In the Whirl of the Rising Part 25

Peters nodded, and they entered together. There was a clue. On a side-table was the beginning of a letter, which looked as if one of the wretched women had been interrupted while writing. It was spattered with blood.

"It's dated the day before yesterday," said Lamont; "the day we were attacked. Good Lord! I wish when we set our trap then we had put enough stuff to blow every one of those Matabele devils to his own place, instead of a dozen or so."

"Amen," said Peters.

It never occurred to either of them that their wish had been very nearly fulfilled.

"Well, we'd better get into Gandela as soon as we can and give the alarm. They won't laugh this time, unfortunately. After that I, for one, am going where I can shoot as many of these devils as it is possible to shoot."

"Same here," said Peters. "No quarter, either."

These two men, you see, were changed now. Far from cruel or merciless by disposition, they had looked upon a sight which should render them both, as similar sights did many another in the early days of that wholly unprepared-for outbreak.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

FULLERTON'S MOVE.

A light mule-waggon stood at Fullerton's door. By the time the process of loading it--now begun--was completed it would no longer be a light waggon.

Before that stage was attained, however, Fullerton was making nasty remarks on the wholly unnecessary quant.i.ty of baggage without which lovely woman professes herself unable to move--at least his spouse p.r.o.nounced them to be nasty, and, of course, she ought to know.

"Do stand up for us, Mr Wyndham," she appealed.

"Wouldn't be fair. You're two to one as it is," answered Wyndham, tugging at a refractory strap, for he was engaged in harnessing the mules.

"Oh, here--I say, Clare. We haven't got a traction engine to move this outfit," grumbled Fullerton, as his sister-in-law appeared, together with another quite exasperating bundle. "No we haven't. Only mules."

"It's all right, d.i.c.k. Put that in somewhere," was the serene answer.

"Only, don't squash it more than you can help, because there are things in it that'll spoil."

Fullerton grunted, and the work of packing and stowing went on, the bulkier and heavier articles of baggage having been fastened on behind with reins.

"That's all right," said Wyndham, looking up from the last buckle. "Now I think we can all get in."

It had taken some little while and a great deal of importunity to bring Richard Fullerton round to the Buluwayo scheme, and even then his womenkind had given every reason but the real one for wanting to go there. He was endowed with his full share of obstinacy; however, he came round at last. At last! Just so. A great deal was destined to turn upon those two monosyllables.

"You take the lines first stage, Fullerton, or shall I?" asked Wyndham, the outfit being, in fact, his property. On hearing of the Fullertons'

projected move he had immediately proffered it, and volunteered to drive them himself. Such an opportunity of being in Clare's society for three whole days was one not to be thrown away, and of showing to advantage before her during the time, for he was a first-rate whip. Fullerton was not.

"Er--you'd better tool us, I think," said the latter. "I might be able to drive four-in-hand, but I believe I'd be rather out of it with eight."

"Oh, it's just as easy. Still--do as you like." And Wyndham, climbing to his seat, took the reins, and away went the team at a brisk trot. It was a lovely morning, but inclined to be hot, and as they topped the mimosa-studded rise, and in a minute Gandela was shut out of sight behind them, there was a sense of exhilaration permeating the whole party which promised that the trip was likely to prove an enjoyable one.

"Well, Lucy," said Fullerton, expanding accordingly, "I believe I'm rather glad you two girls persuaded me into this run. A spell at the Buluwayo Club will come in first-rate. You get rather sick of a poky little hole like Gandela."

"Pity you wouldn't let yourself be 'persuaded' a week ago," rapped out the conjugal retort. "Or even more. You'd have been in the thick of the Buluwayo Club at this moment."

"Yes, you took a deal of persuading, d.i.c.k," supported Clare. "It would have been much better if we had started a week earlier."

There was an unconscious gravity in her tone that did not seem to fit the subject or the occasion. But she was thinking of the grave urgency of Lamont's warning--that they should remove at once; and of this, of course, the others were in complete ignorance.

"Oh well, a week more or less doesn't matter a row of pins," returned Fullerton unconcernedly. "That's one good point about this jolly country, at any rate. No one need ever be in a hurry."

"Nor ever is," appended Wyndham. "Hallo! Here are some police Johnnies coming along."

Riding single file along a narrow path, which would converge with the high road a little farther on, they made out a small party of Mounted Police--a dozen in all. They gained the main road just at the same time as the mule-waggon crossed the path. The sergeant rode up and saluted.

"Going to Buluwayo?" said Wyndham.

"Yes, sir. And Captain Isard said we'd better keep with you for the way."

"Sort of escort, eh?"

"That's it, sir."

"Escort!" echoed Fullerton. "Why, what the devil do we want with an escort? We haven't got the Administrator on board."

"Well, sir," said the sergeant, "the n.i.g.g.e.rs have been a bit sulky of late, over the wholesale shootin' of their cattle, and it's a wide stretch of country, and the captain said that as we were going to Buluwayo in any case, it'd do no harm if we kept with your waggon."

As a matter of fact the men were not 'going to Buluwayo in any case,'

but had been specially told off by their commanding officer to escort this outfit thither. It--for all purposes in his eyes--spelt Clare Vidal. In spite of his former rejection he had not got over his weakness for that extremely attractive young person, and here was a right royal chance to ingratiate himself with her; for of course he would contrive to let her know later that it was solely upon her account that the escort had been furnished. Isard had accepted Lamont's warning with a considerable pinch of salt, still there was no doubt but that there was unrest among the natives, and where Clare was concerned it was as well to be on the safe side. The safe side! Well, Isard was steeped to the crown of his handsome and soldierly head in the British and military tradition of despising your enemy, wherefore, of course, the presence of a dozen of his Mounted Police was sufficient to overawe every squalid n.i.g.g.e.r in Matabeleland, or the whole lot of them put together.

"There's something in that, sergeant," said Wyndham, "and it's very good of the captain to have thought of it." Then, as the sergeant having saluted again and dropped behind, he went on--

"By George, that's very considerate of Isard. He's not at all the sort of fellow I should have expected a thing of that sort from. Well, Miss Vidal, you've got the experience of travelling under an armed escort.

Quite romantic, isn't it?"

"Quite. But, as you say, it's very kind of Captain Isard all the same,"

answered Clare, the only one who was behind the scenes as to the situation. Lamont's warning to herself had been urgent and definite, yet her brother-in-law's provoking obstinacy had caused him to put off and put off. The limit of the time named must nearly have been reached, and, remembering this, secretly she hailed the presence of those armed police with a feeling of devout thankfulness.

"But--is there really any danger?" said her sister anxiously. "Because if there is, I, for one, vote we turn back."

"Danger! Pho!" rapped out Fullerton contemptuously. "I suppose Lamont has been putting about one of his chronic scares, or something of that sort. Turn back? No fear. We're in for a jolly trip."

Whereby it is manifest that in a small place like Gandela, things will leak out. a.s.suredly nothing could look more peaceful than the aspect of things as they pulled up at the mixture of store and wayside inn where they were to outspan after the first stage. The wild veldt, aglow in the shimmering heat, the drowsy hum of native voices, the sleepiness and calm of the place--no suggestion of a cataclysm lay here.

"Hallo, Langrishe!" sang out Wyndham, as a lank, parchment-faced man lounged forward, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "Any news? We're bound for Buluwayo. How's the scare getting on?"

"Scare? I don't know nuth'n about any bloomin' scare, and don't want to."

"Don't believe in it, eh?"

The storekeeper fired off a very contemptuous e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, and turned to help Wyndham to unharness the mules. Fullerton also bore a hand, contriving however to be of more hindrance than help.

"What'll you take, sergeant?" said Wyndham, as, the above operation completed, they adjourned to the bar. The sergeant named his--and taking up the usual dice-box Wyndham and Fullerton threw between them.