat across the Kei into Kreli's country only to swarm back again when the coast was clear.

Thus they chatted until it became time to saddle up. But just as the last strap was buckled there rang out the sharp crackle of dropping shots. It came from about half a mile lower down the kloof.

"Hallo!" cried the stranger. "My fellows are having a row with somebody."

"Your fellows? I thought you were alone," said Darrell.

"Pooh! they don't count. Only four chaps going back to their billets.

They've been volunteering and don't like it, so they're going back.

Store-clerks, or something of the kind. A poor lot, anyway. Why, I'm doing escort to them rather than they to me, if anything. Let's go down and see what's the row, anyhow."

As the three, now mounted, made their way down to the scene of strife, the shots, which had ceased for a few moments, rang out again with renewed vigour. From the sound, it was evident that two parties were engaged. Darrell laughed aloud over the delightful prospect of a certain battle, and the stranger, who was unarmed, seemed just as eager to be there as the other two.

"Lend us one of your six-shooters," he said. "I don't suppose they'll come close enough to be hurt by that. Still they might."

This remark was addressed about equally to either. Roden, however, was not over anxious to respond. If this fool chose to ride about without weapons, it was rather too much to expect those who were less idiotic to partially disarm themselves for his benefit. He'd see the fellow hanged before doing anything so feeble, he thought. Darrell, however, handed over his revolver.

Now they came upon the combatants--the white ones, at any rate. In a small ravine, which ran down at right angles to the river-bed, four men were lying behind stones and bushes. Opposite, puffs of blue smoke were issuing from the dense scrub, and the whizzing screech of potleg or slug hummed viciously over the beleaguered four, and unpleasantly near their newly arrived allies.

Clearly, as the stranger had said, his men were not up to much, for, as they lay there behind their scant cover, they were pumping in shots at large, with the whole dense forest-clad slope for a target. For of an enemy, beyond the jetting smoke puffs, and the very unpleasant screech of the missiles overhead, there was no outward and visible sign.

"Cease firing, men!" sang out the strange. "Do you want to use up all your darned ammunition at nothing at all?"

They looked round, evidently relieved at this fresh accession to their very slender fighting strength. And now the firing from the opposite bank suddenly ceased.

The three had secured their horses behind a clump of euphorbia, where they would be protected from stray shots as much as possible. The steeds of the others stood saddled and bridled beside their riders, for the men had been suddenly fired on while advancing along the hillside, and, acting upon their first impulse, had flung themselves from the saddle and rushed into cover. The place was about as bad for defensive purposes as it could well be, for it was commanded at the rear by a horseshoe-like range of rocks.

"A real rotten place to 'stand off' a war-party from," muttered Roden.

Then louder: "Do you see that bare patch of riverbank, Darrell?"

pointing to a rocky shelving bit of shingle just visible where the slope of the hill shut out farther view, some four hundred yards below the left front. "Well, keep your eye brightly upon that, for I have an idea that's where they'll try and cross. Ha! I thought so--" he broke off.

And with the words his piece was at his shoulder, and through the long jagged stream of smoke and flame Darrell could see a dark form leap with extended arms, and fall in a heap upon the spot indicated.

"_Maghtaag_! What a shot!" cried Darrell, amazed at the other's quickness and accuracy of aim.

"That'll hold them back a little," went on Roden rapidly. "Now, you watch all the approaches. I'm going up yonder," pointing to the overhanging ridge. "That's where they'll try next, I know. This isn't the first time I've been in this sort of thing." And before the other could get in a word, he was gone.

Crawling, climbing with the agility of a cat, and the craft of the savages against whom he was pitted, Roden was not long in gaining his self-chosen position. Half-sunk in a cranny, his head hidden by three or four large spiky aloes, he peered forth upon the whole plan of battle. Just then the fire of the concealed Kaffirs broke out afresh, their missiles humming among the rocks beneath.

"That means a change of plan," he said to himself. "They are going to cross below, out of sight, and gain this ridge. Ah!"

Bound the slope of the hill, and invisible to the beleaguered ones, was a drift, with something of a waggon track leading up from it. Into this, dark forms were quickly plunging, one by one, then disappearing in the thorn-brake which lined the river on this side. Quite a number had crossed, and meanwhile the fire in front was being kept up hotter than ever.

The thorn-brake ended about two hundred yards from the crest of the ridge, and that distance of stony open ground had to be pa.s.sed in order to gain the latter. Lying there now, with his finger on the trigger, Roden's glance was fixed upon this area, and there was a hard, set frown upon his brows, as of a man who knew that he had a very stern undertaking indeed upon his hands.

There was a stir on the edge of the thorn-brake; a bird or two dashed out in wild alarm. Then there emerged a crouching shape, followed by another and another. These beckoned backward, and soon others stepped forth, till there must have been a score. Roden's heart beat quick.

This game of hide-and-seek was becoming interesting. It was exciting.

He gazed upon the advancing Kaffirs--brawny, athletic savages, glistening with red ochre. The roll of their white eyeb.a.l.l.s was plainly visible to him as they glided forward a few paces, then halted to listen, then glided on again. There was a gleam of triumph in their cruel eyes, for they knew that, did they once gain that rocky ridge, they would hold the little handful of whites below very much at their mercy. And they were coming straight for it, little knowing the reception that awaited them.

Drawing his breath hard, he still waited, letting them come on nearer and nearer. He did not mean more than he could help of that score of warriors to regain the cover of the thorn strip, and the nearer they were to him, the longer they would take to reach it.

They were now just within a hundred yards. Carefully sighting the foremost, so as to get two in line, he let go. The effect was startling. Of the two warriors, one dropped on his face, stone dead; the other lay kicking and struggling. The survivors sent up a wild yell of dismay and alarm. Some halted for a moment irresolute, while others dropped down flat, even behind mere pebbles, in their instinctive seeking for cover. But immediately a second ball hummed into their midst, drilling through the heart of another, and spinning him round to the earth. Again from the roar on the smoke-crowned ridge came another messenger of death, and at the same time, by way of keeping up the illusion of numbers, though at too long range to take effect, Roden poured his shot-barrel, loaded with a heavy charge of _loepers_, into the disconcerted a.s.sailants. The latter waited no longer. Some leaping and zigzagging to render themselves an uncertain mark, others, gliding and crawling like snakes, they made their way back to the cover they had left, just as fast as they could get there.

Even then they were not all to escape. For he who held that rock-crowned ridge had learned the art of quick-loading, and that in a hard and sharp school. In a twinkling the smoking sh.e.l.l was out of the breech, and a fresh cartridge in its place; in less than a twinkling an unerring sight was again taken, and an enemy fell. Two more were dropped before the security of the thorns was gained, one dead, the other badly wounded.

The crisis over, Roden's pulse began to beat with excitement. He had driven back a score of enemies with the loss of a quarter of their number, in something less than three minutes; he--single-handed. He had saved the position, and, in all human probability, the lives of his companions. No wonder he felt a little excited. And then immediately he became deadly cool.

Was it instinct--second sight--what? Wheeling round, with lightning rapidity, he discharged his piece almost without aiming. The glistening, sinuous frame of a savage heaved itself up from a point of rock not ten yards behind, and toppled heavily over into the hollow beneath. Roden had turned only in the very nick of time. The Kaffir was aiming full at his back, and at that distance could not have missed.