Harley Greenoak's Charge Part 19

Stokes looked at him sourly.

"Grub!" he echoed. "You'll get none o' that here. Any fool could see that Shelbury's cleared. Why, the place is all stove in and the whole show looted."

Closer investigation proved such to be the case. The door hung on one hinge, and seemed very much battered.

"We'll push on," said Sandgate, with an anxious glance at the moon, now getting low. "The further we do that under cover of night the better."

But Stokes, rapping out something about just taking half a squint inside, and catching them up again in a jiffy, was already off his horse. The other two, resuming their conversation about old times and scenes at home, held on the way he had pointed out to them. So taken up were they that it was quite a little while before it occurred to them that it might be advisable to pull up and wait for Stokes. Nor had they long to wait.

"Just as I thought," he said, coming up. "The whole shoot has been cleared from top to bottom. You never saw such a mess in your life.

But there's no one dead inside."

As they rode on, neither Sandgate nor d.i.c.k noticed that Stokes kept rather behind. The moon, too, had almost sunk, wherefore, perhaps, they further failed to notice that his tan-cord uniform jacket bulged.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE ORDEAL.

It was just the dark hour before dawn when Sandgate called a halt.

"We might safely do half an hour's snooze here," he said. "The gees want that amount of rest. You turn in, Selmes, and I'll do horse-guard.

No--no--don't wrangle, man; each minute of that means so much less hard-earned snooze; besides, I'm in command here. Stokes, you look done too. Well, off you go, both of you."

The latter, with a cavernous yawn, was off like a log. d.i.c.k, with a sleepy laugh, followed suit. Then Sandgate, loosening the girths, but not off-saddling, allowed the horses to graze, their bridles trailing on the ground, and set to work to watch.

The place in which they had halted was among some broken rocks, a small hollow, in feet, and admirably adapted for a hiding-place. The back was overhung by boulders, and in front, beyond a lip of the same, the ground fell away in a rugged slope to the bottom of a deep bushy kloof. To Sandgate, left to his lonely vigil, that brief half-hour seemed long enough. To the other two, heavy in slumber, it was as a flash.

"Now then, Selmes. Time," he whispered, with a hand on the other's shoulder. In a trice d.i.c.k was up, but yawning pathetically. He shivered too, for a thin damp mist was stealing athwart the rocks and bush sprays.

"All serene," he said, ready and alert. "Kick up the other fellow."

But although this was done, and that literally, for all the effect it produced Stokes might as well have been dead, or a bit of timber. And then, as an acrid fume rose poisonous upon the cold morning air, Sandgate stood aghast with wrath and horror. His colleague and subordinate was drunk--dead drunk.

Yet how? In a moment something of the truth flashed across his brain.

That wretched trader's store they had pa.s.sed! Stokes must have found grog in there, which had been overlooked by the plunderers. His cursed instinct had moved him to go inside and explore. There was no sign of any bottle about Stokes, certainly, but this he would have been _slim_ enough to drop unseen and unheard. Now the mystery of his lagging behind stood explained.

"Great Scott! And the despatches!" exclaimed Sandgate, horrified.

"Take 'em on, and leave him here to get sober," suggested d.i.c.k. "He deserves it."

But Sandgate objected to deserting a comrade in dangerous country. He himself would be reduced to the ranks, of course, kicked out of the Force most likely, but he could not abandon a comrade. To this d.i.c.k suggested that he should remain with Stokes while Sandgate rode on.

"That won't do either, Selmes," said the latter, gloomily. "You're new to this country, and in my charge. No--that won't do."

"But think of the vital importance of the despatches," urged d.i.c.k.

"This fellow has brought it all upon himself. Besides, he's supposed to know his way about better than both of us put together. So _I_ say, let him take his chance."

"We'll have one more try," said Sandgate.

They had, and it was an exhaustive one. They shook and hustled the stupefied man, and threw in his face what little water remained in their bottles. In vain. Stokes merely gave an inarticulate grunt, and subsided into deep slumber again. Then they tried another plan--that of placing him on his feet by main force. Still in vain. The drunken man slid to the ground again, and in their efforts to keep him up both Sandgate and d.i.c.k lost their balance, stumbled, and fell with him.

Before they could rise several pairs of muscular hands had gripped each of them, and bulky forms pressed them down. So effectually were they pinioned that they could not even reach their revolvers, which were promptly reft from them. The little hollow which was their resting-place was swarming with Kafirs, who had stolen upon them like snakes what time their attention was taken up endeavouring to restore consciousness to Stokes; even the warning which should have been conveyed by the alarmed snorting and restiveness of the horses had escaped them. They were absolutely in the power of these savages, who had surprised and captured them without giving them an opportunity of striking a blow in defence of their lives, and, to one of them, of his trust.

The first thing their captors did was to bind them securely with the _reims_ cut from their horses' headstalls. Then a hurried consultation began among them. A man who seemed in authority--a tall, evil-looking ruffian--issued an order. The unconscious Stokes was seized and roughly turned over, face uppermost. A moment's examination sufficing to satisfy them that he was hopelessly drunk, half a dozen a.s.segais were driven through his body, as coolly as though his murderers were merely slaughtering a sheep; while his comrades lay sick with honour at the sight, and justifiably apprehensive as to what their own fate was destined to be.

They had not long to wait. Under the hurried directions of another man, a short, thick-set Kafir--not the one in seeming authority--they were subjected to a quick but exhaustive search, when, of course, the despatch to the officer commanding at Fort Isiwa came to light.

"This--what it say?" said the short Kafir, in very fair English, tapping the doc.u.ment, which he held open by one corner.

"Oh, it's merely a letter asking for a few more horses to be sent on to Kangala," answered Sandgate, with as much coolness as he could a.s.sume.

"That a lie!" was the prompt response. Then, threateningly, "Read that--out, so I hear it."

"If you can talk English, surely you can read it," answered Sandgate.

"Read it! Read!"--thrusting the paper before his face. "Read--or--"

"Or what?"

"That," said the Kafir, pointing to the body of their murdered comrade, which the savages had already stripped, and which lay, a hideous and gory sight enough to strike terror into the survivors. But these were of the flower and pick of their nationality, and to neither of them did it for one instant occur to purchase his life by a revelation which might result in calamitous, even appalling, consequences. To both the moment was one which had reached a point of critical sublimity, as they took in the barbarous forms, the ring of cruel countenances, the dark, grisly hands grasping the ready and murderous a.s.segai. Both were staring Death in the face very closely.

"Well, I shan't read it," said Sandgate, decisively.

"Nor I," echoed d.i.c.k Selmes.

At a word from the English-speaking Kafir, a powerful, ochre-smeared ruffian seized Sandgate by the chin, and, jerking back his head, laid the sharp edge of an a.s.segai blade against his distended throat.

"Now--will you read?" came the question again.

The natural fear of death, and that in a horrible form, brought the dews of perspiration to the unfortunate man's brow, as the evil savage, whose hand quivered with eagerness to inflict the final slash, actually divided the skin. Yet, looking his tormentors steadily in the face, he answered--

"No!"

The man in authority said a few words. The a.s.segai blade was lowered, and Sandgate's head was released.

"Now," went on the English-speaking Kafir, "we not kill you--not yet.

We try hot a.s.segai blade--between toes. That make you read, hey?"

And even as he spoke a fire was in process of kindling, which a few minutes sufficed to blow up into a roaring blaze.

If the imminence of a horrible form of death had been appalling to these two, it was nothing to this. Should they be able to stand firm under the ghastly torture that awaited, the very thought of which was enough to turn them sick? And yet--the issue at stake! The war-cloud, though brooding, had not yet burst; but did it get to the knowledge of their enemies that the only force which overawed them, and to that extent held them in check, was short of ammunition, why, the effect would be to let loose tens of thousands of raging devils, not only upon that force itself, but upon the whole more or less defenceless frontier. This was in the minds of both, as quickly Sandgate's boot was cut from his foot, while one fiend, who had plucked a red-hot blade from the fire, stood, eagerly awaiting his orders.

"Now--will you read?"

"No!" shouted Sandgate, his eyes staring at his questioner in horror and despair. Then followed a long and shuddering groan, and in it, and the convulsive writhe of the victim, d.i.c.k Selmes seemed to share. His comrade's agony was his own.

At a sign from the English-speaking Kafir the instrument of torment was withdrawn.